Born in Lisboa, Portugal, and raised in Newark, New Jersey, Hugo writes toward questions of diaspora, belonging, and memory. His poetry and fiction illuminate the beauty, complexity, and struggles of the immigrant experience and urban life, while his translations bring contemporary Portuguese literature to English-speaking audiences.
Hugo received a 2026 Fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. He has also been awarded fellowships from The Edward F. Albee Foundation, MacDowell, and the Disquiet International Literary Program. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and appeared in Barrelhouse, Cultural Daily, Electric Literature, Hobart, The Common, The Fanzine, and elsewhere.
Hugo lives in New Jersey.
1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book was a collection of short stories titled Then, there, about my hometown of Newark, NJ. I felt so much responsibility with that book, to capture the essence of that place. It took me about four years to write that book.
My new book, Reduction in Force, is a poetry collection that deals with very different subject matter. On the surface, it’s far from Then, there, but both books are really concerned with identity, belonging, and the systems that shape our lives.
I had an early idea for the structure of Reduction in Force, and the poems kept coming. I wrote them in almost the exact order in which they appear in the book, which is still hard to believe.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Poetry was my first literary language. Before I knew how to tell stories, I was trying to make meaning through images, rhythm, and compression.
In some ways, I think all my projects start out as poems. I think in verse and have some methods I have developed for capturing those early ideas when they emerge. As I keep working on them, sometimes they stay as poems. Other times, they evolve into something else.
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
At first, I don’t really know that I’m working on something that will become a book. It’s just writing. When I find myself coming back to the same idea, I’ll make a note of that though I don’t rush in to define it right away. Longer projects kind of reveal themselves as they begin to take shape.
I am an avid note taker and those are very helpful. My first drafts tend to be explorations. They contain the DNA of the finished piece, but I revise heavily and repeatedly.
4 - Where does a poem or work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Early in a project, I am usually just writing without any kind of pretense about what it will turn into. Those first steps are an opportunity to play and investigate during which I try to find the voice and the story that is inspiring me to write. As I keep working, the play transforms into something more serious. That’s when I start to think about the shape of the project, its structure and form.
Very early on, I realized this new book wanted the architecture of a Greek tragedy. In some ways, that made the writing process easier because I knew what the book was building to. I had a clear vision for where it was going and how it would end. That allowed me to focus on the execution, which was a real treat.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I really enjoy readings and public events because they are an opportunity to build or be in community. I particularly enjoy a number of the local reading and open mic series. I like being able to share my work with a supportive audience, and I love to hear my friends’ work.
For Reduction in Force, I definitely used the open mic series in my town, at the Flemington DIY, to read the poems in a big space. I learned about the poems that way; both about what was and wasn’t working. That was invaluable and I am so indebted to all the good people who are part of that series. I named them in the Acknowledgments section of the book.
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
Each of my books has been an attempt to take on a big question or idea. In Reduction in Force, I ended up writing about the systems we create and the degree to which those systems fail to function in the interest of the individuals within them.
The book started because I wanted to investigate our relationship with work, specifically with corporate work. I was interested in the degree to which those kinds of jobs inform the identity of those individuals who make their living that way.
I have seen a number of those reductions, and I was struck by how they affect both those who are laid off as well as those who keep their jobs and continue in their roles after the fact. One of the ideas at the center of the book is the lie embedded in the phrase It’s just business. Work shapes identity, family life, self-worth, and community. When that relationship is severed, the consequences are deeply personal.
7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
The writer’s first responsibility is to the craft. Beyond that, literature helps us see one another more clearly. I don’t think art needs to be didactic, but I do think it can challenge the stories a culture tells about itself.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I absolutely love working with a good editor. My work is always better for it. Writing can be a solitary act, while publishing is collaborative. A good editor sees both the book you wrote and the book you’re trying to write, then helps close the gap between them.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
To not take any advice. To keep going and find my own way of doing it.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to short stories to translation)? What do you see as the appeal?
I love the freedom to move between genres. It allows me to work in accordance with what the project needs. I also learn valuable lessons in one genre that I can apply in others.
11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
My routine changes from project to project. When I’m deep in a manuscript, I become very goal-oriented and build systems around word counts, deadlines, and milestones. Outside of that, I am constantly taking notes, collecting ideas, and paying attention.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
When I get stuck, I have sometimes taken a break and moved to a different project. Usually, though, and if at all possible, I will try to work on a different aspect of the same project. That allows me to subconsciously work on the problem. Later, when I return to what had me stuck, I am better able to find a solution.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
A big pot on the stove. Garlic and onions sizzling in olive oil. Family gathered around a table.
There’s a line in my book that goes, “I still love meals that stop everything.” And it’s so true.
14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Yes, in addition to books, I am inspired by film and music. In Reduction in Force, I have an epigraph from Frank Ocean: “If it brings me to my knees, it’s a bad religion.” That line was an anchor for me while I was writing the book.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
There are so many: Fernando Pessoa is the writer I return to most often and his work has been a companion through different stages of my life; Katherine Vaz is a writer and person I greatly admire; I love the work of Percival Everett; I adore the poetry of Jane Hirshfield and Aracelis Girmay; poets like Marwa Helal, Vincent Toro, Grisel Y. Acosta, Chiwan Choi, and Peter Murphy; and I am endlessly inspired by the work of colleagues like Marina Carreira, Dimitri Reyes, PaulA Neves, Ysabel Y. Gonzalez, and Toma Zbrizher.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would love to publish a novel.
17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I have a career in educational publishing. I care deeply about literacy and helping young people become readers. Had writing not found me, I suspect I would have gravitated toward work involving books, language, and learning.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I never really had a choice. Writing is how I make sense of the world. I was writing long before I ever thought of publication. It helped me understand experiences, questions, and contradictions that wouldn’t leave me alone.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I
just finished reading all of Claire Keegan’s books. She is an incredible
writer. I was particularly moved by Small Things Like These and Foster,
which is a gorgeous poem of a novel.
I recently watched The Secret Agent and was blown away by its depth and
subtlety.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I have a novel in progress that I’m very excited about. Hopefully you’ll read it one day.
