Writer Feature: Karen Zhou January 23, 2014 • echolocationmag
As part of the launch of our new website, we’re bring you a new post each Thursday featuring a story or poem from a past print issue, published for the first time on the web! Some of these posts will feature brief chats with the writers so you can get to know them better, or an introduction by one of our editors, letting you peek inside the minds of our editorial board, explaining a bit about what we love and why. Today we're chatting with poet and editor Karen Zhou whose poem series "i n t e r a c" appeared in our most recent issue and is here re-printed for your enjoyment. Hi Karen! Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself to our readers? Entering the English speaking world on the cusp of puberty has given me a certain anoniminty. I am everyone and no one. My views are not rooted in a strictly North American viewpoint, but are the fruit of a youth spent roaming the globe via the web. I am comforted by this liberty in that my identity Is not pinned down. I'm defined by my cultural orphanage, but I mean that in a good way. My parents really encouraged me to try anything and everything, and I took full advantage of that. I played Civilization VI (this world building computer game), watched National Geographic on TVO, and let radio dictate
the soundtrack of my life. My poetry is both personal and impersonal. I don't push my views through poetry, I push how I view things through poetry. We were really excited to publish your poem “i n t e r a c� in our last issue. It’s a richly textured, sprawling piece with multiple movements. Apart from being a fulfilling read, it also makes deliberate use of typography and white space. Could you tell us a bit about the process of composing it? I n t e r a c is an expression of the dichotomy that I mentioned. This gap, or disconnect, between the self and the world became immensely important to me, especially around the time that the Sandy Hook tragedy occurred. The spacing in these poems is a deliberate effort to echo the chasm I perceived between the experience and the way media portrayed it. Things are so often taken out of context, misconstrued, or altogether rendered into something that hopped from one social media platform to another. I felt a profound distaste for this kind of treatment. I have a habit of writing series rather than standalone pieces because I am intrigued by the way various parts can refer to and enrich the meaning of the words. More importantly in this case, I felt that the progression from piece to ice is an attempt to repair this disconnect. One poem, for me, cannot embody or successfully capture the horror and impact of such tragedies. But on the other hand, I wanted the media's mishandling to be publicized. So that is where the chaotic distribution of space comes in. You will notice that the series begins with a splatter of words from a visual standpoint. It ends, however, with a villanelle. As for the editing process, there was quite a bit of rearranging. I think it is telling that I had trouble making the series fluid but still retain the broken telephone effect I wanted to project. I don't think words can be "tamed" by editing. You can only mold how you use them, but you can't alter their particular effect on any unique individual. You can't really
be under the full, majestic influence of poetry until you have tried to harness its power for yourself. Can you tell us about what you’re working on currently? Where will we see you next? I recently moved out, and the poetry that has arisen from these experience are an attempt to document and reflect on the charms and banalities of domesticity. I am at an age that is characterized by growth, physically, mentally, emotionally. But I think people forget that middle aged folks are growing too, the difference is that this growth is subtle and never linear. I know 80 year olds who have changed more in the past year than I have. I want to recognize that, pay tribute to that, and lament that. The series is tentatively titled "Growing Pains". I am fascinated by the intertwining of the different arts: literature, visual art, music, and videos. Outside poetry, I am editor-in-chief of The Window, a University of Toronto magazine. In our Feburary issue, our pieces on Pope Francis, the evolution of scientific beliefs, and the recent legalization of prostitution - are all centered around the idea of synergy. When I have time, I also work as a freelance writer and illustrator.
Interac {circular breathing} I've lost my pace. The one that raced in the nebular wild white, is it still fresh?
find those tattooed tulips encased in mud. in the warmth of solitude their sweets reduce. Unread. It's nothing incriminating, simple observations on how .
our rows of xs lined up in neon
hues .
wish the room
would grow .
too small for words.
so we lay filled, healing ophelias raised on the moon, raving "it's tedious work, rivalling the dead," Because she is soon, and we make her still and we make sure - never to question whether she was better of blind, or maybe too invisible. I hate to look and see a classic: all that tried to fit globe by globe, never settling another unforgivable rash .
because we left her whole at the transept for the impossibility of brĂťlĂŠed snow
{ Before I leave this place we } reach. I only ask to be not a crown prince, not a viking, nor a ghost that oversees the different days that lived and freed. .
You asked me to tumble
.
from a ______ drop. I
.
felt its vacuum flling like the sea,
.
preaching a learner's Pleas.
so I've worn Overtures like overcoats .
and I could've sworn
.
the last ones became the firsts.
part I – you forget. Sometimes
in the deliberation of innocence
why waiting keeps time stagnant. I, too, had fallen into a pattern of
stalling till your chords can wrap me, because sometimes the space between the tick and the tock is missing that symphonic cacophony of soapy daydreams.
– part II
I am bringing my feathers with me - for I see you coming, lingering
to reassemble me among your neighbourhood polaroids. a blueprint stitched on your hidden cuff.
Like the dark silhouette that stays after the spark, where in limbo you stop to fondle in your pocket for something you haven't lost.
{ a footnote to here } to crave to coerce
not a minute too dear to clear.
into the blossom of love's greedy gaze,
you are rephrased
in the fashion of seasons; scaling your way -
the moon steers me towards the ashes scooped by tides
surrenders the rind of my nights to you
and bathes in sights.
{ variations without routine } wash off last night's slime and put on layers, wake to morning outside the rink.
i'd rather be prepared though I know it's not there. seeing crosses through the air, bearing seeds like seers striking them off each by each wash off the night and put on layers. i envision panic rooms with sandy chairs we took the trip with no stares. I'd rather be prepared though I know it's not here. cherry red tomatoes bombing the fesh, splattering my pottery between the needs. wash off last night and put on layers, .
i'd rather be prepared though we know we are not here.
Posted in Interviews on January 23, 2014 [http://echolocationmag.com/?p=732] by echolocationmag.