Dear readers of this here Harriet blog,
Well, looks like my time here has come to a close. It’s been interesting watching you all anonymously thumbs up and thumbs down one another. In all seriousness, thank you for reading my posts, and allowing me to introduce you all to some poets, poetry, and indie presses which may not have otherwise blipped on your radar.
I will be posting here every now and then; there have been books sitting in my growing “to review” stack, and I do mean to say a few things about a couple of them, namely these two:
INCANTATIONS: Songs, Spells and Images by Mayan Women by Xpetra Ernandes / Xalik Guzmán Bakbolom / Ambar Past (Cinco Puntos Press, 2009).
KILLING KANOKO: SELECTED POEMS OF HIROMI ITO Translated from the Japanese by Jeffrey Angles (Action Books, 2009). You can read more about Ito here).
And this brings me to my question: how do you write about translated poetic work when you don’t read the original language, and when the original language is not included with the translated text (you know, like when you read Lorca, and the original Spanish is included on the facing page)?
That said, it’s back to my own cozy blog for me. Do come and have conversations with me there.
Many thanks to Brent E. Beltrán and Consuelo Manríquez de Beltrán of Calaca Press, Patrick Durgin of Kenning Editions, and Willie Perdomo of Cypher Books for their responses to my indie publishing questions.
I know my current series of posts (#1 | #2) on indie publishing isn’t garnering heaps of Harriet comments, which is fine, because I do know these posts are generating good conversation, and that others about small presses and independent publishing are happening elsewhere in poet e-world.
Over at HTMLGIANT, Rauan Klassnik asks, “What’s Right and What’s Wrong with the Small Press World?” Read responses from Reb Livingston and Justin Marks.
Regarding my previous post on indie publishing, Glen has commented, “In some ways I feel like there’s too much poetry being published right now and not enough filtering, so it’s interesting to hear from people who feel the opposite.” To this, I’ve responded that his question “leads to the question of filtering, the criteria for filtering, and who determines the criteria for filtering.”
That said, thank you to Johannes Göransson and Joyelle McSweeney of Action Books, Craig Santos Perez and Jennifer Reimer of Achiote Press, and Susan Schultz of Tinfish Press for answering my questions about indie publishing.
Question: Why did you start your small press/why did you become an independent publisher? What need was not being met by the existing presses?
Thank you to Eileen Tabios, Francisco Aragón, Reb Livingston, and Rusty Morrison, for answering a couple of very broad questions regarding indie publishing for me. Below are their responses.
Question: Why did you start your small press/why did you become an independent publisher? What need was not being met by the existing presses?

Rachel McKibbens’s lovely and serrated debut collection, Pink Elephant (Cypher Books), reminds us why poetry as testimony is so necessary. Ex-punk rock chola and mother of five, 2009 Women’s Individual World Poetry Slam champion Rachel McKibbens writes about abandonment and abuse in stark, startling language and well-wrought fable, delivered in well-paced lines, laying bare the history of a woman who’s “fed [her] body to the hungry for years.”
Last weekend, I participated in a spectacle of a Filipino American History event at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco, where, for the entire day, admission was free courtesy of Target Stores. Interesting, this corporate support of an otherwise invisible but ubiquitous population and our obscure commemorative month. In the noisy museum lobby, a four-hour literary reading took place, and amid the bustle, Tony Robles handed me his chapbook of poems and short stories, Filipino Building Maintenance Company. I have known Tony for over a decade now, during which our paths have crossed all over the San Francisco Bay Area Asian and Filipino American literary scenes, from City Lights Books to Kearny Street Workshop to Eastwind Books, from UC Berkeley to Poetry Mission in the back room of the Dalva on 16th and Valencia.
[Tony Robles at POOR Magazine's Take Back the Land Ceremony/Eviction Protest, August 2008. Photo by Jen Fogg.]
Some of you may know Tony as Anthony D. Robles, author of the children’s books Lakas and the Manilatown Fish (2003), and Lakas and the Makibaka Hotel (2006), both published by Children’s Book Press, and both telling the story of the Filipino American boy named Lakas, who becomes policitized as he learns the San Francisco of his elders, the Manongs, Filipino American West Coast laborers during the first half of the last century. Some of you may know Tony as the nephew of the late luminary Manong Al Robles, and indeed, Tony counts Manong Al as one of his greatest influences in literature and in life. Tony is also the co-editor of Poor Magazine, a “literary, visual arts based community organization founded by a previously homeless, currently at-risk, mother daughter team,” and “which provides vocational training, creative arts and literacy education, new and multi-media access to very low and no income adults and children in the Bay Area, with the goal of deconstructing the margins of class and race oppression.”
[Hi all, I have invited the super prolific poet and reviewer Craig Santos Perez to guest post here. Below is his review of Tara Betts's just released first collection of poems, Arc & Hue.]
Arc & Hue (Willow Books, 2009)
by Tara Betts
90 pp. $15, paper. ISBN: 978-0-9819208-7-0.
review by Craig Santos Perez
The title poem of Tara Betts’s debut collection, Arc & Hue (Willow Books, 2009), describes the speaker, her brother, and their nephew sketching on the sidewalk with the dust from colored chalk. The speaker wonders “if joy comes in small plastic / buckets” as each palm of their hands glows with “deliberate lines rubbed / away with moist and breeze.” Amidst this wonderment about the fragile presence of joy, the poem ends with the speaker noting that her nephew “will not notice how quickly arc and hue / crafted, turns to dust” (24).

Throughout this debut collection, Betts sketches poignant narrative moments that highlight themes of family, home, ethnicity, violence, love, and joy. In “The Birth, Then Roses,” the speaker imagines her father standing in a hospital doorway with a bouquet of red roses during her birth. The speaker muses:
How each red silky slip of slower body must have
brushed against my mother’s face. Heavy sugar
to claim the carriage and birth,
not enough to coat pricks to come.
How the fists and philandering were unexpected.
How much sweeter it felt to hear the name
of her first child, a daughter, pulling away,
out of her, pushing a path into chaos that begins
them both.
My mother needed more than petals. (19)

Photo by Pedro Portal
Adrian Castro’s latest collection, Handling Destiny (Coffee House, 2009), includes the poem, “Itutu Sankófa 2003,” written for the memory of the Afro-Cuban jazz percussionist Ramon “Mongo” Santamaria. In this poem, Castro writes, “You keep flying forward / Sankófa-like / looking back into history at us / your people.” This Sankófa, the “bird who flies while looking at history,” is the heart of his poetics.
[R. Zamora Linmark: Photographed by Roger Erickson in Los Angeles. From Out Magazine.]
I wanted to say a few things about R. Zamora Linmark’s energetic collection The Evolution of a Sigh (Hanging Loose Press, 2008) which I’ve read and reread, and which had me cracking up at some of what I enjoy best in Linmark’s work; he mines and dredges that space between languages and all of the weirdness of that space, which facilitates communication and miscommunication. As in his first book, one of my favorites, the novel Rolling the R’s, he writes unapologetically from a place of historically and culturally misused English. This misuse leads to the creation of new sets of definitions, as in the first stanza of “Surviving the Post-American Tropics”:
Hello all. So I’ve neglected to mention that I co-curate (with poet and editor Edwin Lozada) and host a monthly reading series in San Francisco, for a lovely non-profit organization called the Philippine American Writers and Artists, Inc. (I am not too thrilled with the “Inc.” part of the name, but the organization itself is very good). For those of you not in the know, the Filipino American artist community in the SF Bay Area majorly overlaps with our activist community. Many of our organizations are homegrown, and have formed completely outside of academic and institutional settings. Poetry for us happens in community centers’ storytelling circles, and the best publicity is word of mouth.
These community centers are multi-disciplinary and multi-purpose spaces. Musical and theater performances, art exhibits, and literary readings take place in the same spaces as meetings to organize political demonstrations for Filipino WWII Veterans’ benefits, and for the tenant rights of this gentrified city’s low income Asian elderly. A couple of our activist and artist hot spots are South of Market (SoMa) and the new I-Hotel rebuilt in our former Manilatown, wedged between the Financial District, Chinatown, and North Beach.
And always, as with most Filipino gatherings, there’s food, and lots of enthusiastic picture taking. The vibe in the place becomes nothing like monotone automaton reading from behind a podium, eyes glaze over literary event; it’s more like a Philippine palengke, or bustling marketplace.
Anselm Berrigan
Abigail Deutsch
Tonya Foster
Melissa Friedling
John S. O'Connor
Barbara Jane Reyes
Amber Tamblyn
Edwin Torres
Cathy Halley
Michael Marcinkowski
Travis Nichols
Fred Sasaki
Don Share
Señor Smith to you. (1)
Vladimir, Ron, and Gregori (4)
dubious poetry: the palin comparison (3)
To Vaya in the Viva of Time (2)
Indie Publishing: Two Questions, Many More... (5)
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