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1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Well, this is my first book, so I can’t compare it to my more recent work, unless I compare it to research articles in biology and paleontology… In that vein though, I would say that Natural History, and the associated award, represent my ability to incorporate my scientific knowledge, expertise, and training into art. While the book, and my poetry more broadly, probably has something of a science influence in the fact that it’s narrative and prosy, it’s a big departure from my science writing in that it brings in human and geopolitical history in a way that my research articles simply can’t. I would say that the ability to probe the links of science and museums to colonialism and slavery—and the uncomfortable questions this entails—is something available to me solely through art. Likewise, using poetry, I can explore perspectives that you would not find in a scientific research article. Of course, the point of view of a near-extinct sea cow would not be found in a research article, but I’m also able to include the subjective experience of field biologists and paleontologists, which usually are not found in research articles but more in field notes or diaries, if anywhere. Ultimately poetry gives me a lens to reflect upon science and museums and my place in these worlds, including in the context of being a Black person in these historically (very) white spaces.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Good question. I think poetry appeals to me because of its compact form and the challenge of encapsulating in a relatively limited space a deeper reflection or what strikes me as a profound experience. Though some of my poems are admittedly quite long! Beyond this, I’m drawn to poetry given its room for acoustic play (e.g., alliteration, rhythm, rhyme) and the brief mis-directions of meaning or fleeting associations that are available through enjambments.
Another point of appeal is that poetry can generate wonder by renewing and reframing (human) experience, and this might easily go hand-in-hand with natural history museums, which are something of houses of wonder for the natural world. Fostering this wonder is largely a function of their exhibitions as well as their collections—of which usually less than 5% are on display in exhibitions in the larger museums. While I think much, if not all, nature/science writing is geared towards creating wonder toward and appreciation of the natural world, in some ways perhaps poetry is predisposed towards this? Another thing to consider is that science starts from a curiosity manifested as questions (which are then developed into hypotheses). Likewise, poems are often anchored in a curiosity which then begets a question. Though science is pursued with the hope of a clear answer/result, the questions raised in poetry may not have a such an answer (though it’s worth noting that scientific studies also do not always reach a definitive answer or result). Perhaps it’s also that, like science, poetry employs image, comparison, and surprise to develop its insights.
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?
Well, Natural History I would say organically grew from a collection of poems written over 10 years. I mean, I wanted to have a book of poetry someday, but there was no grand plan beyond that. After publishing a decent number of poems in literary journals, I then thought about trying to organize those poems into a coherent book. For the most part, each individual poem took years to write on-and-off, and while, from the outset, I had a general idea or concept in mind (e.g., a museum diorama or the relationship between natural history collections and the Transatlantic Slave Trade), the actual shape of the poem came about gradually.
In terms of notes, each poem has its own level of research. For “Natural History, the Curious Institution,” I looked up each species I considered referring to in the poem to see if it was known before 1808, the year the Transatlantic Slave Trade was abolished. After writing a first draft, I then read Marcus Rediker’s book The Slave Ship: a Human History (2007) to see if my understanding and depictions about the reality of being on a slave ship were realistic, and after reading the book, I added a few stanzas. “The Last Sea Cow’s Testimony” was based in large part of Georg Steller’s Beasts of the Sea (1751), the only description of the behaviors of Steller’s sea cows, and to a much lesser extent on Peter Lauridsen’s Vitus Bering: Discoverer of the Bering Strait (1889), which recounted the weather and environment encountered by the crew of the St. Peter. For “Moqueca Chronicle,” I started finding old Brazilian cookbooks online that have moqueca recipes, and I also looked up research articles on the history of the individual ingredients, such as dendê oil, coconut (milk), and turmeric to learn about when, form where, and how they spread around the globe. Of course, other poems required research into other topics. The section Dispatches from Ellesmere would seem to be research heavy, but by and large it’s written from my memories of my time on Ellesmere in summer 2006 and the knowledge I’ve accumulated over my years working in evolutionary biology and paleontology. I did have to do a little brushing up here and there on the exact specifics of the field site/quarry.
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?
My poems always have their start in my interests. Usually, but not always, it comes from a longer interest or from having a longer time to consider a poem or a novel that I’ve read or information I’ve just learned. I would say the poems in the section The Curious Institution were written very much as individual pieces though they all fit a theme. In contrast, the poems in the section Dispatches from Ellesmere were originally conceived together as a suite/sequence of poems. But they were not written in a sequential order. So, I would say that I am not really thinking of a book from the initial stages; I’m working on a suite or sequence at most or just exploring a topic. Though, I would like my next book, if I should be so lucky, to have something of a focus on Black figures within natural history…
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Public readings are not part of my creative process, but I do read my poems out loud as I work on them. I have to confess that I’m always a little nervous before a reading, but I do in fact like reading very much. I definitely like it much more than giving a research talk. I think this stems from the fact that in research talks, I have figures to help illustrate whatever I’m talking about and maybe also that the talk is just an introduction to what is presented more deeply in a (coming) paper. For a poetry reading, aside from a photo or an illustration of an animal, I don’t really have visual aids. So, the poem relies upon me and my voice in a way that a research talk doesn’t. I would also say that since my poems can often present perspectives not so front-and-center in science and museums, such as reflections on the Black experience in natural history, it gives me a bit more of an urge to read my work and share these perspectives.
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?
Hmm. I am not sure what a theoretical concern would be exactly… But a general concern that I have in my writing is exploring and acknowledging hidden histories or overlooked perspectives. I don’t know if I am answering questions in my poetry; is it even possible for me to answer questions with my poetry? What is more an issue for me is to raise uncomfortable questions and try to create a space for the reader to reflect upon those questions and come to their own conclusions. Of course, I present my own opinions and outlook in my poems, but I hope I leave the reader the space to agree or disagree with me after considering my work.
In the museum sphere, which is basically where I’ve been the last two decades, the big question is how do museums acknowledge and, if possible, redress their colonial origins. This is a topic that concerns natural history, art, and ethnographic museums if not other kinds of museums as well. Despite being critical of museums, I still love them, and I think they are a great benefit to society as they are houses of wonder. However, it has to be addressed that this wonder on exhibition and in the collections is often also an expression of imperial reach and influence, as well as a showcase of colonial possessions. We should therefore ask by what paths did the museum’s possessions come to them. If a country has little to none of its own heritage—cultural or natural—on its soil, is there a responsibility to return at least some of its tangible heritage so its own citizens can enjoy, appreciate, and reconnect with their heritage? We can also ask how do museums recognize and move to include perspectives that have long been dismissed or ignored regarding their exhibited objects and collections? Moreover, how do these institutions recognize and restore the dignity of peoples that have been exoticized and made “the other” in exhibitions and collections? Do these “others” get a say in how their own histories, beliefs, and customs are shared with a public often far removed both geographically and culturally from their own countries and communities? In recognizing the dignity and humanity of these exoticized peoples, is there a way to establish new relationships built on mutual respect going forward? Given that biodiversity loss and climate change are threats of a truly global scope, these questions of how to reimagine and build better relationships between the Global South and North are actually paramount, and I think museums and what they represent and hold have to be part of these repair efforts.
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?
I think the roles of writers in society are many and diverse, and include but are not limited to giving readers a space to remember, learn, escape, or imagine the future. However, in my writing, I try to ask uneasy questions to provoke thought, in particular on how colonialism and slavery have been involved in knowledge production as it relates to the natural world. Part of this effort is to show how these inhumane systems are entrenched in aspects of society that most people probably don’t associate with such systems. The other role of my writing is to generate wonder toward the natural world, or really it’s to share my own wonder, while also delving into how humanity has often mistreated the natural world. But, stepping back from my own motivations, perhaps the greatest thing a writer can do, or one of the greatest things, is getting the reader to consider perspectives and lived realities outside of their own and to imagine new futures. In addition to this, I would say giving readers a space to feel seen and heard in the experiences conveyed in writing is a major role of the writer—I’ve been told by a few Black colleagues working museums and paleontology that some of my poems serve such a function for them.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
So far, I’ve found it extremely rewarding. My editor at Graywolf was a close reader but maintained a light hand throughout the process of editing Natural History into its final form. The few times I’ve worked with editors at literary magazines to edit poems, I must admit that sometimes I’ve been initially reluctant or stubborn…ultimately, though, those have also been great experiences that helped improve the work; I just first needed a little time to sit with their comments and reflect on them.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
This is a hard question to answer… I do take people’s advice, but it’s hard to recall good advice when faced with this question… Recently, I was told to not worry about a problem that has not actually occurred yet for a situation that may not even play out as I’m anticipating. I think that was great advice given that situation. Another piece of advice I received from Ray Bradbury’s Zen and the Art of Writing-and that’s to expect a lot of rejections when starting out as a writer.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to science writing)? What do you see as the appeal?
Poetry gives me a liberty of expression and linguistic creativity that I cannot find when writing research articles. In writing science articles, the language is precise but, for me, staid, as you should use English that’s understandable to non-native speakers who may not be familiar with idioms, turns of phrase, adages, etc. that’s common knowledge for native speakers. In poetry, I can activate language to make the subject of a poem and the experience of reading it more engaging.
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 don’t have a set routine. I try to make time to write if not every day, then every other day, usually in the evenings and into the night. On the weekends, I might spend the whole day writing, depending on how many ideas I’m having or if my gut tells me I’m on to something. I also might write while on the train to work or when out and about in the city, stopping in a café or, more rarely, a park. Before the pandemic, I used to write a lot in cafes and bars, if not too crowded (i.e., loud). These days I still write in cafes, but I tend to write more at home. If I am on vacation in a different city, then my time is spent between exploring the city on foot and then popping into cafes to write. Also, when on vacation, I turn into a real night owl of a writer.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Oh, I just read. It’s hard to say. I don’t necessarily return to a book previously read or an old favorite, sometimes I read something totally new to me. Sometimes though, when I’m stuck, I get a hunch that a particular writer or poem might have an “answer” for me. It’s not a matter of cribbing their diction, syntax, or style—it’s more something about what their own eye as a writer might unlock for me or help me to see more clearly in my own work.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Uh, I’m not sure what to answer here. The smell of boiled crawfish absolutely reminds me of Louisiana. But aside from having boiled crawfish in 2024, I think the last time I smelled (or ate!) that was maybe 2008? Outside of that, it’s really hard to say what smell reminds me of home… Sorry that I can’t give you a better answer here.
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?
Well, with the whole natural history thing, nature, museums, and science greatly influence my work. With regards to science, it’s the fields of zoology, vertebrate paleontology, evolutionary biology, and (vertebrate) morphology. Though locomotion and biomechanics (i.e., how the laws of physics apply to biological structures, such as bones and shells, teeth and tendons, etc.) are the main focus of my research, I feel they don’t specifically appear so much in my poems. Most of my research focuses on mammals, and to a lesser degree dinosaurs, so a lot of the creatures that appear in my work are mammals and extinct animals.
I do listen to music a fair amount when I write, but my tastes are really varied, going from Sharon Van Etten, to Yasiin Bey (a.k.a. Mos Def), to John Coltrane, to Yoko Kanno… It just depends on my mood.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Hmm. I would say James Baldwin, in particular No Name in the Street and The Fire Next Time, though greatly I admire all of his work. In a similar vein, Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s Silencing the Past, as well as Sven Lundqvist’s Exterminate All the Brutes. And I’m still mulling over Isabel Wilkerson’s Caste, Howard French’s Born in Blackness, and Kathleen Murphy’s Captivity’s Collections. With regards to poets, Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Gary Snyder, Wisława Szymborska, Sterling Brown, Paul Celan, Betti Alver, and William Carlos Williams, have all had some influence upon individual poems. Additionally, the poets Robert Hayden, Natasha Trethewey, Gwendolyn Brooks, Audre Lorde, Eavan Boland, Miroslav Holub, and Walt Whitman are all important for my sensibility as a poet. Individual collections of poetry I greatly admire include Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey, Significant Other by Isabel Galleymore, Olio by Tyehimba Jess, Approaching Ice by Elizabeth Bradfield, and A Responsibility to Awe by Rebecca Elson. Though I’ve read them only recently, Buffalo Dance and Issac Murphy: I Dedicate This Ride by Frank X. Walker to me exemplify how to portray the lives of historical figures through poetry, which is something I suspect is going to become increasingly important for my work. A book seminal for early development as a poet was Edward Hirsch’s Poet’s Choice, because it provided me a global scope of poetry. After moving to Europe, I started to read out of curiosity the national epics of different countries I visited, including Estonia’s Kalevipoeg, Finland’s Kalevala, Czechia’s Maj, Poland’s Pan Tadeusz, and Georgia’s The Knight in the Panther’s Skin. Speaking of epics, I have to say that the Odyssey, the Iliad, and the Argonautica have influenced me, as well as Theogony and the Bibliotheca, just because I have been into Greek mythology, as well as mythology in general, going back to the third grade. Perhaps reading these epics has lent some of my poems an “epic” air, something reinforced as well by works like Omeros and “The Schooner Flight” by Derek Walcott, Poema de Chile by Gabriela Mistral, and The Heights of Machu Picchu by Pablo Neruda (though it’s been a long time since I read them). As to novels, I am partial to works that offer new perspectives on older works or well-known literary figures, such as Circe by Madeline Miller, The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker, and James by Percival Everett. I could keep going on about books, but I’ll just end it here.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Oh, that would be translation. I have a read a fairly small selection of poems that I’ve found here and there by the Estonian poet Betti Alver (about enough for a large chapbook, I guess), and I’ve read book-length selections of poems by Carlos Drummond de Andrade. I greatly enjoy their work, so I’d like to translate both into English: on trips to Estonia and Brazil, I’ve bought copies of their complete poems in their native languages. However, I don’t know when I’d have time to become fluent in reading and understanding both Estonian and Brazilian Portuguese, as these are radically different languages, and my German could still stand to improve, which is a bit higher priority, as I live in Germany.
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?
Well, I kinda have two careers already: biology and poetry. However, I am really keen to get more involved in discussions on how to reimagine museums in terms of pulling in outside perspectives and voices that have been ignored or hidden away, especially in terms of peoples and cultures that have been exoticized (i.e., “othered”) among the museum’s exhibitions and collections. This desire comes from being a Black person in the very white space of natural history museums and trying to bring to light hidden and ignored histories in the museum and research spheres. Things are changing, but when I was a graduate student an awareness of the history of science, at least as it pertains to colonialism and slavery and other systems of exploitation and oppression, was not part of your training as a scientist. So, I’d like to work to correct this. This desire is why I’m drawn to write poems about the historical dependence, to differing degrees, of natural history and museums upon colonialism and slavery. It’s also why I accepted some years ago an invitation to become part of the organizing team for TheMuseumsLab, a joint learning and fellowship program that brings together and African and European heritage and museum professionals to discuss the influence and legacy of colonialism in the museum and heritage sphere as well as to reimagine what a museum can and should be in the 21st century.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I would say it’s that I feel most comfortable expressing myself in the written word, after longer and (hopefully) deeper thought, after consideration and reflection. Sometimes people read strong emotions in some of my poems and are surprised to see that I tend to be pretty mellow in person. The mismatch arises from my thoughts and feelings becoming clearer in the process and reflection that is writing much more so than in speaking. Don’t ask me why.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I would say the last great film I watched was The Empty Grave (Das Leere Grab), an incredibly moving documentary about how the taking of human remains for museum collections in colonial times still affects communities today. Another would be the documentary Free Money, which points a spotlight at financial experimentation using communities in Kenya and the consequences for those communities and the people in them.
In terms of books, it’s not possible to narrow it down to one or two. In terms of history books, it has to be Born in Blackness: Africa, Africans, and the Making of the Modern World, 1471 to the Second World War by Howard French—a dense read (I wish I had taken notes while reading it), but one both staggering and enlightening. In terms of poetry, I would say it’s Tariro Ndoro’s Agringada: Like a Gringa, Like a Foreigner and Okwudili Nebeolisa’s Terminal Maladies. For novels, it’s The Trees by Percival Everett and The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. And among general non-fiction books, Range by David Epstein full of insights into being multidisciplinary.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I am working on poems that look at Black historical figures within natural history. I am also undertaking a book on Black knowledge in natural history museums and how it’s been appropriated, excluded, and manufactured from Black bodies. Additionally, I am collaborating on a paper that calls for the need to recognize the ties of natural history museums to colonialism and slavery. The paper suggests ways to raise further awareness of this topic in addition to offering means to attempt some form of redress. Beyond that, I’m also working on a research article on the muscle anatomy of mustelid mammals (i.e., weasels, otters, martens, polecats, and some badgers). So, yea, I guess everything revolves around natural history for the foreseeable future.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
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