Thoughts On Treating Our Own Books As If They Are Not Forgettable Or Disposable Items

Seriously, I think it’s important to ask: how do we as authors experience the book, regard and engage the experience of the book as this thing, body we’ve created, that goes out of our brains and private creative spaces, and into the world?

I am thinking about this now, as I continue to discuss¬†Poeta en San Francisco¬†in classrooms, with students coming into poetry, or coming into critically thinking about their own Filipino American/”ethnic” American/”other” American identities. At first I feared the discussions would be stale because the book is “old.” But the discussions are totally not stale. The book itself, the poetry in it is not stale. I am pleased and relieved this is the case, and I am making all kinds of revelations that I thought should have been obvious, but perhaps aren’t really so much.

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