7 Poetry Collections by Asian American Writers that Define Heart and the Infinite Volta

Photo by Thomas Franke via Unsplash There’s nothing more delicate than a line. In the world of my Triple Sonnets, my lines consist of approximately ten syllables each, mimicking our natural speaking pattern of saying ten syllables and then pausing. I love the tightness of this line—how plot, conceit, and yes, romance , are brought out in a compact yet deliberate space. Romance is a necessity, and because lines are delicate, getting to the point and excising unnecessary words brings us closer to the sincere truth. When a loved one asks me, “What’s in your heart?” I feel closer to them. When seeking out poetry collections, I look for poems full of heart. When I say “heart,” I’m referring to the emotional core that moves the poem forward into volta—or the infinite turns of realization. In my day-to-day life, I often have trouble saying what I mean. I’m constantly telling myself: “Speak from the heart and others will follow suit.” I want to be less self-conscious. I want to be as fearless as I am in my poems. Return of the Chinese Femme , my fifth poetry collection, feels like a true return in many ways. Like its predecessors, Attack of the Fifty-Foot Centerfold and Revenge of the Asian Woman , it’s a return to the B-movie-and-Star-Wars-inspired-grand-gesture-filmic-title. More importantly, Return is a culmination of all the subjects I return to: food, sex, fantasy, pleasure, family, and of course, queer Asian femme identity within these themes. In Chinese culture, eight is the lucky number, because when it’s flipped upside down, it voltas into an infinity symbol. I’m proud to present the following poetry collections by Asian American authors. These collections represent the infinite volta. Feast by Ina Cariño I love opening with a feast, and Ina Cariño’s Feast is a sensory-spellbinding-steamed-rice-in-the-throat collection of tongue and salt. An immediate intimacy, revealing history within the body, is established through food, or in Cariño’s words, “my family dines luxurious—peasant food in crystal bowls: seven thousand six hundred forty-one islands jostling in my soup.” As the speaker’s tongue picks up salt, they further reveal: […]

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