“Let’s read some poetry!” – Fergie, probably, if AWP had a national anthem portion
Another year, another AWP in the books. Look, I’m gonna be pretty positive here. It’s everyone’s favorite thing to complain about something about AWP. It’s expensive, it’s overwhelming, pay-to-play is always at least a little slimy. You might remember, though, that I am a dad. Being a dad, I am often asking the child in my charge “do you want to complain, or do you want to have fun?” It’s a question I then ask myself about a lot of things. Useful thought to have before posting anything on social media, for instance. Anyway, I’m gonna be stoked about AWP in this column.
Wednesday
Bob and I got in Wednesday. I arrived a bit earlier than him, and made the financially inadvisable choice to take a cab from LAX to the Santa Monica Pier. It’s a sort of spiritual thing that started when Mal and I first visited LA in 2018, then again when we took the kid to Disney Land in 2023. Nice to pay tribute to the Pacific Ocean. Nice to think about how the link between Chicago and LA—the beginning and end of Route 66. Bob and I got some fantastic Korean BBQ. Short Rib, bulgogi, pork belly, some other kinds of steak, shrimp, and many pickled veggies. We sat outside.
Thursday
On the first day, I bought books. Saw the homies Han VanderHart and Amorak Huey, aka the two-headed monster behind River River Books. Their table and friendship was something of a home base for whenever I needed a break from the bustle, or maybe a better metaphor is it was like a dugout. Could take off my hat and glove (read: backpack bursting with books) and sit a minute. We met up with dear friend Diannely Antigua, who would do not one but two readings that Bob and I found out about not quite in time to go to. Something great happened while talking to Diannely: her friend Jasminne Mendez came up to say hi, and when Diannely introduced us, I realized I’d seen Jasminne at a Letras Latinas reading at the Poetry Foundation last year. I’d been wanting Jasminne’s book, and as luck would have it, we were right in front of the Noemi Press table. Noemi also had some specialty M&Ms.
Bob and I got tacos from a truck and went to a panel on vastness and capaciousness in poetry. It was exciting. The vibes I’m seeking at AWP are some combination of intellectual rigor and magical thinking. When I’m at the conference, I’m not trying to hang out with the WE CAN GET YOUR NOVEL PUBLISHED or the LET’S SWAP BUSINESS CARDS people. Send me to the people interesting in shifting the consciousness of the world, send me to the people who have spent the last 10 years researching 19th century USian utopian societies, send me to the people who gave up careers in biochemical engineering to worry over enjambments while dreaming about a sonnet that brings strangers closer together. The panel was great, and inadvertently the first of two panels where we’d see the poet Kazim Ali, who both writes great poetry and has an incredible sense of style. That essentially ended our day, and we went back to the hotel to get ready for the evening.
Amorak was reading at Bar Henry, which turned out to be a cocktail bar near Dodger stadium. Ice rattled in shakers, drunk Opening Day baseball fans were confused—perfect environment for a poetry reading. The NA menu was good. Amorak rocked. I came home with two Amorak books that I’m super stoked to dive into. Somewhere along the line, Han told us they got al pastor tacos on the street that were life-changing. Sure enough, when Bob and I left, about half a block down was some pineapple-over-the-pork-roasting-on-a-spit al pastor burritos. The miracle workers at this food stand grilled the cheese right on the flat top, and then when you got a bite of pineapple? WOO. Bob and I ate the burritos in our hotel bed while watching Escape From New York.
Friday
On our second day at the book fair, we met up with dear friend Laura Villareal. Laura is a delight and her book, The Girl’s Guide To Leaving, is a must-read. Laura showed me Cardboard Editions, a press that scratched two itches in my brain: they publish English/Spanish bilingual books and chapbooks with cardboard covers (my son’s really into cardboard art). Naturally, I bought three books by authors I’ve never heard of. Laura had the idea that Bob and I should take a picture together, a thought that you’d think we’d have occasionally, but.
Bob had his book signing at the Game Over Books table, which was incredible to witness. Shoutout to Game Over homie Giovanna Lomanto, who is an infectiously enthusiastic poet and bookseller. Wanting to give Bob some space, though, I made more rounds to tables and bought a whole mess of books. I won’t belabor what I bought—you’ll read about them on this blog over the next year and a half—but suffice to say, I went a touch overboard. Despite having a list. In fairness, things like “I remembered the FC2 table sold me two of the most interesting novels I read last year and they have a 3 for $25 deal” kept happening. In fact, I was done buying books, all EYE was doing was filling my water bottle, when someone handed me a voucher for one free book from Red Hen. Well, Red Hen had like five tables’ worth of books, plus a 4 for $20 deal, plus did you know Percival Everett has a book of sonnets?? Anyway. No one show my wife this blog. Blame the Red Hen guy, blame the FC2 table, blame Laura for showing me Cardboard Editions, blame Diannely for introducing me to Jasminne, blame Han for throwing books at me all week, blame anyone but me, please.
The panel we went to that day was a reading from Nightboat Books poets—our second Kazim Ali sighting. An excellent slate of readers who, of course, I can’t remember names. I am glad, though, to have Nightboat Books on my radar.
Less than a mile walk from the Convention Center was a reading at the Pico Union Project, a church in an immigrant neighborhood with very cool stained glass and a big organ. I got a frijoles pupusa and a loroco pupusa at this pupuseria down the street.
Ate them while waiting for the doors to open.
The reading was put on by The Adroit Journal, The Kenyon Review, and Pleiades, in partnership with Loyola High School. I saved a picture of the flyer, so I can actually name off the readers: Kim Addonizio, Sarah Ghazal Ali, Crystal AC Salas, Maria Zoccola, and the two poets that attracted me: Chen Chen and dear friend of The Line Break Melissa Ferrer Civil.
All were great readers, but I can only confirm that Melissa gives wonderful and warm hugs. The readers had done workshops with Loyola High School students the day prior, and the students were going to do a workshop with elementary school kids the following day. We applaud paying poetry forward through the generations. This reading, however, was a taco-and-booze party. I was going to stay for tacos, but the line was a touch long, and I was half-tired/half-anxious to get back to the hotel.
Only problem was, I was still hungry. Luckily, the walk to the MacArthur Park train station took me past the Gato Night Market. Picked up one of them spinning hand drum child’s toys with a striking hand-painted Spongebob that definitely wasn’t sanctioned by Nickelodeon. A Colombian food stand selling arepas didn’t have to work hard to woo me. Un pollo, por favor.
Saturday
Saturday wasn’t much—I got a late start, and was at the limit of how many books I could carry home. Bob and I walked through the book fair once more, though, and I was stoked to see White People On Vacation author Alex Miller at the Malarkey Table. Bob, Diannely, and I went to a panel on sex in poetry featuring Chen Chen and some other excellent poets whose names are escaping me now. That’s the kind of panel that makes the fiction writer in me flinch, but this wasn’t about writing the steamiest sonnets. Chen talked about wanting to write more about mediocre sex, another poet talked about an embarrassing desire they had for a Lyft driver, another poet talked about writing about poetic sex as both working through CSA trauma and an earnest interest in expressing a desire for pleasure, another poet talked about encouraging her writing students to explore extreme polarities. The lesson, as always, is that poets have the most nuanced panels. When I take in a poetry panel, I’m thinking as a poet, novelist, and songwriter. That’s a beautiful thing about poetry, it inspires other art.
The newsletter service I am trying to exit informs me I am approaching length limit.
Big shouts to Bob Sykora, Han VanderHart, Amorak Huey, Diannely Antigua, Laura Villareal, Catherine Rockwood, LJ Pemberton, Melissa Ferrer Civil, Alex Miller, and new friend Giovanna Lomanto. Shoutout to Martin Seay and Kathleen Rooney at Rose Metal Press—I am sorry I didn’t get back to visit your table. I’ll catch you at one of the Chicago street festivals this summer.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris