������app

Wise in Excess - Dorothy Chan and the Poetics of Wanting More

by Manuel Melendez

 

Dorothy Chan (she/they) is the author of five poetry collections, including Return of the Chinese Femme (Deep Vellum, 2024); BABE (Diode Editions, 2021), a 2022 finalist for the Sheila Margaret Motton Book Prize from the New England Poetry Club; Revenge of the Asian Woman (Diode Editions, 2019), a finalist for the 2023 Theodore Roethke Memorial Poetry Prize and the 2020 Lambda Literary Award in Bisexual Poetry; Attack of the Fifty-Foot Centerfold (Spork Press, 2018); and the chapbook, Chinatown Sonnets (New Delta Review, 2017), selected by Douglas Kearney for the 6 th Annual New Delta Review Chapbook Contest. They are an Associate Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire and Co-Founder and Editor in Chief of Honey Literary Inc., a 501(c)(3) BIPOC literary arts organization. Chan was a 2022 recipient of the University of Wisconsin System’s Dr. P.B. Poorman Award for Outstanding Achievement on Behalf of LGBTQ+ People. This summer, they will be a Visitor at Sewanee Writers’ Conference. Chan’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The American Poetry Review, The Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day, Poetry Society of America, Literary Hub, Electric Literature, and elsewhere. Visit their website at .

 

---

MANUEL MELENDEZ: I’m so excited to dive right in with you, Dorothy! Thank you for agreeing to this Interview- esque interview! Let’s do it like it’s 1995 all over again!

You talk about riffing as a point of origin for many of your poems– a kind of cataloging & piling of dream menus, overheard conversations, and anachronistic moments (especially within pop culture)– this work, in turn, makes your poems into archives for your way into the world & the world’s way into you. How do you enter a poem (at any given stage) & relax yourself into writing it down while also looking over the notes you’ve compiled on your phone? How do you keep the poem living in feeling & instinct? Do you ever feel like you need to get a reference or a food item in (or a chunky adjective or two), or do you distance yourself from the meta-nature of writing (or the references you’re making) in order to write? Speaking to this distancing– how many “enough is enough” moments do you typically experience when revising a poem or a collection (when you just have to walk away because they’re ready to be released, but you’re still collaging papers on the floor!)?

DOROTHY CHAN: Dearest Manny, I adore this question, and I adore you! I was *just* thinking about this the other day: I *absolutely* abhor the process of “getting ready” to write when I should already be writing. The other day, I was at a café with my laptop—I had too many beverages (an oatmilk lavender cappuccino, San Pellegrino Blood Orange, and water) in front of me—and I felt the urge to reapply my lip gloss. Then I was thinking: Why do I need to reapply my lip gloss? I should be writing. This is like the time I reapplied my lip gloss before boarding at O’Hare. What was I even thinking? That my celebrity crush would be pulling up next to me in Economy? And more immediately, what was I thinking a few days ago at the café when I should have already been writing? That my celebrity crush would be pulling up next to me in Eau Claire?

My point is this: I’d like to take out the romanticization of writing poetry. I ��Dz�’t mean this in a negative way. Oh, it’s the contrary. When we confront that poetry is actual work that needs to get done, then it gets done. And then we can enjoy its beauty sooner. Or think about it this way: the reason why there aren’t that many films about writers (in comparison to the other arts) is because writing is a solitary act. So much of the “drama” goes on in the brain.

To keep a poem living in feeling & instinct: ��Dz�’t think too much. Just feel. Just do it. You simply must tell yourself you are going to write out or type out words. Pull out your notes list. That takes a second. Then you should be writing. I write a lot of sonnets — I love the sonnet because the 10 syllables per line rules isn’t arbitrary. It mimics the way we speak. In everyday conversation, we tend to say 10 syllables before pausing / breathing. When I write my sonnets and Triple Sonnets™, I pretend I’m talking to someone witty and charming who I totally trust. Then I can be myself. I can be outlandish. I can be wild. I can be shady. I can even be romantic—

MELENDEZ: I love the notion of treating the poem as a transcript of your conversation with someone you love. I often think of my poems as transcripts of conversations I want to have or should have had with those I am in love with! I whole-heart co-sign the idea of poetry as work but that work being necessary. Romanticizing the grit of actually writing it down is nonsensical to me and useless to burgeoning poets. But onward to the next question!

Something I adore about your deployment of the triple sonnet is the elegant nature of the number three itself. I know you’ve been asked this before, so let me add a Cherry Coke twist to it: Would you ever consider transforming another poetic form by using threes? Is there a poetic form, received or reformed, that you’d like to try that you haven’t yet? You & I share an adoration of sonnets (& sonnet crowns!), but I wonder if a sestina or a ghazal has ever tempted you into indulgence… (I hope that question wasn’t too banal!)

CHAN: Cherry Coke is my absolute favorite kind of Coke. I have an odd attachment to it for two reasons; 1. When I was a kid, my parents would take me to Nordstrom a lot (I know, I was spoiled. Also, side note: every AWP, I visit Nordstrom whenever I must get away from the crowds. But also: Please ��Dz�’t tell anyone this. I want my peace.) and at their upstairs restaurant, I’d always order a Cherry Coke. Of course, it didn’t come in a can, but they’d mix Coke with grenadine, and I thought it was the greatest thing ever. That’s a Roy Rogers, which is also a favorite of Douglas Kearney’s (who selected Chinatown Sonnets years ago for New Delta Review’s Chapbook Contest — totally changed my life; I was honored to read with him at Open Book in Minneapolis on my spring tour); and 2. For one of my first major publications during my MFA, my poem about Marilyn Monroe was placed in conversation with a story about a girl who put a Cherry Coke over her breast. But Orange Vanilla Coke has also caught my eye. For a while in grad school, I loved Diet Coke Lime.

This is a Cherry Coke-worthy question, Manny! And you could never be banal! I believe poetry is governed by numbers. Want to know a secret: the rule of three applies to my poetry and poetry collections because I studied Art History at Cornell. I love a triptych or three-part structure for my collections (Return is the exception because five felt more regal for the fifth time), and I love a Triple Sonnet and a Dirty Martini with three olives because, well, you can never go wrong with either or both.

I have my Poetry Mother, Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon, to thank for my intense lifelong study of forms. I wrote so many sonnet crowns and sestinas for her classes during my undergrad. I can be tempted by almost any form, and I’ve always said this, too: sestinas are the sexiest. Or you can think of forms of poetry as dance. The ironic thing is this: I ��Dz�’t like to dance; I used to grind on hotties (with their consent, of course) then immediately leave the club. Maybe I do all my dancing in poetry. A sestina is a dance, but like any art form, you need discipline.

When I teach the sestina, I can always tell when a student hasn’t disciplined themselves enough: it’s easy for lines to get out of control and erratic (in non-purposeful ways) because you’re trying to fit in that one-of-six words. I always tell my students this: When I assign you a form, you’re not just doing a homework assignment. I want you to think about what content and movements suit this form. Be sincere. Be authentic.

MELENDEZ: Your Nordstrom secret is safe with me (well, and our readers). Being sincere and authentic is the note, isn’t it? Especially with sestinas, my absolute favorite poetic form. Not only do I concur that they are the sexiest, the obsessive nature of it (and the other obsessives, of course) lends itself so nicely to my need to perform and articulate my desires or ideas (often of the obsessive kind) on the page. By the way, I’m a Vanilla Coke with a hint of Creamsicle guy, myself. So, let’s cheer and head to my next question!

How often do you sit back & realize that this power of threes is also present in the trinity- like presence of food, sex, & family in so much of your poetry? This is my way of asking how much reflection you perform in between the acts of writing about the words & stories themselves. Do you like to go, go, go forward, or do you take time to sit with it before embarking on a new curation of truthful delights (& often delightful truths)? Side-note: I can’t help but draw us to food here: disanxian (“three earthly treasures”) is one of my favorite traditional Chinese dishes & it shares its number with an iconic Latin American dessert, the tres leches, my mother’s favorite, & commonplace once upon a time in Cuba! (I’m obsessed with numbers, so I could go on & on, but I won’t!)

CHAN: Oh, my goodness!!! My father makes me a variation of that dish whenever I visit in Vegas! And whenever tres leches is on the menu, I know exactly what I’m ordering for dessert!

I think I like a combination of both: everything is a happy medium. So, it’s BOTH AND: I always keep moving forward but also balance that out with enough interiority and reflection. That is why airports are my favorite places. An airport is really the best combination of the go go go and the interiority. I like it because it’s a liminal space. I’m one of those people who gets to the airport three hours early, so I have all this time to walk in deep thought. Going to the airport is like being on The Bachelor — you have all this isolated time to think about what you truly want out of life.

I’m obsessed with numbers, too. I have no idea how I became a poet since math was my favorite subject growing up. Then again, I believe poetry is really an art and system of patterns. Within this lyric system of numbers, we can find Truth (with a purposeful capital “T” like Lyrae always emphasized). Within this excision inherent in sonnet writing, due to the 10-syllable rule, we are sculpting towards delightful Truths. Lyrae always says: “Land on delight.”

MELENDEZ: So much to dive into here! Next time I see you we’re sitting down and chatting numbers! I’ve grown to harbor disdain for airports the older I get, but their liminality, especially during red-eye flight times, is always a weirdly mystical experience– like rehearsing to be a ghost while retaining all your senses. I find your writing to be precisely sensual because of how it intersects your appreciation and understanding of patterns but also that “BOTH AND” surge they carry.

In that embodiment of “BOTH AND,” at least from my perspective, you often build centerpieces in your works around the triple sonnet– because why settle for just the one? You’ve called the triple sonnet an amuse-bouche before. Is it the giving nature of poetry itself (or the myriad of poetic forms available to us), or is it more literal in that there’s a main dish waiting out there for you to devour or give to others to feast on (& if so, does that mean you’ve only just gotten started)? (I want you to envision Troye Sivan’s euphoric “Got Me Started” playing as I ask this question, haha!)

CHAN: I love how you set the mood and tone!!!! Also, Troye Sivan — what a fashion icon. I started blasting “Got Me Started” as I was reading this question, haha.

The Triple Sonnet is the amuse-bouche of poetry, meaning it’s the platonic and romantic ideal of a meal: never-ending appetizers and palate whetters. Eight is the lucky Chinese number because when flipped upside down, it’s the infinity symbol. Amuse-bouches are infinite. When I go to a nice restaurant, I’m most interested in the appetizers list. Everything I like to eat is “a little of everything”: dim sum and omakase. Every holiday season, my parents and I celebrate at Caesars Palace’s infamous Bacchanal Buffet— I love getting an oyster shooter; a sample of foie gras; a portion of ahi tuna; whipped salmon mousse; a scallop in the seashell; the list goes on and on. Amuse the mouth. Poetry also amuses the mouth and lives on and off the page—in performance and orally.

In this way, the amuse-bouches, aka the Triple Sonnets, not only present variety internally (with the triptych structure, we get endless voltas) but also externally (I work hard to make each Triple unique I’m not a one-trick pony; actually, I’m not a one-trick BABE). We can feast on unquenchable desire — this is the thing: no one is stopping you from writing more poems. That’s the giving nature of poetry.

MELENDEZ: Ugh. “No one is stopping you from writing more poems.” That should be written on every surface. I feel like you’d appreciate how often Limahl’s “Never-Ending Story” plays in my head (haha). A poem's cyclic and ceaseless nature, even just the single act of a single poem, creates a network of possibilities. Necessary possibility through the inflection of voice and the presence of ultra-specific senses-attuned language.

When I finally sat with your work after having it recommended to me, its immediacy & specificity made me hungry. The deluxe crispy chicken sandwich from McDonalds before a hotel encounter, a flute of champagne & a belly full of honeyed pork or Twizzlers, learning your worth or the infinite Chinatown(s), or– you get the gist! Your writing is imbued with Dorothy Chan & in its abundance. It highlights just how simply & tangibly real the poems are. When did you understand your writing to be yours & how did you initiate crafting that voice while also making the words accessible for the readers that wait so patiently for another fourteen-course meal carefully prepared & delivered by you?

CHAN: Awwwww, my writing is filled with Dorothy Chan — jeez, that’s the greatest compliment ☺!

There’s this age-old argument that every poem is a persona poem, just like every poem is a love poem. Or this is how I explain it to my students: the reason why in poetry, the person or being narrating is called the speaker is because even if your speaker is based on you, the plane of the poem is still different than the plane of the real life we’re currently living and partaking in.

A long time ago, when I entered my first poetry workshop at Cornell, I looked around the room. It’s weird how, in writer circles at that age, you feel like you must “size up” everyone. Sure, it’s a coming-of-age insecurity. And Cornell is an ultra-competitive environment, especially when you’re nineteen and know absolutely nothing about this world. But this is what I learned: I am daring; I am special; I dress flamboyantly, and I’m going to be othered in many spaces for being queer and Asian. I can only bring myself in my writing and let me be strong as hell.

I also think that humor is hard because it reflects truth. Humor is accessible — we need more laughter and joy in this world. There’s also the misconception that humorous works of art should be taken less “seriously” because they aren’t dramas. I disagree. As we’ve learned time and time again, if someone skilled is known for their humor, they might also be reflecting on deep pain and trauma. Again, good humor also comes with Truth (again with the purposeful capital “T”).

I’ve never tried to sound like anyone else because I am the best I can offer.

MELENDEZ: I fear that “sizing up” doesn’t change much, even beyond those first forays into college classrooms. Perhaps we get better at hiding the nakedness of the assessment. Your distinction between the plane of the real life and the plane of the poem is so essential to me because it’s a difference I pay special attention to when writing. Something transforms between that and the page that is so much more valuable to me than if I were just to lie down and tell you my secrets, even as I am doing that very thing. ;) That is also the best I can offer– though I’m hoping more humor comes with my next set of poems! It’s one thing to be casually funny but another to find that wit worm its way onto the page. I shouldn’t neglect my Wilde as much as I do, but I digress.

All right, this next question is simple, Dorothy, because I know these are bricks of text! Where do you draw your kitsch influences from (& you can’t say everywhere!)? I draw mine from John Waters & Almodóvar or Douglas Sirk or early ‘00s teen dramas like The O.C. or Rocky Horror (to name but a few)! What new obsessions do you have right now (books, films, TV, anything at all) that have been nourishing your text? Speaking of nourishment: Where do you tell your students to “look” for inspiration outside of the canon (or writing in general)? Again, specifics because I’d love our readers to get their hands on these texts & voices!

CHAN: Okay, two summers ago, I was OBSESSED with “California 2005” by Phantom Planet. Those two summers ago, I also rewatched the entirety of The O.C. Classic. I remember the commercials teasing the episode when Marissa Cooper dies — it was all “One of these people will not survive tonight” or “You’ll be saying goodbye to one of these people” — very early aughts. I also couldn’t believe they killed her character off!! She was such a style inspiration with her Lacoste polos and Marc Jacobs bags.

Riverdale is my favorite show of all time, so it’s something I binge, especially if I’m in a bad mood at night. It always cheers me up, and I adore the musical episodes, especially the Heathers: The Musical one. Every summer, I get obsessed with rewatching a show from my childhood / teenage years. Last summer, it was Desperate Housewives. This summer, it’s Sex and the City. I’m watching it from the perspective of how Carrie could have communicated much better with Big.

Another obsession of mine is the Lore Olympus webcomic, which is also available via volumes now. When I’m eating dinner, I love to watch “Snacked,” which is part of the First We Feast YouTube Channel. Fashion-wise I’m obsessed with everything J.W. Anderson. Oh, and Challengers! Team Patrick all the way. I love to tease a Patrick. I’ve got to admit I watched the Princess Diana-specific episodes of The Crown, and halfway through, one night, I was like, DAMN, the actor who plays Charles is HOT.

I always tell my students to simply trust their tastes. For instance, if you enjoy buying flowers every Sunday, then in your poem, ��Dz�’t just say “flowers.” Name the type of flowers. Are they cabbage roses? Peonies? Yellow tulips? Be specific. I assign my students an ekphrastic poem every semester and ask them to diligently study the MET and MOMA websites to expand their minds. I ask them to recite old family recipes in their poems. To rate Netflix shows in their poems. To tell me their favorite Culver’s order.

When I get to know someone, I love asking them to name their favorite Sanrio character. Mine is Pochacco. He’s athletic and vegetarian. He was born in a leap year. I am none of these things. Life is full of surprises, and surprise is the greatest element of poetry.

MELENDEZ: Okay, we’ll need to sit down and discuss those last two seasons of Riverdale because they were so off the rails the rails weren’t even rails anymore they were comets shooting across the sky while Cheryl rode them into dying stars (and plots). Some of the wildest stuff I’ve ever seen and heard! We also need to chat more about our mutual crush on Josh O’Connor. Our live- action Linguini can do no wrong, in my book at least. This is why I asked this question– you just get it. The gab of pop culture is full of life for a poem. For writing, period. As for specificity: PREACH. It’s the number one theme I play on my harp all year long– for students, for peers, and for myself. If I can’t use my senses to reach you on the page, how can I ever hope to learn anything about you that I can keep after turning the page? So many moments in your poems that linger because of that vividity and sensuousness.

And that thought messily leads me to my next question for you. In many of your past interviews, you’ve mentioned your writing as a form of “wish fulfillment,” a way to build a dream world. But you’re also building it in this very real life! Please speak about Honey Literary & how it came to be, as well as what it offers to writers out there still sifting through themselves for their voice(s). Please also speak about being a professor & how it feeds you & your poet-life. This is maybe the most important question for you because I was so lucky to spend the first year of my master's with one of your dear mentees (with another freshly arrived this year!)

CHAN: LOVE this question!! Thank you!! In the classroom we can be stuffy and canonical and wear a boring outfit. OR we can be interesting and introduce our students to badass QTPOC, BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, disabled, women, and other marginalized writers. We can also forgo traditional modes of professionalism. I will never be the professor who shows up in a blazer and dress shirt. But I am the professor who wears Fenty eye makeup and sports sparkly outfits from Anthropologie and Nordstrom.

Teaching forms and hosting workshops is another way of building a dream menu. I’m teaching everyone discipline and pleasure at the same time. It’s a pleasure within discipline: I mean, if you write a poem a week in a strict form, ��Dz�’t you feel so accomplished at the end? Teaching informs my practice. It also pressures me to keep up with the contemporary literary landscape. As humanities professors, we have absolutely no excuse to not keep up with the world, along with the movements within the literary sphere. It’s always important to refresh the texts you teach.

And shoutout to my mentees — they are wonderful, as are you. With young writers like Topher Corey and Jake Knuth, it’s so special to see them grow in their craft. The most rewarding part of my job as a professor is mentoring and helping exceptional students get into graduate creative writing programs and place their first publications.

MELENDEZ: I really value that approach to the classroom as a way of building that dream menu. In my Writing and the Senses course, that’s literally and figuratively part of the process, as in Intro to Creative Writing. The responsibility you speak of is also new to me as an instructor– it’s no longer about my education but about how to approach education for others through you, which is a huge responsibility, and I ��Dz�’t ever take it lightly. Part of working toward that job is the form-work itself. My first manuscript is form-heavy, not just because of the play it got me to experience but because that’s how I knew I’d evolve as a poet. Heck, as a hybrid writer, which is my end goal.

Now, finally, my final question! Are you ready? Here we go: When I finished Babe, I was so thrilled that I had found someone out there who loved the senses as much as I did & seemed so casual about their vivid nature within each piece. With Return of the Chinese Femme, your latest collection, I realized that we have something else in common: the very Ariel need to “want more,” to accept not just that we may never be satisfied but that we ��Dz�’t want to be satisfied! Each of these poems is an “I Want” song belted or whispered or torch-sung by you, but they all resound in countless others. Though your reader may not necessarily be a part of your world (I know, I’m terrible), what learning or opportunity do you hope each of them will take with them after they finish reading these morsels of you?

CHAN: God, I love Disney Princesses. I was also into One Direction and now have “I Want” stuck in my head.

It’s true: I always want more.

I was bullied a lot as a kid. I graduated as lucky number 7 from an almost-entirely-white high school of 900. Ironically, 7 is an unlucky number in Chinese culture. White girls would push me around during gym class. They all loved the Jane Austen unit in English class, especially when the teacher asked, “Who here wants to get married?” White boys would be simultaneously intrigued and threatened by me: I skipped two grades in math and was in all AP science courses. My high school was obsessed with football. I was more interested in watching anime and Turner Classic Movies, going to museums, figuring out where in NYC I could get the best sushi, and yearning for designer pieces all over Vogue and ELLE. I knew I had to get out of Allentown, PA, and Go Big Red.

My point is this: I write for the marginalized. I wish I had someone like me when I was younger — it would have saved me.

MELENDEZ: We would have absolutely gotten along in high school. Ain’t that always how it goes, though? Maybe in a multiverse, we went to the same Miami HS and took my friend’s convertible downtown every weekend, listening to Radiohead’s Amnesiac. “Pyramid Song” was everything to me even then. It must feel gratifying, or at least I want (see? Doing it again!) to imagine a lightness now that shines all over your text(s) for others like you. But even for those that aren’t– so they can see, maybe, how to be kinder, sexier, less tied to gestures toward a norm of some kind– an idiosyncrasy they can embrace. As you do. The best kind of self-hug.

Alas, I must confess, I lied. There’s one more question– a ninth, as my ode to your love of three: Would you please create a dream menu for Permafrost? The first full-course meal that comes to mind when you close your eyes & think “Fairbanks, Alaska.”

CHAN: Oh, my goddess!!!! This is a DREAM. Ready:

1. We’re opening a bottle (or two or three) of Brut.
2. Appetizer: A Seafood Tower filled with tiger shrimp, raw oysters, and scallops in the seashell.
3. We’re then switching to Gin Martinis with three olives each (I ��Dz�’t accept Vodka Martinis). Hendrick’s works.
4. Second Appetizer: Salmon Nigiri. The salmon is so good I can feel its slipperiness with my hand, which is the right way to eat sushi.
5. Entrée: Triple Sonnet Surf and Turf: Lobster Tail and Filet Mignon, but we’re adding in Alaskan King Crab Legs.
6. Second Entrée: We’re eating another helping of Alaskan King Crab Legs, but this time, we’re doing it Cantonese style with plenty of ginger.
7. Aviation time. My signature cocktail, as told by Paddy.
8. Dessert: Black Sesame Macarons; Red Bean Ice Cream; and Almond Cookies.
9. Fruit: A Deluxe Plate of Lychee and Longan.
10. End cheers: Espresso Martinis and Mint Tea with Honey (For Honey Literary and because I need to rest my voice more <3 )

Cheers to you, my friend—