Sunday, March 14, 2021

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Barbara Chung

Barbara Chung grew up in California as the daughter of Korean immigrants and studied at Harvard University and University of California, Los Angeles. Sunlight is her debut poetry collection, published October 2020. Her poems meditate on the sweetness and mystery of life and how to move lovingly through a world that is often not so. When not writing or dreaming, she works as a strategic advisor to food and beverage companies. She lives in Santa Monica, California.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Sunlight kept me alive. I can't imagine--don't want to imagine--what 2020 would have been like without it. Sunlight is a collection of poems about the hidden magic in life’s day-to-day moments and the joy of being alive even in a deeply troubled world. I started writing Sunlight last fall [2019] but stopped when quarantine began, too bewildered and afraid to find words. I finally drafted a new poem as March ended. Most of Sunlight followed after, some poems arriving almost fully formed and others needing months of wrestling to finish. I’m grateful for them all, for the ideas and words that wouldn’t let me go even when I couldn’t reach for them. Writing these poems helped me safeguard my light during this dark time, and I hope they do the same for their readers.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
As a reader, I've always loved poetry. My undergraduate studies at Harvard focused on Renaissance poets, and I wrote my thesis on John Donne's Holy Sonnets. I love the music of poetry and the exploration of moments that translate into greater meaning and shared feeling.

As a writer, when I first felt the desire to write poetry, I was...worried. I believe it's easy to write bad poetry and not realize that it's bad. Yes, that's true of prose too, but somehow it's even easier with poetry. So how would I know if I was writing something good?

Still, the desire wouldn't let go of me, and as I reflected on the ideas I was keen to write about, I realized most were better suited to poetry than prose. So I began writing poems while reading as much advice as I could find from poets I admire. Not so much as a "how to," but more as a way to hold myself accountable, to make sure I was asking myself the hard questions during the process. I know beta readers and editors do this too, but I also believe if you put garbage in, you get garbage out, and I didn't want to start with garbage. Life is too short to make garbage.
 
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?
I write most poems by hand before typing final or almost-final versions. In all, I filled 688 notebook pages to create Sunlight's 39 poems. Some poems show up almost finished, others take longer. That said, the almost-finished poems are born from long periods of reflection on their themes, reflection that shapes ideas and insights which eventually find expression in poetry. The poems that take more work also come from long periods of reflection, but that reflection happens with pen and paper and so it looks like those poems take longer to write. I also read my poems out loud as I work on them, listening for music in the words and reworking the poems to amplify that music.

4 - Where does a poem 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?
Poems happen when the experience of my senses pierces my soul. These experiences can happen anywhere, unbidden--on a neighborhood walk, eating a cookie, visiting a hospital. As an example of a sensory, soul-piercing experience: I've been volunteering for a year in a non-profit nursery where we grow native plants for Southern California habitat restoration. Among other things, I help grow oak saplings from acorns. I've learned the sound of water falling on the saplings' leaves changes as they grow. Water drops on younger leaves sound softer, muted. But as the saplings mature and their leaves toughen up, the texture of the sound changes, becoming somehow firmer and sturdier, more patter than pitter. The first time I heard the texture of the sound change--wow. The trees found a way to speak, to say they were almost ready to go in the ground. That sound, that change, that pierced my soul.

Moments like these, whether they bring wonder, joy, or grief, are the beginnings of my poems. I keep a field notebook to jot down these moments as they happen. In turn, the field notes often become free writing prompts, and the free writing evolves into poems. As for Sunlight, I found that its individual poems had something more to say together and worked with them to figure out how best to arrange them to speak that shared message.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Since I released my first book during the Covid-19 pandemic, I haven't had the opportunity to do public in-person readings. I would love to do that post-pandemic. I've always enjoyed public speaking. I love crafting a narrative, taking the audience on a journey, and getting the chance to engage with them as we go on that journey together. I’ve marveled at how readers find meaning in my poems in ways I never imagined. It’s as if they rewrite the poems to be their own, to live within themselves. I love this and I'd love to hear their thoughts in real life, in person.
 
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?
I believe writing is most powerful when it's most personal, shared in a way that it becomes universal. This personal aspect has challenged me because I'm a deeply private person. Writing has made me open up and share my heart more willingly with others. It's good for me...and it's been hard. To push myself on this journey, I've steered clear of theoretical concerns because I could easily dive into those to escape the personal and hide from my readers. That would be more comfortable in the short run, but I wouldn't grow or make worthwhile art. Perhaps someday I can hold the theoretical in balance with the personal, but for now I need to challenge myself by focusing mostly on the personal aspect of my work.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Writers all have their unique callings. My calling with Sunlight was to celebrate beauty in life as a worthy end for its own sake and as a means of survival, perseverance, and transformation. To create beauty, to celebrate it, to encourage others to seek it--this is powerful and loving in a culture that so often defines power in a darker way.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
A writer must know in her heart what she needs to say. An outside editor can help the writer face that honestly and truthfully, and this is both difficult and essential. Having been an editor as well as a writer, I find the most effective collaborations happen when the writer knows what she needs to say and why, even if she needs help figuring out how best to express it. If the writer doesn't have that clarity...well, I'll reiterate what I said about garbage in, garbage out.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Writing advice: Read your work out loud. If it's garbled when you speak it, silence won't improve it.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to essays)? What do you see as the appeal?
As long as I'm working in the right form for what I need to say, I find that I can move between poetry and essays easily. I get into trouble if I'm trying to say in a poem what belongs in an essay, or vice versa though I'm less likely to make that error since I'll probably try a poem first.

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?
I write almost every day, normally in the evening. Usually I dedicate daylight hours to work other than writing, e.g., business clients, gardening, volunteering. I've found that my writing often flows best after doing something different for a while, whether it's analytical work with clients or physical work like gardening.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I'm comfortable with some periods of not writing in an obviously productive way. There are phases in my life when I'm absorbing experiences--reading, working, exploring outdoors--other phases when I'm reflecting intensely on what I've absorbed, and then phases when I'm writing recognizable pieces. I need to absorb and reflect in order to write. That said, I'm free writing through all the phases, and I often mine material from those free writes when I dig back through them.

Apart from these three phases, sometimes my writing stalls because I haven't dealt with something personal that I need to handle, whether it's unacknowledged grief, suppressed guilt, or something else I haven't brought into the light. I've found the only answer in these moments is to be honest with myself and others, acknowledge that difficulty, and let grace breathe.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
California sagebrush, also known by the scientific name Artemisia californica, a name that brings together my favorite Greek goddess and my beloved home state. It's delicate, sharp, haunting, with silvery leaves that evoke its moon deity namesake. I've breathed it in so deeply that I can call it forth from memory at will and transport myself to chaparral or coastal mountains, no matter where I am.

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?
Relationships. The interconnectedness of everything and everyone we share this world with, whether plant, animal, or human; the ways in which our history and future weave together in the present moment; the bonds between the ordinary and the transcendent that make them one even though we sometimes draw false distinctions between them; and the role of personal love and the beauty it creates in a world that sorely needs it.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
There are so many wonderful contemporary poets who inspire me--Clint Smith, Ellen Bass, Aracelis Girmay, Joy Harjo, Ilya Kaminsky--I could go on and on. I also find the Renaissance poets I studied in college continue to help me as a writer. One little trick I've learned when struggling with poems: if I try turning them into sonnets, that always helps me push through even if the poems don't finish as sonnets. Something magical about that 14-line structure.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I really have to think about this one. I try to live like I only have one year left and that's served me well. Sometimes I dream of a tiny house in the mountains with piles of books and a wood-burning stove.

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 can't imagine not writing. I'm fortunate to have another occupation I enjoy, my business work, and to volunteer doing habitat restoration work that I love too. I've also volunteered as a therapy dog handler, visiting patients in hospitals with my golden retriever Ella when she was alive, and we loved that. I like doing a lot of different things!

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Writing is one of my careers. I also work with businesses in food, beverage, and wine, helping them plan and achieve their long-term strategies. I find business work is a good balance to writing work. In fact, the days when I'm busiest with clients often turn into the nights when I'm writing most fluidly. Something about being goal-oriented and analytical for hours at a time lets my creative mind work quietly under the surface until it spills forth.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Clint Smith's Counting Descent is the best book I've read this year. I first read it in March after hearing him do an Instagram Live reading, a reading that was the first moment in my quarantine as beautiful as the time before. I keep returning to the collection and have bought copies for friends too. He's donating 100% of royalties from 2020 sales of Counting Descent to the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth (CFSY). The United States, much to my shame, is the only country that formally sentences children to life without the possibility of parole. To quote Dr. Smith, "CFSY supports formerly incarcerated youth as they reenter society and is working to abolish life sentences for children." I'd gift this book regardless, it's stunning, but I'm all the more happy to do so to support this cause. As a poet, reading Counting Descent makes me want to write the best poems I possibly can. I don't know if I can write something with that much power and grace, but it makes me feel I have to try.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I have several non-writing projects going on, but as for writing, my field notebook continues to fill up with ideas and I see those becoming another poetry collection someday. I'm focused on making the most of these last two months of 2020, whether I'm writing, helping friends and clients, or growing and planting trees for our local mountains. It's been a turbulent year, and I don't know what 2021 holds in store. But I want to know I made the most of every minute of this year and this life while I still could.

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