Yanyi is a writer and critic. He is the author of Dream of the Divided Field (One World Random House, forthcoming 2022) and The Year of Blue Water (Yale University Press 2019), winner of the 2018 Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize, finalist for the 2020 Lambda Literary Award in Transgender Poetry, and named one of 2019’s Best Poetry Books by New York Public Library. His work has been featured in NPR’s All Things Considered, Tin House, Granta, and A Public Space, and he is the recipient of fellowships from Asian American Writers’ Workshop and Poets House. Currently, he is poetry editor at Foundry and giving creative advice at The Reading. Find out more at yanyiii.com.
You always mention how you are “a writer and critic” in your biography. What does it mean to be a critic, and how does this role influence you as a writer and person?
A mentor of mine recently gave me a nice compliment with a caveat: that my work is missing history. I have been arguing and agreeing with this opinion for the better part of the past couple of weeks, showing up in passing while I read or write. Perhaps the critical part of me is that capacity for Heisenbergian suspension: to be both and neither. This thinking will affect my writing. I will follow Arendt here, actually: that the thinking is the writing. It’s funny, I was just thinking about removing the “critic” part from my biography. For me, I’m no longer sure there is a difference.
In both your poetry and beyond, you speak up for marginalized groups such as BIPOC, queer, and trans writers. In all admiration for your advocacy, why is it essential? How can creatives, editors, and readers better accommodate unheard voices?
I hope to live in a world where I only represent myself. Unfortunately, relations of power are not only foisted upon me, but all of us. It is up to all of us to respond and relate more imaginatively.
Is there a particular “brand” of writing that comes off as too superficial or overused? Conversely, is there a narrative you wish to see more often?
I think, in this world, it is difficult enough to invite what you have to say.
Tell us a little about your forthcoming book Dream of the Divided Field. Does this book connect to or differ from your previous collection of poems, The Year of Blue Water, in any way?
The materials for my poems feel like the weekly share I receive with my partner from a local farm. I cook what’s in season, what’s leftover, what piques my interest. The resulting poems seem individual, even random. It takes me reading them in conjunction many times to make a book. And yet, here I am a year later, learning how a door of Dream of the Divided Field is in the first pages of The Year of Blue Water. You know that saying about how you’re often writing the same book again and again? It’s not one book over again: it’s the book into which you continue to write.
What is your creative and editing process like? Any rituals, resources, or tips?
My process seems to change with every book and location I have. For example, up until this year, I only kept one notebook. But it was getting filled with too many disparate things and I could never find that note or essay draft I was looking for. So now I have three. I write by hand and I write in the best hours of my day, which happen to be in the morning.
Do you have any advice for young and emerging writers in particular?
Creating emptiness is necessary for creating anything else.
You write a lot about nature, from birds to the ocean. In an interview with F(r)iction, you even talk about your aspirations to own a garden. How important is nature in your creative work and is there a connection you feel with nature that draws you in?
I lived next to Brooklyn Botanic Garden for several years until quite recently and often took morning walks throughout the seasons. One morning, trudging through the magnolias, I realized that looking forward to blooms had given me a new way to tell time. I want my writing to be like that.
The advice and knowledge you share with the literary community in The Reading is really phenomenal. We’d love to know a little more about how that started and what we can learn from the articles you post there.
Thank you. I’ve been inspired by friends across the years and chasing advice columns myself when I couldn’t turn to anyone. At first, it was a dream to have an interview and advice podcast, but the amount of work needed made no sense. Then my friend Kate started a newsletter this past summer and I finally thought, sure, why not?
Conversely, how have fellowships from Asian American Writers’ Workshop and Poets House supported you?
I’ve walked away from them with lifelong friendships and the visibility that has propelled the rest of my career. Institutional legitimization and prestige drive much of the publishing industry, so they have both been crucial to my public success. The Asian American writing community in particular has been incredibly supportive, helping me out with events, shoutouts, and reviews. I share in the wealth of their generosity.
The format of giving advice is fundamentally attentive and responsive. A mentor-teacher of mine told me this summer that love is undivided attention. I like that. The Reading is about giving love and helping letter-writers recognize the abundance of their own love. Writing is the occasion, but love is the goal.
I’m sure many of us want to push the “restart” button in 2021. What are your New Year’s Resolutions, if you have any?
I have set an intention for balance in my home life. When I overwork, which I am inclined to do, I’ve noticed that I lose presence in my body. When I lose my body, I lose the rest of my intentions. So that has been a necessary lesson from the last year.
Interviewed by Jessica Kim. Special thanks to Yanyi for being one of the Poetry Judges of our writing contest.