“I began to wonder what it was about travel that brought out a better version of myself, and as I was thinking about it, an answer came to me which was the truest answer I’ve had (so far).”
Shiftings & Other Coordinates of Disorder (Pinhole Poetry, 2024)
How did you decide on the arrangement and title of your book?
When I first attempted to make this collection, I was actually shooting for a full length manuscript. That said, I gathered way more pieces than actually ended up in the final product. An early version had three separate sections: Shiftings, Disorders, and Coordinates. I eventually whittled things down to pieces that I really loved, linked best to each other, and tied strongly to those three themes. With the shortened length, I decided to make one contiguous manuscript without section headers. Even though I knew this was the right decision, I had a hard time letting go of these original threads that connected the book together. So, I turned them into the title: Shiftings & Other Coordinates of Disorder.
What’s the oldest poem in your book? What do you remember about writing it?
There are actually two poems that are the oldest in my book. These are “Notes from a Subterranean Art Museum” and “Walking the Skyway at Kyoto Station.” Both were written on a trip to Japan back in 2017.
A rainy day in Osaka led to “Notes from a Subterranean Art Museum.” Bits of titles and descriptions of sculptures made it into this poem (there really was a fish sculpture with a lightbulb for an eye), but what I really remember was the fascination with this museum being underground. The faint smell of dampness after rain, the heavy silence that comes with something sunken into earth.
An initial draft of “Walking the Skyway at Kyoto Station” was written 45 meters up in the air on that exact skyway. I spent quite a bit of time up there being a casual observer and watching the flow of commuters from this vantage point. The glass and girders. The light. The calm of being separated from the rush below.
Which poem in your book has the most meaningful back story to you? What’s the back story?
I think the last poem in the collection, “Lactic Acid,” has the most meaningful back story. It contains a lot of myself in the poem which is something I normally struggle with. Lisbon is one of my favorite cities and I was lucky enough to return for a visit in 2023. On the first night of arrival, jet lag kicked in around 5am and I was wide awake. My apartment was on the third floor overlooking a restaurant and shopping street. The bustling sounds of tourists and diners had carried on throughout the day and late into the evening. But at 5am, as I sat looking out the window, all was quiet. The sun was just beginning to come up, there was a calmness in the air, and I just felt settled. I began to wonder what it was about travel that brought out a better version of myself, and as I was thinking about it, an answer came to me which was the truest answer I’ve had (so far). That line became the last line in this poem.
Which poem is the “misfit” in your collection and why?
The misfit would be the single haiku “rabbit leaves behind.” It’s the only poem in the manuscript that was written in a fixed conventional form. The haiku signals a turning point in the manuscript where the poems move away from home and outwards into the world again. This piece indicates this change by its subject matter (a rabbit running off), but also with its unique form which stands out visually due to the short compact nature, giving the reader a sign that something different is happening.
What was the final poem you wrote or significantly revised for the book?
“Walking the Skyway at Kyoto Station” was significantly revised, and it’s had a long journey. Although both this poem and “Notes from the Subterranean Art Museum” were written on the same trip, “Notes” was published shortly thereafter, and “Skyway” never found a home. I tried for a while, but eventually it got tucked away. When I was putting this chapbook together, I knew that if I was putting in “Notes from the Subterranean Art Museum,” that it needed to be paired with “Walking the Skyway at Kyoto Station.” So, I re-looked at the poem, and tried to figure out what I really wanted to say. In the end, I took only the last stanza, and then added in a footnote. This morphed the poem’s form into two perspectives. The view from the skyway was described in the main stanza, and then down below tucked in the miniscule print of footnotes are some little details that one might see if they were on the ground walking in the crowd.
A question from Caroline M. Mar: What was the soundtrack of your book? Were there specific songs, musicians, or sounds that helped you access your writing?
I’m going to spin this question a bit. While there is no official soundtrack to this book, some of these poems have been turned into short poetry films, and that’s where I feel like the musicality of each piece comes out. It doesn’t always have to be songs either. Sometimes, what fits are generic soundscapes like rain, ocean waves, or the white noise of an airplane cabin. When I feel music needs to be there, I attempt to make the background music myself which is a completely new avenue for me as a writer. So, if there’s some music in the film, that’s actually me plunking on some keys or mixing in some drum beats (although occasionally, I will cheat and throw in one of those generic pre-made tracks).
A question from Summer J. Hart: Do you work in any other artistic media? If so, how do the varied disciplines intersect, overlap, if they do at all?
In 2022, I created a short poetry film series called “Compostable Morsels” which was a collection of short poems (six lines long) related to compostable items found in my fridge and around the house. It was an experiment and my first attempt at making films. I discovered that I loved how imagery, music, and words worked together to enhance each other and convey a certain vision or emphasize an emotion. I also felt that the media of film opened up the work to a whole different audience.
A question from Noreen Ocampo: What is something that fuels you as a writer, your writing practice, or just you as a human being?
At the end of the day, I feel like I am a writer of place and so place is what fuels me. It’s where I feel the quick spark of inspiration or find that single detail which sticks in my mind for days. It’s not always about the big travel destinations either. I’ve jotted things down while staring at the lilac bushes outside my window, sitting by a koi pond downtown, or even on my morning walk with the dog. There are moments when I feel I am most present and really experiencing a place. My mind quiets and stops being distracted by regular stimuli. When I get that feeling, I try to listen, and sometimes a line or image finds me.
What are you working on now?
I’m storyboarding what I hope will be my next poetry film. My goal for 2024 is to release a new short poetry film every month, so I am focusing more on that process this year. A friend of mine told me to “follow the heat,” creatively speaking, and I’m finding a lot of surprise and excitement in making these.
What question would you like to ask the next author featured at Speaking of Marvels?
Is there a piece that you loved but it didn’t quite make the final cut for your book? If so, what was the reason?
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Jenny Wong is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Her favorite places to wander are Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centers, and Parisian cemeteries. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Best of the Net Anthology, Best Small Fiction Awards, and The Forward Prize – Best Single Poem (Written). She resides in Canada near the Rocky Mountains. Her debut chapbook Shiftings & Other Coordinates of Disorder is now available from Pinhole Poetry. Find her on Twitter(X) @jenwithwords.
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