Writer Eileen Tabios’ Lines of Work: The Hay(na)ku
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The name “hay(na)ku” may sound esoteric, but it is actually quite straightforward. “Hay naku” is a common Filipino expression meaning “Oh” in a number of different contexts. “In(ter)vention” means that the hay(na)ku is both an invention and an intervention.
Although the hay(na)ku is the predominant form in this volume, it is not the only one, and the poems drawn from 13 books and chapbooks, 13 anthologies, numerous journals and on-line spaces, and performance productions, comprise an excellent sample of Tabios' poetic work over a 23-year period. Not every poem in this collection will gratify a given reader, but Tabios states that her poems are intended for everyone: “... the hay(na)ku has succeeded in becoming a community-based poetic form.... Poetry is inherently social” (p. 122). To derive full benefit from some of the poems, the reader must contend with elevated vocabulary, expressions drawn from seven languages other than English, and sometimes obscure historical, artistic and cultural references. None of this comes across as artificially injected or an unnecessary obstacle for the reader, however. In an e-mail exchange with me in June of this year, Tabios explained why this is so:
I don't go out deliberately wanting to incorporate non-English words in my English poems. But one reason for them is how I pay attention to sound and resonance, and not just meaning… And certain non-English words are more resonant—even lovelier—to me than their English versions, for example, the French “du jour” over the English “of the day” or Spanish “del dia.”
Tabios, a Napa Valley resident, elaborated on “resonance” with “When I say 'resonance', I suppose it’s the effect of great writing—how it lingers like the “long finish” (vs. “short finish”) oenophiles ascribe to great-tasting wine.”
Eileen Tabios (Source; eileentabios.com)
In The In(ter)vention, this resonance can be found in such places as stanzas 67-68 of “Enheduanna #20”: “a double rainbow / that connected dandelion clouds / over St. Helena’s vines/ hanging low with purple fruit.” More extended examples appear in poems like “Dear A., This Poem Is Not For You” (which is a touching lyric tribute to a dying dog) and among the poems in the “Girl Singing” series inspired by Jose Garcia Villa. For the latter, “To-Day” and “Forgiveness” are almost hypnotically lyric but require no specialized knowledge to savor fully.
Tabios’ poems cover a wide range of lengths, tones and styles, which should come as no surprise given her prolific and impressively inclusive artistic productions. She has published more than 70 collections of poetry, fiction, essays and biographies in 10 countries, and her works have been translated into a number of languages. One particularly successful example is “Die We Do,” rendered into Spanish by Rebeka Lembo as “Morir Hacemos” in The In(ter)vention. In fact, it is possible to prefer the translation to the original. The hay(na)ku form itself travels well, as a published book of hay(na)ku in Finnish demonstrates.
Tabios' prolific output is not limited to literature, however. She has done performance art.
She has exhibited visual art in the United States, the Philippines and Serbia. She has published a book of essays, MY ROMANCE, in her capacity as an art critic. The commitment to visual art is so strong that she answered my e-mailed question “What other occupations or hobbies have you pursued or would want to?” with “I would have liked to be an art gallery dealer, something I do online with exhibits (but presenting / discussing art only; I don't sell art).” The depth and extensiveness of this commitment was revealed by her very focused answer to my question “What visual artists and in what media do you most respect and why?” She wrote:
I have a preference for painting, sculptures, drawings, and mixed-media installations. I have a special love for abstract expressionism, which has been a great influence on my poems, especially prose poems (I look at the paragraph as like a canvas)—so I like the greats of abstract expressionism, from Jackson Pollock to Clyfford Still. I also love the paintings coming out of the Dutch Golden Age (Rembrandt et al.); the meticulous superrealists... actually, I like all types of paintings.
Among recent painters, I’d consider Filipina-American artist Jennifer K. Wofford's 'MacArthur Nurses' painting to be among the greatest that will come out of the 21st Century—as magnificent as last century's “Guernica” by Picasso. In sculptures, I am a great fan of American Anne Truitt, about whose works I've written in poems.
Mixed-media installations (e.g. Sharon Louden and Filipino-American Matt Manalo) inspireme because they also can be among the most challenging to understand.
Even more impressive about Tabios' extensive output is how comparatively late it started. I asked her “At what age did you start to do creative writing?” and she replied, “At age 35, I left my banking career to be a full-time creative writer. But one could say I started at age 33 because I began working on a novel after my banking hours, then left banking at the time I was able to write 'The End’on that novel manuscript.
Tabios explained how she has been able to do as much as she has: “I'm genuinely interested in writing and all that writing requires, e.g. research, because writing introduces me to new topics I might not otherwise explore if I weren't a writer. Hard work, focus, and a love for writing allow me to be prolific.”
Tabios also invented a “Poetry Generator” that creates poems by random combinations of lines crafted from revisiting old work. Theoretically, her “Generator” innovation can create a large number of what we might call “alternative poems,” so that Tabios and other poets who use the Generator can be many times more prolific.
On pages 201-203 of The In(ter)vention, Tabios explains the process of rearranging the lines of existing or slightly edited texts to formulate new poems. Without getting into the somewhat complex math which Tabios details in her essay, suffice it to say, as Tabios does, that “I can keep making poems for the rest of my life without having to write new text” (p. 202).
The question then can be, “Are the poems done with this process any good?” (p. 202). The sample size in The In(ter)vention is too small to use as a basis for a conclusion, but the reader intrigued by this issue can consult Tabios' 2015 collection I Forgot Light Burns (Chicago: Moria Books), conveniently accessible online. The volume is occupied by two very long poems MDR generated, so the results are sufficient to formulate a conclusion.
The Generator procedure should not raise troubling questions about artificial intelligence. Since Tabios has composed every word of every line, no issue of author authenticity emerges. Perhaps this is why Tabios is not overly concerned about the degree of AI involvement in the arts. As she said in answer to my e-mailed question about it, “I have no strong opinions on AI, but I don't mind saying that because it can be a tool, it can have a place in creative writing.”
Certainly, Tabios has an important place in the creative arts—as genre creator, poet, performance artist, visual artist, and both art and literature critic. In this latter regard, Tabios has created two online journals, Galatea Resurrects and The Halo-Halo Review, in which she reviews other authors' literary works. Given the quantity and scope of Tabios' achievements, no one volume can familiarize a reader with even a fraction of them. But for a cross-section of her poetry and critical acumen, The In(ter)vention is invaluable.
Lynn M. Grow has a B.A. in English and Philosophy, an M.A. in English, M.A. in Philosophy, and PhD. in English, from the University of Southern California. His specialty is Philippine literature in English.
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