Food, Deer, Family: An Afternoon with Jane Wong

On February 17, I got the pleasure of spending some one-on-one time with Jane Wong at the Katherine Anne Porter House in Kyle, Texas. Besides discussing our fabulous outfits and the beautiful landscapes of the Hill Country, we delved right into the discussion over her book of poetry, How to Not Be Afraid of Everything, and her new memoir, Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City.

Elaina Edwards

Let me just start off by saying I think I found your book at the exact right time in my life. How to Not Be Afraid of Everything has been on my “To Read” list in my Notes app for such a long time and finally, I’m like, “OK, I finally have the time to sit down with it.” But I’m not just thankful for this book in terms of craft, but also history. I was able to learn so much from it and so many of the poems had me digging into the Great Leap Forward, and I mean … they don’t teach you that in school.

Jane Wong

No, really, they don’t teach it in schools.

Edwards

The term itself is also so science fiction sounding. People less familiar with the Great Leap Forward and China’s history may think there’s no actual pain or suffering behind this event, but there is. So, I could completely understand the anger, frustration, and grief that you are exploring and working through in your book. Every poem just felt so visceral; it was such a great experience to get to have that with your book. That being said, being in an MFA, you often hear the phrase, “writing through something,” or writing being an “act of catharsis” to get through a difficult place. What was the goal when you sat down to write your book? And how did it begin?

Wong

Oh my gosh, thank you for those beautiful words and that kind of, like, beautiful point about the fact that [the Great Leap Forward] isn’t something that’s known or talked about.  It probably has to do with propaganda and has to do with the fact that it’s not necessarily considered what the government has declared as something that’s occurred or something important to talk about in American schools.

And, you know, I think that what kind of shocked me when I was discovering the Great Leap Forward was that it was a horrible famine, but of course we don’t name it as such.

Edwards

Yeah, we’d prefer to say one and not the other. What was it like to find out this information? When did you realize you had ties to this history?

Wong

Exactly, exactly. I was in college. I was in undergrad and we were watching a documentary on the Cultural Revolution which occurred right after the Great Leap Forward, and this was the Chinese politics class and it occurred to me as I was watching this documentary, that the dates matched up with the fact that my grandfather’s family “disappeared” and he was adopted by an older man whose family also was gone. That was a horrible moment. No one in my family talks about it. They still won’t talk about it. I  did a lot of deep listening when my family shared stories to try to put things together. For my mom, she grew up with so little in terms of protein specifically, and I dated a vegetarian for a while and she was like, “Oh, I grew up vegetarian, but that’s not the same, right?” That’s not a choice. And so all to say, this book kind of started in that class, in my mind at least, since about 2006.

So I’ve been thinking about this book for…  I’m very bad at math. That’s like, what? How many years is that?

Edwards

Twelve

Wong

*Laughs* OK… You’re way worse at math than I am.

Edwards

*Laughs* 18… 14…  I don’t know. COVID brain.

Wong

*Laughs* It’s definitely been like 15, 16, 17 years, something like that. We can do the math later, right?

Edwards

Oh, I hope not. That is why I’m a creative writer.

Wong

*Laughs* Right? But, anyway, this book has been stewing in me for all those years, and I’ve wanted to write about this, didn’t know how to do it, didn’t know if I could even be comfortable with it because the reality is, is that I knew that potentially this book could be banned, you know. It was a hard decision, but then I did, and I still have a lot of feelings around wanting to write about that time period. Also, the fact that there is a direct connection between that history and growing up in a restaurant and being surrounded by food and asking myself what that means. I feel like I’m eating for so many people half the time. But yes, this book is about the Great Leap Forward, but also, there’s heartbreak poems, persona poems, and other stuff and I wanted to make sure that in some way, if I’m writing this book for my ancestors but I also wanted to give them a sense of my contemporary life.

Edwards

Would you say you’re exploring the theory of generational trauma? What sort of process was that like for you? Did you find it pouring out?

Wong

It did pour out. It really did, actually. And it’s funny that, you know, especially that main poem in the book “When You Died,” that one came out really, really fast. But the last poem in the book, after preparing the altar that goes to feast feverishly when the ghost kind of answers back, that one I thought about writing, or had an idea about for like 2 years. To be honest, writing something almost feels like there’s a sense of discomfort. I always say, like, look, I’m not maybe ready to write that poem. I’m OK with waiting. I’m not going to force myself to do something I’m not comfortable with so that one took a long time and that poem was like dealing with [Federico García] Lorca’s duende—that one just came out of me, like, not joking. I think I co-wrote that with my ghost.

Edwards

That’s beautiful. I love the idea of our guides helping us write things.

Wong

Yes, it was totally a “guide” situation. Never had that experience before and never will again, probably. It was very bizarre. It was at a coffee shop and I was grading essays and I had this sudden urge to write down. This poem, how strange is that?

Edwards

But it’s so beautiful, too. I hope that happens again. So I guess, besides that experience, how else has this book changed you?

Wong

I think this book, for me, has changed me as a writer, but also the way I conceive time, fundamentally, because, it’s all collapsed, you know?  Also, these poems turned out to be part of an installation I did at the Frye Art Museum in 2019. I had the opportunity to make these poems into sculptures and installations. And one of the poems in the book, like an altar. I literally made an altar space in the museum full of food. And one of the security guards at the museum said that someone had stolen the pineapple cakes from the altar. And they were freaked out. And they’re like, “I’m so sorry.” We’ll go get a replacement soon. And I said, “Oh, that’s great. No, my grandfather’s ghost totally ate them!”

Edwards

You got to actually see your ideas unfolding in your life, that’s incredible. And your family, I know you brought up earlier your fear of having this book out in the world and what might happen because of that. How was your family’s reaction to this book?

Wong

That’s a great, great question. There are two things there. First of which is that my family, to some degree, doesn’t read my poetry due to language barriers, so they know what I’m doing, but they don’t really know.

I do think what would be different if this book was written in Chinese or translated. A whole other level of fear if that happens. I think they’re supportive. If anything, they still won’t talk about it. I think they are very proud that I’ve done this work, but they also feel like they don’t want it dredged up. I have to respect that, too. I remember when they went to the Art Museum show they started crying. It was really intense. And then after they cried, they didn’t say any words and they just said, “OK, meet us at the restaurant.” I don’t know if that answers the question, but they were just kind of like, “OK, you did this work.” It seems difficult to kind of write about this kind of trauma, but at the end of the day, in the present life and in the present world we live in, we have so much abundance. So let’s just eat.

The last poem in the book is so funny because I was writing these letters to my ancestors that passed, I expected some sort of profound melancholy to be produced from them but no, they just want to eat. They just want to party. It’s just funny that I’ve been writing all these deeply intense and serious letters to them and they’re just like, “Shut up. We just want a huge potluck party.”

Edwards

I bet they are so proud, they just show it through the partying. OK, changing gears, I know you have your memoir, Meet me Tonight in Atlantic City, coming out soon.

Wong

Oh, yes.

Edwards

Which book required you to be more vulnerable?

Wong

By far, and I’m saying by far, underlines capital in all caps, bolded in like hot pink font, the memoir. And I say this because I’m terrified, even right now, before it’s even out in the world.

It was so vulnerable. I think what makes it more vulnerable to write is just the fact that you have to reflect. I think in poetry we are able to use an image or a metaphor, or maybe musicality to hold that weight of what you’re trying to express. Whereas in memoir, because there’s more pages I have to fill and use for reflection, I can’t dangle an image and leave, I actually have to talk about it. It’s very meta in many ways. Also, tonally, I think,well, I hope the memoir is funny. That’s also very vulnerable, right? I think the memoir allowed me to be goofy and not so serious, because I am a goofy person and I never felt like I could be fully goofy in poems. So, the memoir was a space for me to be goofy, but also, I’m very vulnerable because people are expecting me to be serious, but I also hope they think I’m funny.

Edwards

You need to be a serious poet all the time! No jokes!

Wong

Seriously *laughs* There’s a lot of “lols” in my memoir. I hope there’s a mixture of all my different cells in the memoir. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve done creatively, and it has a lot to do with reflection.

Edwards

Poets get to hide in their poems. You can hide behind a persona, an image … just like you said.

Wong

We use the term speaker in poetry, right? But when it’s a memoir, it’s you.

And I think I’m terrified also when people go to review my memoir. I’m like, “Are you going to review my life and tell me if I’m worthy?” [Or will they talk] about the craft of it? I did however, have to lose some of my lyricism for clarity, which made me sad sometimes.

Edwards

I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on it. I can’t wait.

I found in How to Not Be Afraid of Everything that you’re coming to terms with rage, shame, perhaps your own, perhaps generational, or both, and there’s a very strong voice there. But in a few of your poems, you have deer that show up. This is a curiosity to me because deer are a huge part of my writing. I love deer and I’ve been finding them used much more and are often a representative of femininity, fear, and fragility. So, I was curious if your deer in these poems have the same representation, or if they have a different meaning for you? How do deer function symbolically for you?

Wong

I love that! I’m very curious about what you’re working on now. I’m thinking about their softness, you know, and I’m thinking, too, I live in the Pacific Northwest, there’s so many deer … deer everywhere! Sometimes there is this feeling as if they know something. I don’t know. It sounds very odd, but it’s something about their eyes and the way they move through a forest. We can think of them as these creatures that are so vulnerable. But, there’s also so much to be curious about in terms of their strengths and kind of like what they know that we don’t know. There’s something about them that makes me curious about them. They are very protective of each other. I don’t know. I’ve always been obsessed with creatures that tend to get overlooked by more fabulous creatures. I’m into the common deer, pigeons, cockroaches, slugs and raccoons.

Edwards

Not to take away from this interview at all, but in my own research, I was researching the history of deer, and I found that a long, long, long, time ago they were referred to as “spirit.” They’re one of the oldest animals.

So that’s what stood out to me. Because I know you have one poem in which you talk about tearing open. I was wondering if that was your insertion of the softness of yourself or your vulnerability …

Wong

Yes, yes, exactly. I was thinking about that exactly. And I was thinking, actually, about roadkill. I see all these animals on the side of the road or in the middle of the road, oftentimes, deer. And I always think [about] how vulnerable that creature was, and you know, it was just trying to live … and yet here it is. And then the fact that it is also wasted meat. There’s something about that too, thinking about my family’s history. But yeah, that softness of the insides …

Edwards

OK, so now we’re gonna get to talking about the long poem you brought up earlier, “When You Died.” How did you do it? You said it just poured out of you. But long poems are so daunting. I feel like every time I attempt one, I’m like, “Oh, you know what … I’m just gonna split this idea up into five poems.” So what made you stop yourself from making each page a different poem?

Wong

That’s a great question. I definitely wrote those in bits and pieces; fragments. But in many ways, I felt like there were so many threads. This is something that I do all the time, which may or may not be helpful, but I keep a compost pile of lines and sometimes I’ll pull five at random lines to start a poem, but what I usually do is I’ll throw them back in. Most people just use it and then that’s it. But I’ll throw it back in because what happens is that I think really interesting constellations or patterns happen when you repeat certain images, and so like the egg kept showing up to me as an image. But with long poems I just write until I fall asleep. I mean, that just sounds ridiculous, but I literally drive my palm to exhaustion. By the time I’m done, I’m done. I can’t say anymore, I can’t do anymore. And I’d like to write them if I can, for like a long spell. It feels almost like a dream state. There’s some surreal things in that long poem. I love long poems. I’m always a sucker for long poems. I don’t know what it is. Long labors are fruitful.

Edwards

Long poems have been a difficult thing for me lately, but another thing on form: So, I realized that you used the colon a lot as punctuation, and I don’t know if you ever did these in grade school or are familiar with these things called analogies?

Wong

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Edwards

You know, one word, colon, is equal to this other word, cloud is equal to blank.

And that’s often how I use colons in my own work, like saying this is equal to this, or this phrase or image or idea is equal to this phrase. Is that how yours operate?

Wong

Oh, that’s a great question. I think so. It feels like that, anyway. Anyhow, I think punctuation is fascinating because it can be something that for me is trying to put something in sharper focus.

And I think that even if you’re thinking about it as an equal sign, there’s still a beep there, it resonates differently than a colon even if they mean the same thing. Analogies, or colons, are like mirrors. The em dash can be harsh. Periods are very harsh, but there’s something about colons and semicolons that have this meditative property that other punctuation doesn’t have.

Edwards

Yeah, depending on the punctuation, the meaning would be completely different.

Wong

The colon is also like two eyes sometimes. Yeah, I really love that … deer and colons …

Edwards

Deer and colons …

Wong

Exactly.