Tag Archives: Artist Profile

Artist Profile: Raina León

Name: Raina Juanita LeónRaina Leon 1

Hometown: Philadelphia, PA

Residence: Berkeley, CA

What is your earliest memory of writing?  I remember writing, really before I could write, criticism for a dance production my mother took me to see. She tells the story that it was an Alvin Ailey performance.  I remember giving the pieces letter grades, A through C, and telling my mother why the performance merited one review or another.  Considering that I had only ever watched dance performances on PBS before that, had just started dance lessons at 6, and definitely knew next to nothing about the craft, there’s something to be said about my perception of the value of my eye and regard. 

How did you become a writer?  Life made me a writer.  I instinctually was pushing back against institutional, systemic, and internalized oppressions from an early age.  Writing helped me to find my path within the insanity.

My mother is also a poet and brought all of the arts into my life at an early age.  If it was a choice between paying the light bill or for Scholastic books, she was paying for books, and she read all of my very sad poems and stories.  I wrote mostly stories as a child with very sad endings, nothing like the Scholastics books or Highlights stories.

My father made time to take us to the library and talk to us about what we were reading.

Life made me a writer but my parents; the librarians of elementary school and high school; Sr. Ave from West Catholic High; and countless other teachers and friends over the years who read and challenged and questioned and gave me more ideas and resources, they are the folks who helped me speak back to the calling that life gave me.

Tell us about your writing process.

I write generally between 10pm and 6am, and mostly during the summer or on long breaks.  As an educator, during the academic year, my creativity goes mostly into my work with students.  I teach evening classes, too, so I find that I need a few hours to shake loose of my teacherly commitments (this person needs clarification on this assignment; remind the students of this due date; etc).  Once I am home and after my husband has gone to bed, in the silence of a Berkeley night, I can get some writing done.  Even in the day, when I might have lots of time, my mind needs to decompress with court shows or walking the dog or something like that.  I can do academic tasks but rarely creative work.  Even if it means being sleep-deprived and cranky the next day, if I want to write something, it has to be at night, in anticipation of the dawn.

What are you working on now?

I’m working on a full-length manuscript, which has become my way of exploring blackness as an identity in and out of time; generational trauma; ecopoetics that is connected to mythologies, spiritualities and communities; explorations of the lyric; transnational and translanguaging work; and Afro-futurism with a contemporary lens of tragedy and the inevitability of trauma within the conspiracy of control by hegemonic powers.  You know, nothing too deep.  As I’m going into this next step with the work, I am really interested in African deities, diaspora studies, myth and history around blood, water, and crossroads, and an Afro-futurist eco-poetics.  I am also very interested in crafting the character of Elisha, an Afro-Latino immortal, husband to the god in this world I’ve created.  He’s this complex guy who, despite having been a slave and suffered firsthand being dehumanized in multiple horrific ways, manages to nurture hope and light, laughter and love.  He’s chosen for the gift of immortality, because his strength is built on an internal light that never dies.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

I suffered deeply from writer’s block in late 2014/early 2015.  With the inundation (that continues) of images of Black peoples murdered and violated through state-sanctioned violence and the lack of justice for the perpetrators of that violence (those stories that we do get), I found myself unable to write, unable to push through the horrors.  I became paralyzed by fear and mourning.  What does one do when you are trying to convince yourself that your Afro-Latina life matters in a time when Black Lives Matter emerges as a movement because the world would say we don’t?  I didn’t want to leave my house, let alone write a word.  I still have moments when fear and anger rise suddenly within me.  It’s in those small moments like seeing a police car in my neighborhood and then seeing it on the highway on the way to work.  Writing, for a long while, took a backseat to paranoia and mourning, and I’ve been in mourning for the last four years already for other familial losses.  That familial sorrow extended into sorrow for the world, which was massive and overcame any joy.

Of course, this block that I suffered came after I had just entered into a MFA in Poetry program.  I was supposed to be writing things, and when I began in the program, I had written a great number of poems, all the time, widely experimental, but soon enough I found myself staring into dark when I wrote and the dark staring back, baring its bloodied teeth. The only thing I was good for was reading the work of others and discussing.  Very little writing was happening.

I got into an online discussion with Teri Cross Davis about vampires, the hair of Black vampires, actually.  In some mythologies, a vampire has to be perfectly groomed upon being made, because that’s how they stay forever.  Sure, their hair may become lush and seductive, but the transformation builds on what is already there.   But what about slaves and those who became vampires while in that state?  They certainly weren’t going to be looking their best, stripped of their humanity.  Somehow Teri and I extended that Facebook conversation into a consideration of doing a collaborative piece, a crown of sonnets with an ancient woman vampire and her newly created male vampire.  Possibilities for plays on the Lilith myth, an homage to Octavia Butler.  Sonnets that shifted from Elizabethan iambic pentameter in the female voice to more experimental sonnets in the male voice.  It was all there.  Trying to get myself hyped up for the collaboration, I started imagining a world.  I didn’t want to work with the typical vampire myths so then I started thinking of elemental connection and causation of drought through the drinking of blood (a cosmic transference that allows both spirit through blood and body through water to persist over thousands of years), generational trauma and transference of memories, the possibilities that these “vampires” were really (nearly) immortals with the ability to have human children.  These immortals, in taking life, also drank souls and so carried and were influenced by those souls.  I started to think about how one would gift another with this immortality, what was the creation story of these people, and what was it like to be the human child and recipient of thousands of years of memory of an “immortal”, particularly one who has been marginalized, brutalized, dehumanized and still survived for the crime of being woman and of African descent.  I even had my partner create an algorithm to account for the population of immortals given certain scenarios.  Faced with the horrors of our reality I created characters who had dealt with worse, survived, and had something to teach through their lives.  I faced writer’s block through dissociation with reality and the revelation of a surreality, and in the oddest of ways, that is how I came back into encountering reality and writing about it head on as activism.  I had to create a world to enable me to encounter and deal with the world.

Which writers and teachers have most influenced you as a writer?

My mother was the first writer that I studied consciously wanting to understand what she had done.  One of her poems was published in an anthology, I believe it was called Generations, and I was fascinated by the idea that my mother had written something in a book.  I never thought about it until this interview, but that may have been the birth of me thinking that I could write books, too.

As for teachers, Mrs. Burgess, Mrs. Tulba, and Dr. Steven Herb were the greatest.  They were the librarians of my life.  Mrs. Burgess allowed a little girl of 7 or 8 to convince her that she could read the books the big kids read AND that she should be allowed to take out more than 2 books at a time.  She let me take out up to 8 at a time, and I devoured them within a week or two each time.  She maintained the connection with me and my brother.  She came to my grandmother’s wake and to my wedding, two of the most difficult and most revelatory times for me.

In high school, my locker in my first year was literally right next to the library, and I took it as a sign.  I ended up the editor-in-chief of the newspaper, that Mrs. Tulba supervised, and I worked in the library all the time.  I would sit outside the library in the morning until she arrived, return during lunch to do work, and then spend time there in the afternoons for newspaper or just to work on school.  The library was a refuge then.

In college, my first honors seminar was lead by Dr. Steven Herb; it focused on folklore and storytelling.  For years, that group of students met with him over lunch in State College, CA.  He put his whole self into the class, and we responded in turn.  I’m still good friends with many from that time.  Many of us even worked in the library on fellowships because of his influence.  One became a librarian.  He ran the Pennsylvania Center for the Book, which contacted me a few years ago to do a bio on me.  It’s actually one of the most complete biographies that has ever been done, mostly through research from the Center for the Book.

What books have had the biggest impact on your trajectory?

This is a trick question for me, because I’m discovering and rediscovering books all the time.

  • Wisteria by Kwame Dawes
  • The Fields of Praise by Marilyn Nelson
  • Alabanza:  New and Selected Poems by Martín Espada
  • Arcade by Erica Hunt with prints from Alison Saar
  • The new black by Evie Shockley
  • Black Swan by Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon

What’s your advice to aspiring writers?

I don’t have any tattoos, but if I did, I would have these:  the ankh on my left wrist and “defy, defy, defy” on my right wrist.  The ankh would remind me of the eternal quality of the soul, that one must be true to the higher purpose, seek justice, and connection as the world beyond is watching and waiting.  The words would remind me to persist.  I’ve had many times in my life as a writer when I did not write, because I believed a critic that I was not worthy, as woman, as scholar, as poet.  Eventually, that need to write for my own sanity would win; I would write, because I believe that my voice means something.  It doesn’t come easy.  And when I found that much of none of my work that blended English and Spanish was getting published, I founded (with Eliel Lucero) The Acentos Review for the many I knew like me who were facing the same walls.  If they can’t understand the majesty of our tongues, then why not create a place that honors what we do, see, feel, breathe, are?

So my advice to writers is 1) to seek justice in one’s work, because writing is political activism, too and 2) be defiant and create.

Raina Leon 2

Artist Profile: Icess Fernandez Rojas

Name:  Icess Fernandez RojasIcess Fernandez Pic 1

Hometown:  Houston, TX – baby!

Residence:  North Shore

What is your earliest memory of writing? 

The womb, as I was writing my grievances for the tiny room of which I was assigned. I’ve been giving my mom headaches ever since. Ha! It’s part of my charm, she says.

How did you become a writer?

That’s a really hard question. I wrote short stories and things in school and as a hobby (it is no longer a hobby). I always knew I’d write books but I believe that I began learning some of the fundamentals of writing as a journalist. It’s a great training ground for the nitty gritty like writing to a length or word count, writing on deadline, keeping the reader in mind, asking questions of characters (sources). However, I think what launched my writing ahead, really solidified it in my head and brought me closer to my path was getting the MFA. My program was set up with the writer’s life in mind which is perfect. Writers write and they read and they do that with full-time jobs. That’s amazing. There was none of the romantic notion in my program and they very much taught me that this is a writing life not just a thing I do.

Tell us about your writing process.

Procrastination. HA! I’m a fiction writer so it starts with a character and their voice in my head. That sounds crazy but that’s how it happens. And because I write in the long form, there’s always a danger of my short stories becoming my next novel project. I have a couple like that now, so I work really hard at the short form to keep my character to short form while I finish longer forms. I’m working on my first book in a mystery series now which really should have been done a while ago but that’s another conversation for another day. That has been on my front burner for awhile. However, sometimes I need a break so I’ll do something else for a bit – short stories, a poem (written badly but written) or creative non-fiction, which is fascinating me at the moment. What’s interesting though is my revision process, THAT is a process. And one I’m learning to appreciate each time I do it.

What are you working on now?

JENNIE MANNING! I feel like I’m always working on her because I am. Even though there’s a version of the book that I would say is complete, she’s not done. Because it’s the first in a series, there are decisions I have to make with tone and character background and motivation I need to feel comfortable with so it’s taking longer. However, she’s coming along swimmingly. This is the book I’ve wanted to write since I was 13 and it has Houston as the setting. It’s important to me that Houston is portrayed not only as a character (it’s written in noir) but also that we see the real deal. I have seen books set in Houston that take place in River Oaks or other places of affluence. That’s not the Houston I know. Houston is wonderful but hot and grimy. It’s rock hard but has pockets of southern traditions. Houston is business and society. There are rules and regulations in Houston that make it function – a code. That’s the world of Detective Jennie Manning.

On the non-writing, yet writing related front, I’m working on turning my writing into a business by teaching classes. I’m teaching a fiction writing class that I am so loving. I’m developing a non-fiction class that focuses on publishing and a blogging course.

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block?

Writer’s block doesn’t exist! That’s the wonderful part about being a reporter for so many years, you don’t have that luxury. When there’s a deadline, you turn something in. You made that happen!  In grad school, my fellow writers were kind shocked at how I could get so many pages written while they were “blocked.”  Literally it’s that deadline on the calendar. Stuff just has to be done.

I also try to read as much as I can and try new techniques with my writing so if something isn’t working, I try one of those. Or a writing prompt. Or I Netflix. Yes, Netflixing is part of the process.

Which writers and teachers have most influenced you as a writer?

My 8th grade English teacher was the first one who said that maybe I should pursue this writing thing. I laughed and said, yeah, but I wanna make money. HA!!! Then my senior AP teacher, Mrs. Landry was amazing and tough. She taught me to read deeper and to not take things at face value. She also taught me to come correct. DO NOT go in Mrs. Landry’s class without being prepared…unless you want to die.

And then later on, the writers come in – Garcia Marquez is my dude, my teacher. Isabel Allende is magical. Clarice Lispector is my spirit animal, Junot Diaz is the realest dude, he’s air. Edwidge Danticat is life; Cristina Garcia taught me that it was possible to be nostalgic for an island that I hadn’t visited; Ana Menendez taught me you could be a journalist and still write amazing prose; Carolina Garcia-Aguilera who’s Lupe Solano series inspired the world of Jennie Manning; Walter Mosley who taught me it was possible to write noir AND be a person of color; Raymond Chandler, like why aren’t more people reading his books! I don’t understand. That dude is a genius, no debate.

What books have had the biggest impact on your trajectory?

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao – gave me air. Dreaming in Cuban, The Hour of the Star, Chronicle of a Death Foretold, Devil in a Blue Dress. Old school: The Babysitter’s Club series, The Box Car Children, Encyclopedia Brown, Whispers From the Dark (Joan L Nixon, yo from that H-town!) Judy Blume anything. Where the Wild Things Are.

What’s your advice to aspiring writers? Write poorly. Write absolute crap. That’s how you get to the good stuff. Read and write. That’s all you have to do.

Artist Profile: ire’ne lara silva

irene lara silva pic 1I first met Tejana writer ire’ne lara silva in 2013 at the El Mundo Zurdo conference of the Society for the Study of Gloria Anzaldúa in San Antonio. She was selling copies of her award-winning short story collection flesh to bone. I bought a copy and never looked back. In the three years since, ire’ne has become a trusted friend and has continued to wow me (and everyone else) with her words.

ire’ne is the author of two chapbooks: ani’mal and INDíGENA. Her first poetry collection, furia (Mouthfeel, 2010), received an Honorable Mention for the 2011 International Latino Book Award in Poetry. Flesh to bone (Aunt Lute, 2013) received the 2013 Premio Aztlán, placed 2nd for the 2014 NACCS Tejas Foco Fiction Book Award, and was a finalist for ForeWard Review’s Book of the Year Award in Multicultural Fiction. Check out her website to read about all of her accomplishments!

Earlier this year, ire’ne published her second full-length collection of poetry, Blood Sugar Canto (Saddle Road, 2016), which “is a powerful hymn to life and to her own body by a ‘curandera-poet’ struggling to transmute the fear and despair of diabetes into healing. She sings of the syringes, the paraphernalia of this new world she must live in, its losses and griefs, its pain, and her memories of those in her family who have died of this disease.”

Recently, I sat down with ire’ne to talk about Blood Sugar Canto, Tejas, and her other cultural work.


Why Blood Sugar Canto? Why Now?

I’ve always followed Toni Morrison’s mandate. To write what I needed to read and could not find. I looked everywhere for poetry that could speak to my experiences integrating diabetes into my life. All I remember finding were a few scattered poems from Sherman Alexie. And so, I sat myself down to write. I’ve always turned to writing for what I’ve needed to discover, what I’ve needed to survive, what I’ve needed to learn.

I was drowning in fear from all sides—from Western medicine, from family experience, from my own experience as my body underwent changes. At first, Blood Sugar Canto (BSC) was simply going to document my experiences in as many ways as possible. But as time went on, what struck me was that there was no treating the body without treating the heart, no healing the body without healing the spirit, no healing without calling up strength and hope and beauty and self-worth. And so that was what the book became, a wide-ranging map of all the places I went and the roads I found to finding peace and empowerment and love for my body, my stubborn body set on surviving and growing stronger.

BSC - ireneWith Blood Sugar Canto, you enter the world of memoir/autobiography. How do you negotiate the boundaries between autobiography, fiction, and creative license?

Easily, I don’t. Poetry, for me, is always about the truth. Truth as true as I can tell it. The past as best as I can remember it. What I feel and what I felt as raw as I can possibly tell it. I write to discover truths I don’t even know I know.

I don’t take on personas or other people’s points of view in my poetry. I don’t imagine other people’s experiences or thoughts.

Sometimes I don’t think my poetry is very poetic. Because what I have to say is always more important than how I say it. I will rip out a beautiful line because an ugly awkward one tells the truth more honestly.

In poetry, and especially with this book, I’m not telling any stories I haven’t lived—discussing illness and healing from every vantage point I could think of—as a woman, a writer, a daughter, a sister, as a patient, a healer, a worker, a poor person, as Indigena, Mexican-American, Texan, and as a member of many communities.

The only way to exorcise the demons I needed to do away with (fear, shame, lack of self-worth) was to sit with these poems that way—no negotiating, no hiding—I had to tell myself the truth.

How has your relationship with diabetes changed since you began this work, since “april 23, 2008”?

I just passed the 8-year mark since April, 23, 2008, the day I was officially diagnosed as diabetic and put on insulin. I started work on BSC in early 2011. There was no way for me to write about it earlier because I just wasn’t ready. The first year was mostly shock, fear, and adjusting to a ton of physical changes and life changes. I also left my 10-year job with the State and my 4-year job with a literary non-profit, changed apartments 3 times, and found two new jobs. 2008 was a wallop of a year. The next two years I worked on stabilizing my life and getting my first book of poetry published. By then, I had a wealth of reflections and reactions to life with diabetes—and not just my own health but also my family’s. And as I worked on the book, it seemed that I was able to perceive more about diabetes outside myself—how it was affecting my communities of color and poor and working class communities, how diet and colonization and oppression all combined to affect our personal and familial and communal access to information and healthcare. The more I wrote, the more BSC became about something bigger than myself. The healing/canto poems were all a surprise to me. I discovered beauty and connection and empathy and all the many ways healing brings us to the importance of love.

How has writing and publishing Blood Sugar Canto aided in the emotional healing process?

Writing was difficult, but very necessary. I conquered my fear. I discovered truths I needed to hear—that I still need to hear. Every time I read from BSC, I relearn something essential. Publishing it has been a gift—not just to see the book realized but to be able to share it. Part of my desire to get this book out into as many hands as possible is because I meant this book to begin discussions…on healing, on illness, on the individual and the community, on love and the end of fear, on the piercing fragility and tremendous strength of our bodies.

Readers and audience members have shared such touching and personal stories with me. They’ve asked me questions I don’t think they’ve ever felt able to share with anyone else. What a tremendous gift it is—I wrote because I felt alone. If I can ease any share of that aloneness away from others, then what I went through to write these poems is a price well paid. And that heals me. That makes me stronger. It makes me more able to live my life and strengthen my hope that illness is not all we are.

Does Tejas, specifically Austin, influence your writing?

Tejas is everything. Austin, I’m not sure. In some ways, Austin is too new to me to be directly involved in my writing. I’ve lived here 18 years, but my ancestors didn’t come from here and I have no childhood memories of this place. As a writer though, Austin’s been good to me—I’ve been a member of many writing communities, organized a ton of events here, and have had the space/freedom to explore the kinds of writing I’ve wanted to do.

As for Tejas—it’s in everything I write. In some ways, it’s all I write about. The borderlands I carry within me no matter where I am. The land I’m from—the land my ancestors are from. The roads that I grew upon. My parents were fieldworkers and migrant truck drivers. Every year, we drove and lived and worked in South Texas, in the Corpus Christi area, in the Panhandle and back again. I knew how to draw Texas and how to read a map of Texas before I ever read a book. I’ve lived all but 3 years of my life here. While I’ve been tempted to live in D.C., Chicago, and Albuquerque, I know nothing would ever feel like home the way Texas does. The history, the cultures, the landscapes of Texas inspire me and come up, again and again, in my work.

What else are you working on?irene lara silva 2

A second collection of short stories, tentatively titled, “Songs from the Burning Woman.” I am still discovering what they’re about. They seem to be working on issues like grief and sexuality, art and the body, history and healing the wounds of the conquest. They keep shapeshifting on me, so from one day to the next, I don’t know what new themes and connections are going to appear. But it’s exciting to work on new stories. Fiction is a fascinating way of re-organizing the world, of affirming or ignoring the world’s “rules.” I’m always curious about the idea of ‘liminality’ in art, in time, in relationships between people.

After that collection, I’ll be diving into the novel I’ve been wanting to write for the last ten years.

Other projects are going to take the back burner for a little while. I’m feeling an overwhelming desire right now to concentrate on the writing.

What else should we know about you?

This is something I talk about a lot recently because I think it needs to be said as often as possible. I don’t believe there is any one way to be a writer. There is no one “writer’s life.”

I’m not an academic. I don’t have an MFA. I work two jobs and am a caregiver. I don’t have lots of time or resources or energy for that matter. I can’t travel at will or go to residencies. I don’t have a dedicated writing space. I never spent months in Europe or time travelling in Mexico. I’m not beautiful or glamorous or young. I can’t afford to take time off from work, nor can I afford a job that doesn’t provide healthcare. I live with a chronic illness.

But none of that keeps me from writing. None of those things make me any less of a writer. To be honest, juggling all of that with writing is not easy. Sometimes it’s painfully slow. I wish all the time that I could give more of my day, my concentration, my energy to my writing. I give what I can, and books get written. What I want to tell everyone is that it may be difficult, but it’s possible. Your life doesn’t have to look any specific way. You don’t have to look a certain way. What’s important is your desire to create and your drive to put words on the page and then to get them out to the world.

***For More on ire’ne lara silva, see:


ire’ne lara silva is the author of furia (poetry, Mouthfeel Press, 2010) which received an Honorable Mention for the 2011 International Latino Book Award and flesh to bone (short stories, Aunt Lute Books, 2013) which won the 2013 Premio Aztlan, placed 2nd for the 2014 NACCS Tejas Foco Award for Fiction, and was a finalist for Foreward Review’s Book of the Year Award in Multicultural Fiction. Her most recent collection of poetry, blood sugar canto, was published by Saddle Road Press in January 2016.

ire’ne is the recipient of the 2014 Alfredo Cisneros del Moral Award, the Fiction Finalist for AROHO’s 2013 Gift of Freedom Award, and the 2008 recipient of the Gloria Anzaldua Milagro Award, as well as a Macondo Workshop member and CantoMundo Inaugural Fellow. She and Moises S. L. Lara are currently co-coordinators for the Flor De Nopal Literary Festival.

Artist Profile: Lupe Méndez

Name: Lupe MéndezLupe Mendez

Hometown: Galveston, Tejas

Residence: Houston, Tejas

What is your earliest memory of writing?
I remember writing words on wax paper at my school when I was 5 or 6—I would write the words I knew in Spanish and then the teacher would point out the words in English—and they would post them all over the classroom. The words in Spanish were red and words in English were in black. I remember loving the sound of words as a kid. I don’t think I ever stopped writing.

How does Texas inform your writing?

It is my second home. I don’t even know the whole state, so I can’t say that the whole state informs my writing, but anything along the gulf coast informs my writing. Anything between Galveston to El Paso; The RGV (specifically, San Benito) to Austin informs who and what I write about. There is a spirit that lives along the waters, the cackle of gavilanes, the energy behind hurricanes and their parties that ties me to Texas. The beach, the waves, the salt air, the sight of a storm on the horizon of the water, a night on a jetty with a bottle of brandy, the sand between the cracks of skin, this informs my understanding of Texas. I am a foreigner to Hill Country, I don’t know its mesas, but I know its mesquites, I know its huizaches, I know Tejas. I know the side of the state that reflects the people I can speak with. I know Tejano. I don’t know all the places George Strait sang about, but I know all the corridos he didn’t.

I write in duality not just in language, but a state of mind, a geographical metaphysicality. I am hyper aware of what a bat and a lechuza are and why they are different in Texas and Jalisco. I am an odd representative of both. You tell someone outside of Texas that you are from Texas, they think Austin, or Dallas or Houston—but you say Galveston and they think “WTF?”, you surprise them. Same goes with Mejicanos in Texas, you say, “Soy Mejicano” and most will guess from San Luis Potosi or Monterrey – I say Jalisco, I say Atotonilco El Alto and they say “Qu-Que?”

I think of the poverty I grew up in and I think about the richness of my life and I know, monetarily, I might have been poor, but if I could take you with me, so you can see Los Altos de Jalisco, the way I know then and the beaches of my Galveston, the way they blessed me, then you would know, I am one of richest cabrones you’ve ever known. I write from these two points of view. If I could tell about life through shoes, I own country ass work boots for the cerros and chanclas for the sand.

Tell us about Damas y Caballeros.

Damas y Caballeros came about as the collection of poems under my MFA thesis. It has taken a new turn. I beefed it up. I added myself more to it. I was advised to take things out, to not be too repetitive with images and I did that—but I kept finding works that keep adding to the picture. It is a 4 part collection of how I view women and men. It is the raw relationships that exist. It Is a snapshot of a boy who watched the world whirl by always asking why things happened. It is me paying respects to the men and women in my life, the memory of who they were, of who they are in the world as they exist, because they still exist. One part, the grandest part is “Women”—all the poems here are reverent poems, almost prayers in respect to the image of women. “(Me)n” is about the men and the image of man, self reflective image of masculinity. It is all the elements I derive my masculinity from. “Ellas” is a 10 part poem about the relationships I have been in, up until I got married. “Ellos” are the poems about the intertwined instances of men and women.

At the root of it all, it is about people. There is magic in people, there is truth in struggle and complexity in completing something. These poems are for me humble sacrifice in order to respect what I see in the world. It is 68 pages long. It is fierce and bold and sharp. Read with caution or at least after a shot of brandy or mezcal.

What else are you working on now?

Currently I am working on a few projects. I am working on archiving the Word Around Town Poetry Tour—we just completed 10 years of work, bringing 20+ poets to 7 seven different venues in 7 days. I am working with the Houston Metropolitan Research Center to archive this work.

Next and most dear to my heart is Tintero Projects, a new (old) format for Latinx writing in Houston. It is basically the emerging writer’s arm of Nuestra Palabra: Latino Writers Having Their Say. For brown writers in the Houston-Galveston area, there aren’t any Latino-centric places to write from. There is no place to call home for Latino writing—no venues that host workshops or open mic nights for emerging Latinx writers. I want to change that. Nuestra Palabra started the work and built forward—bringing in established writers to local venues like Talento Bilingue de Houston and then building forward more by establishing the biggest book festivals in Texas under the Latino Book and Family Festival and bringing writers on the air with the current NP radio show on KPFT (Tuesdays at 6p – 90.1FM – PLUG!), but the emerging writer part can always be revisited and that’s what I want to get at. I want to be able to help polish up new writers, set them up for success, get them ready for the time when they will get a bigger spotlight on the NP stage, get them ready for the next platform. Tintero Projects is then, the home of ermerging Latinx writers. With the help of Jasminne Mendez and Dee!colonize we will provide a space for writers to practice craft in safe spaces, in the languages they know best. We will provide open mic nights, workshops and radio opportunities all of the preparation for the big leagues (Nuestra Palabra showcases, radio interviews, writing features, etc.)

As an educator, you are constantly engaging with young people. How do your students inform your activism? Your writing?

They are my pulse. I know the way the world works because of the work I do in my classroom. It sounds cheesy, and real douchie of me to say it, but I always remember a non literary literary quote “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I would morph it a bit—If you want to know strength and the weakness in a nation, in a system, look to the way it treats its prisoners, its students, its elderly. The activism comes from a want and a need to see my students succeed. They go through things that are familiar to me and then there are those that go through things I haven’t even begun to understand. In order to do right by a student, I have to work to prepare the world for their coming up in it. The writing is merely me being a witness to what I go through with them, because I go through this life with my students in mind. To be an educator is to share a life with a child so that they can see your errors and your successes. I write to this in as many different ways as possible.

Can you tell us a little about your writing process?

HA! It’s me when I can’t keep in the words anymore. It’s me between 9pm to 2am writing words or typing them in no total order, all to the sound of acid jazz or house, or bossa nova, or chill step. I edit later, later in the week, later in the month, later in the year, in 3 years, in 10. But I am always writing something.

What books have had the biggest impact on your trajectory?

I would say early on:
Frankinstein – M. Shelly
The Collected Works of E. Allen Poe
Tortuga – Rudolfo Anaya
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee – Dee Brown
Anything by Jose Marti
Loose Woman – Sandra Cisneros
Curandera – Carmen Tafolla
The Sadness of Days – Luis Omar Salinas
The Color Purple – Alice Walker
The Idiot – F. Dostoyevsky
Emplumada – Lorna Dee Cervantes

Recent Influences:
A Tongue in the Mouth of the Dying – L Anne Guerrero
Empire – Xochlitquetzal Calendaria
The Truth is We Are Perfect – Janaka Stucky
When My Brother Was an Aztec – Natalie Diaz
Slow Lighting – E. C. Corral
Borderlands – Gloria Anzaldúa
The Bell Jar & Colossus – Sylvia Plath
The Trouble Ball – Martin Espada
The Book of Light – Lucille Clifton

Who are your writing mentors and heroes?

Pat Telschick (my English high school teacher), Tony Diaz, my wife Jasminne Mendez, Junot Diaz, Tim Hernandez, Sasha Pimentel, Carmen Tafolla, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Martin Espada, Dagoberto Gilb, Raul Salinas, to name a few.

What advice would you give to aspiring artists?

Try, fail, keep trying, your art and your attitude will be the red carpet you will walk on one day.

What would you tell your 18-year-old self?

Don’t freak out so much. You should go check out the big city when you get a chance. You need to go back to New Orleans at least one more time, and get ready—all the studying you did on politics will come in handy one day.

Lupe Mendez 1

And, now James Lipton’s questions from Inside the Actor’s Studio.

What is your favorite word?

In English: advocate

In Spanish: cacahuate

What is your least favorite word?

Hispanic

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Open-mindedness

What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

A know-it-all who does nothing

What sound or noise do you love?

A rainstorm coming in off the ocean

What sound or noise do you hate?

Crying over a death

What is your favorite curse word?

hijo-desu-requete-p**a-madre

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Farmer

What profession would you not like to do?

Fox News personality

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Glad you finally made it, we wouldn’t start the party without you…

***For more on Lupe Mendez, see:

Artist Profile: Jasminne Méndez

J Mendez

While sitting in the Alamo Room at the Sheraton Gunter Hotel in San Antonio last Saturday night, I witnessed something special. As part of the American Literature Association Symposium on Borders and Frontiers in American Literature, my colleague Claire M. Massey and I organized a night of Latin@ poetry featuring local Texas writers Carolina Hinojosa-Cisneros, Jasminne Méndez, Lupe Méndez, and Natalia Treviño. We had originally planned to submit a panel featuring the 4 writers but the conference organizer, Steven Frye, graciously provided us with the coveted closing reception slot.

And while all four poets were superb, I was so moved by Jasminne Méndez’s performance that I immediately became inspired to write about this piece and help spread the word about this powerhouse performance poet, who, according to Tony Díaz “El Librotraficante,” performs in 6-D, or 10-D as I would argue.

Although I’m positive our paths crossed sooner, I first came into contact with Jasminne on the opening night of the 2015 NACCS Tejas Foco when she performed several of her poems. I wanted to meet her afterwards, but she was swarmed by college students buying her book, getting autographs, and taking pictures with la poeta. It would take 6 months for Jasminne and I to meet at a conference in New Orleans (it was a hug situation, not a handshake, if that tells you anything). Since then, we’ve become frequent writing buddies, collaborators, and great friends.

Méndez’s first book, Island of Dreams (Floricanto Press, 2013), uses poetry and memoir to explore themes such as family relationships, multicultural identity in the United States, food, hair, self-discovery, assimilation, and the supposed American Dream. Positioning her writing from the voice of her teenage self, Méndez’s poetry-infused memoir speaks to the difficulty of growing up Afro-Latina in the United States and, ultimately, the protagonist—and the writer—comes to understand the richness and abundance of her cultural identity and history. In the end, she finds a place to call home. Aside from being included in high school and university curriculums across the country, Island of Dreams won the award for Best Young Adult Latino Focused Book at the prestigious Latino Book Awards in 2015.

When I first read Island of Dreams, I recognized the beauty of knowing that Jasminne has become the woman that the teenage narrator of the collection wished she had in her life. This is part of why Jasminne’s work as a teaching artist in Houston-area schools is so important—to have Afro-Latina voices in our schools to inspire young people.  Jasminne is a mentor and a role-model to so many students and aspiring writers.

While her work jumps off the page, Jasminne’s work as a performer truly sets her apart and demonstrates what a singular  talent she is. I’ve witnessed few performance poets who can move me in the way that Méndez does. Need convincing?

***For more on Jasminne Méndez, please see: