Danez Smith and Kaveh Akbar In Conversation

It’s not enough to say, ‘this is what happened’. There’s a way in which its poems have become almost ideogrammatic to me – I can ‘read’ the entire poem in a single glance. That’s a fascinating question. Good headphones. I’ve encountered so many that have such small ideas of success – being the top dog in their department, being the best poet in their program, whatever. Re: the final bit of your question, we’re eating dinner tomorrow night with our editors (shouts to Maria and Parisa), but I have no idea what’s on the menu. Repetition and anaphora, for instance – when you put a person under an MRI machine and say a phrase, you can track the brain receiving sound and passing that along to the language center, where it translates the sonic data into semantic data. That’s a profound, lizard-brain human need – to feel among. can I be really real? The last truly fantastic home meal I had was with my uncle LeBron. The poets I surround myself with, the poets I love best (including you, including everyone mentioned in this conversation) are exemplars of this orientation – grinding to better poetry with their work on and off the page. I think that notion of solitude feels dangerous close to some formulations of meritocracy, or possibly seek to exotify the loneliness of writers, but it never had & never has to be that.  
Today so much of my joy lives in my labor, which is a funny thing to say. My favorite tacos in recent memory were actually also in Chicago. I am trying to be a better friend, colleague, teacher, son, brother, husband every day. I find a lot of joy in working with others in recovery, which is a huge part of my life that I never talk about in spaces like these. We went to grab a couple quick tacos, but I think we each ended up waddling out after eating five or six each. I’m trying to be more mindful of what I desire out loud and what I desire when quiet and kneeling, trying to bring those two prayers closer together. I owe you for that.  
Danez Smith:
Kaveh, let them come with their sad ass knives! I think I’ve been able to find a level between joy & its antonyms in my work before, but writing about friendship, a truly unbridled joy to me, and other kinds of kin left me often woundless and shook about where to pull the poem from. I look at them and can immediately summon all the connotative, emotional and cosmic data embedded in their lines without actually reading each word. I ran myself through an MRI machine while reading this last message and broke the damn thing. For a sec I was writing to write a book about friendship when what I needed to be doing was writing a book for my friends. I had to trust the ecstasy I experienced talking about love and the self in love, similar but oh so different from the battered, triumphant moods of what I’ve written before. Kaveh. Thanks for pointing me in the direction of that meaty salvation. So many of the fundamental techniques of the poet are really just modulations of this ecstasy. He made these cheesy collard green grits with shrimp and bacon, some grilled garlic wings, and I wanna say there was a vegetable there for formality. (I also hesitate that because I think the notion of community in poetry often escapes us and goes towards some ideal that doesn’t actually exist. When we say we are grateful for a thing or someone, are we just a small gesture towards what has deposited joy or comfort into us? It’s been fun to lean into humor & camp, to think about voice speaking to an intimate audience. The urgency in that book, the duendeness of it was almost tangible while writing it, it helped me feel some degree of control over my life. Sometimes when I talk about things like this I feel people sharpening their knives, thinking, ‘This asshole! I think we both understand this, but I should clarify quickly since this is on the record: when I’m saying ‘ecstasy,’ I don’t mean ‘very intense happiness,’ but rather the sort’f mystical elevating-beyond-the-self that good poetry (or good art, or good drugs, or good sex, or good dance, or good prayer, or good grieving, or or or) affords us. With this collection, I think joy is the center and grief seeks out joy as a place of respite. Alan Shapiro: people arguing over poetry fame are like bald men fighting over a comb. Knowing Leslie Jamison just wrote a wildly successful book about alcoholism. And to do that, we have to be capable of imagining that reader, imagining them wholly, gassy and distracted by their phone and worried about the news and late to pick up their son from ballet. I know it’s temporary, but damn. I grew up without it, an ugly Muslim kid in the Midwest. Knowing Fatimah and Angel Nafis and Kazim Ali and Hanif Abdurraqib and Safia Elhillo are out here publishing very Muslim, very haram poems. I feel indebted to the writers in the generations directly above us right now. Knowing that art creates a community out of the audience and nurturing the myriad of ways collaborations manifest in our practice and survival. Specifically, I’d love to hear your thoughts on writing joy, which is so much harder to get right and tight than writing grief or despair. But also Kaveh, the book is probably cheesy and I don’t care. Okay, but for real. Also, I’m wondering how you are bringing community into the spaces where you teach? We’ve given a lot away, but for years I kept everything. Homie   has been different. How about you, fam? Your comments about community are so interesting. It was one of the entrees at our wedding, at the very end of the table, you probably tried some? Real success is so much bigger than that – real success means leaving poetry better than you found it. How has it never been said? Why are you the smartest poet alive? I still get lonely, get sad often, but the difference is now I can point to all these luminaries in the world who are saying, ‘I was there too, and I made this art because of it.’
Is   Calling a Wolf a Wolf   still the book I thought it was? As I find myself trying to calibrate where I have been and prepare for where I might head, I’m thinking back on these folks to order my steps. I’m indebted right now to prayer, which I’ve not known what to do with for some time. For the first several years of our relationship I lived in this tiny studio in Florida, only barely big enough to fit my bed, so we weren’t really able to cook, which was a bummer because we both love cooking.  
Kaveh Akbar:
Danez, I want to open by asking you to describe, in exhaustive detail, your experience eating at Reza’s tonight…… I was desperately lonely and sad all the time. Matthews, William Evans, Mahogany L. I didn’t and still really don’t know how to trust it or hone it. On that note, Paige has a(n incredible) book coming out next year with Sarabande, and at any given moment at least 25 per cent of my consciousness is devoted to feeling joy about that. I think maybe we’re supposed to be wrapping this up, but I feel like we could keep going back and forth like this for months, years, lifetimes. Sorry, I’m just trying to work my way back towards gratitude. One was to allow some more grief into the poems, not to sully the joy, but for the grief to be comforted. That ecstasy you speak of, that Angel spoke of on the podcast, is so central to my understanding of poetry. For tickets please visit: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/126414-forward-prizes-poetry-ceremony-2018. In advance of the Forward Prizes for Poetry 2018, Danez Smith and Kaveh Akbar share sublime food experiences, discuss their latest collections and ask one another how best to bring community into poetry. This is no time for joy!’ I hear that. but, in the interest of making this conversation interesting to any non-me person: This weekend we were together in a space where the idea of community-as-medium was being discussed. What are we gonna eat when we get to London? I write what I write for me, sure, but because there is someone I   must   imagine on the receiving end of all this urgency and language. They’re always switching themselves around. I find joy in my friends, in their joy and their making. Or maybe I was too happy to write it in a way that felt familiar to my two previous joints. What they all have in common, I think, is that they offer amongness. I find joy in playing basketball with my students. Fried clams. I was introduced to the idea of community-as-medium by Fatimah Asghar, who we were both in town to celebrate on the release of her brilliant collection   If They Come for Us. Sometimes it’s hard for me to actually hear the language – I just know the mood, the aura, the general shape and sound and bite of the thing. It’s the only way in. My students are exhausted with me repeating Horace’s pronouncement that a poem should ‘delight and instruct,’ but I really do think it’s the simplest, most profound thing. It was all an education. I never felt anything like that. That’s the only thing. I would slap box my grandma over a plate of that and I’m sure she would too. Browne, and Amaud Jamaul Johnson, all folks who I’ve looked up to for some time. Can you talk about that? What about you, my friend? Paige and I blearily got here yesterday morning and ate: a full English breakfast, arepas, pineapple upside-down cake, and a Persian dinner at a place called ‘Doost’. Some other time we should talk about the ‘good drug’ of poetry, which maybe stands out to me now because I’m trying to change my relationship to drugs and I’m worried that I’ve sent so much time being a poet while high that I won’t know how to poem on the other side of it. good bedsheets! Last night we found a King Tubby record and one full of psychedelic cumbia in an incredible little shop (shoutout Honest Jon’s). I think i see that thread thru all of Fatimah’s work, even in how big and intimate of a word ‘us’ feels like in her book’s title.  
Danez Smith:
Oh, Kaveh, this book is the hardest thing I’ve ever written. I’m indebted to people who notice when you’ve been too quiet. We all love an anthem and anthems require a little blood. Libraries full of books I’ll never be able to read. So I turned to my favorite writers of joy: Ross Gay, Lucille Clifton, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Angel Nafis, Pablo Neruda, Toni Morrison. What neuroscientists are learning today, Patacara and Virgil and the Psalms figured out thousands of years ago. I’m indebted to therapy. I was so full and so empty. Haven’t experienced it done right? At the heart of our mission is community: how to build it, how to protect it, how to feed it, how to make love an intentional practice. So much of my thinking about prayer today is tied up in my thinking about poetry – one always seems a space to speak to God and the other a space to listen for God, but which one is which? It’s disorienting, and it often takes me a minute after readings before I’m fully inhabiting myself again. Sleep. With the exception of a few poems centered around the passing of a dear friend, the urgency in this collection was love. I think in my two previous collections grief led while joy attempted to triumph. But if you repeat the same phrase again, the pleasure center of our brain begins to light up! They’re all different expressions of this same thing. Those spaces (and individuals) that got it wrong seemed to want only to serve themselves. That’s maybe the best I can offer about writing joy: write to joy, write to the people and places where your joy lives and that love language (lol) will hopefully invite language rich with intimacy instead of something cheap and for anyone. Repetition takes us into this ecstasy – it elevates us into an incantatory, near-narcotic state where we become more permeable to language’s emotive and cosmic potential. We make ours with tofu instead of chicken, but served with rice, it’s our go-to home-cooked meal. I see it, feel it, taste it. Paige also makes truly divine vegetarian sushi and spring rolls. You know those food moments where you think, ‘This is hurting me and as a result I’m going to be useless for the rest of the day, but who knows when the next time might be that I’ll be privy to this blessing?’ Tortillería y Taquerías   Atotonilco was that. Sushi burritos. Also: what’s the last great home-cooked meal you ate? The sort of amongness I feel now talking to other Muslim poets, or other people in recovery, or other folks from the Iranian diaspora – I didn’t have anything like that for the first two-plus decades of my life. Or the mouth of God? What is on the menu and what’s the mood? There is so much more to say, Danez, and I’m excited to pick this up in person tomorrow. Summer was weird on my brain and spirit. The sound of a tea bag dropping into hot water. We were both hopping around a lot last year, and I know we spent time in many of the same spaces. I’m excited to discover together! I am never not down for grilled wings, even in the throes of T-BIRD (Taco Bell Induced Regret and Distress). For some reason, I decided earlier that day that it would be a good idea to eat Taco Bell for the first time in like six months. I wish I could show little eight-year-old Kaveh what this future would be like. Love you very much. If we don’t imagine our readers possible, how can we expect them to imagine us? I feel further and further from the Baptist God I was raised on, but I feel myself rediscovering prayer. ummm… You talked amongness before, how do you see yourself or others making space out here for folks to be & grow among others? They could be food (anything except Taco Bell) or anything else (the Manafort/Cohen verdicts! But Kaveh. I think coming up in spoken word and poetry slam circles have been able to help me dismiss, or maybe never even consider, the notion that what we do is a lonely art. Who is doing it right? He invited my friend Tish and me over for a meal, mostly because we love good southern food and his wife and daughter’s family doesn’t really eat a lot of them things he would if he could. Let me sing you the ways   Homie   has beat me down. Everything Fatimah makes has a beloved audience at its center and that pulse draws to her a network of collaborators that are also interested in using art-making to make love bigger, realer, better for audiences often left unconsidered by mainstream creators. The seasoning on those beautiful globs of meat are portal to a heaven I believe in. We couldn’t stop getting more. Sometimes, especially when I’m reading them out loud, I can sort of ride the poems back into that other person’s head for a few moments. I hope that’s not too sad lol. What new have you learned about the book now that you’ve been stomping around the world reading from it? I’m glad my mother was the one who taught me how to pray. That manifests in a lot of ways – I teach at three different universities, and I’m grateful every minute of every day for the opportunity to work with so many different serious, ambitious, curious emerging poets. I feel far from it in the moment. It was one of the best meals of my life and I had to excuse myself from the table like eight times as the Taco Bell did what Taco Bell does. I think my Saturn’s Return and my good friend Depression are having a little private fight club in me right now and it’s making it hard to name what I am grateful for. I owe a lot to them. Where is your joy living these days? I actually feel a lot better and closer to joy after having typed all that out. When I think about writing my first two books, there is a lot of probing-of-the-wound going on, I think that is how many of us learn to hone our blade. In this moment, it makes me smile. Now I just wanna talk about community and food. Thank you for all of this! I couldn’t change what happened, but I could write about it, I could disassemble it, I could take its teeth, I could make it beautiful, I could fail, I could die somewhere safe, I could imagine living. just don’t know? They often feel like artifacts pulled from a different person’s life. I find joy in acts of resistance, big and small, loud and quiet. There are a million theological manifestations of this phenomenon – Sufis who say Allahu Akbar 5,000 times before getting out of bed every morning, the chanting of Tibetan Buddhist monks. Hanif Abdurraqib’s new ‘How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This?’ series does extraordinary work around a similar idea. Like, is there a poetry community or just a bunch of poets and editors and readers? To the extent that it’s possible to generalize, I think maybe those spaces that got it right seemed to be unified under a broad ambition, under a desire to rigorously and compassionately serve poetry and serve each other’s poems.  
Danez Smith:
Well, first off, I would like to say that Reza’s was a gift from my favorite god and when we entered they said my favorite two syllables: ‘buf’ + ‘fet’.  
Kaveh Akbar:
Oooo friend, there is so much I want to say and ask. At my healthiest, I find profound joy in my station, that I have somehow tricked the world into letting me just be a poet and nothing else. It makes me even more grateful for the real ones out here paying mind to pedagogy and space, but it makes me wonder if folks… There are the usual suspects – my mom, my family, all the homies here and gone, tacos, poetry – all the things that make me bright and steady when I’m near them, but I feel far from gratitude at my current center. Frankly, I’m looking for advice. I think poems confess something. Tell me about your favorite tacos. The second thing I learned was to surrender to ecstasy. I turned to Marvin Gaye and Patti LaBelle and all the folks I dance and sing too. Only once I trusted the feeling have I been able to get down into the boogie with my craft-brain with the book. I’ve been thinking a lot about poets like Rachel McKibbens, Airea D. Can you say a little here about your relationship to that idea? I love what you say about writing for you, but also necessarily needing to imagine someone receiving it too. I think another thing has been tripping me up is that question of audience. Our cat Filfy chasing nothing around the house. Maybe to close, you could end with a few occasions for gratitude that seem most urgent to you today? Like you, I’m continuously learning and revising what I mean when I say ‘God’. For years the work of recovery in my life has revolved around my desire to make myself useful in the lives of people around me. The more I teach and participate during these little poetry retreats around the country, and also what I know about the MFA experiences of others and myself, it really is wild how some cats are so off the community tip in these poetry programs. Is it still the book you thought it was? So much I hope to know about need, patience and drive seems to be hiding inside prayer. I think I’ve been interested in ecstasy before, if not what lurked behind it. The lamb kabob tho? birds!). Some of the drafts at some point felt a little cheesy, so I had to dig a little deeper into that brightness I distrusted and find what was being confessed. And travel well –
 
The Forward Prizes for Poetry, for which both Danez Smith and Kaveh Akbar are shortlisted, will be announced at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, Southbank Centre, on Tuesday, 18 September, with readings from Smith, Akbar and the other shortlisted poets. Is gratitude a kind of happy debt? I’m not ready to talk about that in public before me and the therapist hash that out some more. Adelia Prado. It is like looking at God. Today, I am maybe superficially healthier and also probably holistically sicker than that person. That last one is especially wild – I’ve had a lot of experience in the other roles, but the husband thing is such a strange new trip. Fatimah, along with Aaron Samuels, founded the collective I’m a part of, Dark Noise.  
Kaveh Akbar:
Reza’s lamb koobideh is like looking into the eye of God. With your tongue. In your work? Can we just talk about good for this thing? He is one of the best cooks I know. I find a lot of joy in food. Angel Nafis talks brilliantly in an interview on VS (my podcast with Franny Choi for those at home) about some of the moods and methods of the ecstatic tradition in poetry, namely in the work of Frank O’Hara, that offered a lot of space for me to trust the feeling this book filled me with. Your new new book seems very much in keeping with our conversation about communities and amongness – the poems are all orbiting friendship (beautifully: ‘i got a crush on each one of your dumb faces / smashing into my heart like idiot cardinals into glass’). I have worked a billion kitchen jobs in my life – at a fifties nostalgia diner, at a Chinese takeout spot, as a sushi chef – so the menus can vary a lot. Now we’ve been trying to sublimate our desire to hoard books into a desire to collect vinyl. That new suite in Poetry is among my very favorite things of yours, and I have lots of favorite things of yours – ’How silly to miss what you will become.’ How do these new poems from Homie feel different to your mouth and brain than something older from, say, [insert] boy? The falafel wasn’t really my jam, but it gave us a chance to think about whose people make the best falafel. Who is your favorite person to eat/cook with? But today, just knowing Solmaz Sharif exists in the world makes me feel among. Don’t Call Us Dead   happened on the heels of my diagnosis with HIV and the book very much became a talisman for my mortality. I think that is surely a fine way to write joy. I also wanted to ask you about   Calling a Wolf a Wolf   as we near the year anniversary of its release in the US. What do you find ‘community’ doing in your life? Our reading, our writing, our reading aloud, our editing, our living and our livelihood is all an act of community. Who knew that the best mashed potatoes in the world could be found in a Persian restaurant in Chicago? It was so happy that I didn’t trust it. The idea of bringing together your public desires with your private, between-me-and-God desires, that’s the realest thing. Our favorite thing to cook, though, is an adaptation of fesenjan, this classic Persian pomegranate walnut stew. At the risk of sounding cheesy (which is a noble, worthwhile risk, as you beautifully laid out), my favorite person to eat/cook with/for is my partner, transcendent American poet Paige Lewis. But that’s another convo, another day. What do you/we want for this community if it does exist?)
 
Kaveh Akbar:
Oh man, next time I come through Minneapolis can we swing by LeBron’s place? There is no living, no grief, no revolution, no nothing without joy, ecstasy, delight, Lorde’s erotic, whatever you want to call it & I’ll join you on that train any day. I am who I am because of the effort of a lot of people. A few months ago I was walking around with the poet José Olivarez, and he took me to this truly transcendent place called Tortillería y Taquerías   Atotonilco. I have many communities in my life – poets, Muslims, Persians, drunks – and each nourishes me differently. When we moved to Indiana we had to pack up all our books and in the process, came to realize we had Too Many Books. I think that’s it for me. I bet we had some similar experiences with communities that seemed to get it very right, and communities that felt very cold. I think maybe what I feel more is a sense of what I owe. It’s almost mitochondrial – my poetic ancestry tracks back to the great Persian-language Sufi mystics, for whom ecstatic epiphanic experience wasn’t a subject for the poems, it   was   the poems, was the very material of the poem. We have to say it in a way that will delight the ear or the tongue or the mind of a reader who will never know us. Gratitude… I learned two things I think. Honestly, the arepas stole the show. The brain is delighted to have already done the job of decoding the sonic data, so it gives you a tiny bit of pleasure as prize. I want to tattoo ‘write to joy, write to the people and places where your joy lives’ across my forehead. I had never heard of community-as-medium until I met Fatimah, but it felt familiar.