POET | PLAYWRIGHT | TEACHING ARTIST
Standing on the edge of any conversation and then trying to casually take part—a sudden, disconcerting, change of topic: I experience the question “Where are you from?” as roadblock. A reminder. An unintended declaration of, “We know you don’t belong here.” More than that, the question makes me feel diminished:
I remembered handing one full-length script to a director who weighed it in his hand, smiled and said, “You must have put a lot of work into this.” Clearly, he had no intention of reading it. I was never under the delusion that I was the Next Big Thing on the Great White Way, but…
I am not on my way out of the world. I think I see much more of it now than before. I am also far less concerned with how much of the world sees “me”. I am not any more invisible than I was at 20. In fact, I am probably increasingly visible as an…
Poetry is a “made thing”. But it’s not just a pleasant rhyme, not a pretty little story with tidy conflicts and a reassuring resolution. Poetry demands a representation that somehow conveys living consciousness. It’s transcendent of its own artificialness. And it is necessarily awesome, in the sense that it is also tinged with fear; if…
There’s no reason to think that they were among the more interesting of the people living then, the most intelligent, the most clever. But they built the bridge: the object, conduit, magic portal that made this connection. Through some fluke of archaeology, this anonymous bit of humanity endured.