A Conversation with Poet Tina Chang

Contributor to Our Spring Poetry Collection

Photo credit: Chris Taggart

For our Spring Poetry Collection, we tried something new: bringing coffees and poems together in one special release. Because while coffee gets us up in the morning, a poem keeps us company as the day wears on. 

In partnership with the Poetry Society of America, we commissioned a new poem from Tina Chang, Brooklyn Poet Laureate, author of several poetry collections, including Hybrida, and professor and Director of Creative Writing at Binghamton University. Her poem “Spring” was written in celebration of Renewal Blend, a limited-edition release that combines Ethiopian and Colombian coffees to make a rich and fortifying cup. 

Eager to hear more about Tina’s process in composing “Spring,” we reached out to her, gaining a new perspective on how to move through uncertain times with our eyes—and hearts—wide open.

About your poem “Spring,” the snow has this dark but magical quality. Its very presence is what makes the poet’s footprints visible. It’s like the difficulty of winter plays a role in making us known to ourselves. What is your experience of snow and ice? Or how were you trying to use it in this poem? 

This winter, in particular, was unlike any other. The snow fell heavily and sometimes that was joyous, layers of white covering the trees and the cityscape, hushed everything to a state of stillness. The snow also mirrored a sense of isolation and quiet I had felt so deeply during the past year. During the pandemic, I was often indoors looking at the world, wishing for a turn of events, wishing for a day the windows and doors could open and we would all return to a state of normalcy and activity. In my poem “Spring,” I saw the snow as a record of this time, a record of our existence. Snow, however, is temporary; it melts and disappears but the record of us, the imprint of us as indicated by the footprints still remains in memory. The frost’s disappearance gives way to spring and with that comes life, hope, and bloom.

How does your writing process shift when a poem’s theme, and aspects of its form, are already decided? 

The spring poem came naturally as I had been contemplating the change of seasons. This spring coincided with a feeling of relief. As the weather warmed, as the sun showed itself more often, and as the blossoms started to sprout everywhere, as a writer I couldn’t help but see and notice this welcomed transition, so this poem was a joy to write.

Writing a poem based on a work of art is common, but writing a poem on a food or coffee is less so. How do the senses of smell and taste figure into your own work? 

Poets and artists rely heavily on the senses to guide them. While my sense of sight and the creation of the visual image has always been strongest for me, it is undeniably tied to the other senses. For example, though I don’t drink coffee (I’m an avid tea drinker), I have always loved the scent of it; I love walking into a coffee shop to smell a scent that reminds me of a cabin set in the midst of wilderness, or a scent that reminds me of woodsmoke in a fireplace, or an aroma that reminds me of freshly picked roses or lilacs or peonies. Gesturing toward each family of flowers has a different texture and to detail that subtlety of experience is what artists have been called to do.

For newcomers to poetry, do you have advice on how to sit with a poem? 

Our lives often ask us to be active, moving, and productive. The poem, on the other hand, asks us to slow down, stand still, and rest inside a moment. It is meditative and serene. Creating the time to sit with a poem is a first step, allowing permission to read the poem however you wish is another step. Remember, it is impossible to read a poem incorrectly because you are its active listener and interpreter. Poems are wide open terrain that welcome the reader in exactly as they are. Poems are accepting.

We understand that coffee isn’t your preferred beverage. Do you have a morning routine or ritual that involves a warm drink? 

My morning routine always involves warm tea with milk and sugar. Before I begin, I meditate and open space for breathing and contemplation because writing poems requires both. I often sit with spiral notebooks or lined pads I write in often. I begin by first transcribing notes from my notebooks to my laptop. I try not to judge what I’m transcribing and remind myself to keep my fingers moving on the keyboard. Once I have transcribed, I work with sculpting and shaping the poem while simultaneously mining and exploring the material. I’m making it sound simpler than it is but the process of creating a poem takes weeks, months, and even years.

I often can’t think without tea set in front of me. I drink tea so often my dearest friend, also a poet, brought me a beautiful portable tea set when she returned from a trip to China. It contains a delicate but slim glass teapot and two sake-sized teacups and it’s one of my prized possessions. Whenever I drink from it, I think of the power of our collective journey as poets and it offers me the energy I need to move forward.

Where do you find inspiration?

I find inspiration in the external world (the seasons, current events, familial relationships) but as I age, I find inspiration and belief in what is unseen. I no longer have to feel that a situation is tangible in order for me to write about it. I am much more interested in what is mysterious, what I’m most unable to describe, what confuses me, or what feels vast and unreachable. As I arrive in midlife, I am looking inward. Much of my poem “Spring” is about the untouchable pain we have felt through an unspeakable time yet we are asked to speak of it, to give it shape, meaning, texture. Without documenting it, it is lost. By the end of the poem, the speaker doesn’t leave winter but lived through it and by doing so, she releases it and she is able to walk toward her future. That future is alive. It is lush and full of possibilities.