Ko Ko Thett, Bamboophobia

  

People in the picture

She who is in the centre of a group photo always smiles miles
higher than those around her

Only when you are in the centre of a group picture you smile
like she who is in the centre of a group picture.

That explains the gravitational pull of the centre. The more
people from the margin push towards the centre the more the
centre loses centrality. 

No lens of history is inclusive enough to keep everyone in the
picture. An extremely long shot is necessarily if everyone wants
to be in the picture.

In an extremely long shot people resemble matchsticks.
Matchsticks think everyone is the centre.

In any group photo, people’s shadows can be seen inclining
towards the centre. Knowingly or unknowingly people tend
to move towards what they believe is the centre. 

In so doing—

they move history with them.

Comprised as “a collection of new and selected poems published in the 2010s, including over a dozen poems presented in the original Burmese” alongside translations by the author is Burmese-born poet Ko Ko Thett’s latest collection, Bamboophobia (Brookline MA: Zephyr Press, 2022). I was immediately struck by the deceptive quality of his lines, a lyric of multiple, overlapping layers presenting itself as being straightforward, but is so clearly not. Thett writes an interesting combination of direct and slant on endurance, trauma, exile and the physical and metaphysical, presenting the familiar in a way difficult to articulate: both tangible and intangible, allowing an effect of lyric smoke, cloud and pure light. “It’s a monsoon.” he writes, to open “A very special day.” “The sun is out. The sky is blue. // But for the better weather, today is no different than any / other monsoon day. today is the first waning day of the / moon. No bank holiday. // There have been several misunderstandings surrounding / today in history. What has been sacrificed? To what end? // Crazy is not nearly insane. Spot on is off the mark.” There is a particular clarity that Thett manages, to write just below the surface of the immediate moment, and of his surroundings and internal monologue, glancing off references as a way to assemble a portrait of resistance: as an articulate, empathetic and thinking human being. “It’s no coincidence that snake venom is packed with its own / counteragent.” he writes, to open the poem “The Ouroborous.” “Snakes are reptiles of repentance.”

 

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Fiona Sze-Lorrain

Fiona Sze-Lorrain writes and translates in English, French, and Chinese.  She is the author of two books of poetry, My Funeral Gondola (Manoa Books/El Léon, 2013) and Water the Moon (Marick, 2010), as well as several volumes of translation of contemporary Chinese and American poets (Zephyr Press and Vif Éditions).  She lives in France, and works as an editor and zheng harpist.

www.fionasze.com

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 work is modest.  To some extent, my debut book, Water the Moon, changes the course of my writing.  The second, My Funeral Gondola, is of a different aesthetic — and experience.  My editor and co-publisher from Manoa Books, Frank Stewart has been very much present when it comes to assuming its making.

2.  How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
By accident.

I was working on non-fiction pieces for some years before poems happened. 

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?

It is a slow process.  Drafts are private.

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?

A poem begins with a failure of sorts.  It speaks to me when I can feel its pulse.  I don’t write with a “book” in mind.  It’d empower presentation and result more than the intimacy of writing.

5.  Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?  Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I find readings meaningful when they resist becoming an outward performance / role-playing.  Or something that one does just to sell books or be seen in the literary community.  In short, I prefer readings that serve as a form of dialogue, with a precise social context to relate to.

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?

I couldn’t help but think of Bialoszewski:

    First I went down to the store
    by means of the stairs,
    just imagine it,
    by means of the stairs.

    Then people known to people unknown
    passed me by and I passed them by.
    Regret
    that you did not see
    how people walk,
    regret!

8.  Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

More essential than difficult.

9.  What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Not sure if this is the “best,” or an “advice” — Begin from where you are.

10.  How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to translation)?  What do you see as the appeal?

Difficult.  Appeal: to be immersed in another landscape.

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 write every day, but I work on the harp every day.  I also write letters. 

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

Bach.

13.  What fragrance reminds you of home?

My grandmother’s herbal soup.

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, most, if not all, of what you’ve mentioned: botany, music, and visual art. 

15.  What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Homer, Montaigne, Proust, Tolkien, Blixen, Rilke…

16.  What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Magic. 

17.  If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be?
Fencing.

18.  What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I don’t know.

19.  What was the last great book you read?  What was the last great film?

I’m unsure about “great”…  but am happy to recommend Marcel Carné’s Les Enfants du paradis (1945), and Steve McQueen’s Hunger (2008).  Recently, I re-read a few of Jane Austen’s novels.

20.  What are you currently working on?
Phytotherapy and organic desserts.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;