Empathy, Cryptids and Lore: A Conversation with Gyasi Hall
An interview with the author of The Operating System’s newest, by donation digital chapbook release, Flight of the Mothman.
Greetings comrade!
Thank you for talking to us about your process today!
No problem! I always love talking about stuff like this.
Can you introduce yourself, in a way that you would choose?
I like to think the variety of things I’m into, creatively or otherwise, plays a huge role in my life and my writing, so I like to emphasize that in intros:
I’m a poet and essayist, but I’m also a wannabe music writer, a textbook Pisces, a Career D&D game master, a folk punk super fan, a proud Ohioan, a breakfast food enthusiast, a comic book geek, a senior in undergrad, etc. I’m basically a huge nerd, is what I’m saying.
Why are you a poet/writer/artist?
It might be a cliché to cite Kerouac and say I always considered it my duty
on this earth, but in a lot of ways I think that’s true. Both of my parents are
teachers, and my father is also a writer, mostly fiction, so I grew up with
reading and writing as pretty much the form of self-expression/self-
reflection. At some point I think I realized that is wasn’t just a hobby of
mine, and that I was maybe even pretty good at it; there is definitely a
spiritual aspect to all acts of creation, but I think that applies to writing
more so than other things; the ways in which it’s an act of radical empathy
and outreach really spoke to me.
When did you decide you were a poet/writer/artist (and/or: do you feel
comfortable calling yourself a poet/writer/artist, what other titles or
affiliations do you prefer/feel are more accurate)?
I went to a young writers program when I was a sophomore in high school,
and that where I think I started to really step up my game, both in my
writing and in how I felt about me as an artist. I am comfortable in
referring to myself/being referred to as a poet/writer/artist, but I’m always
careful to keep it straight in my mind that that’s not because of how many
places I’ve been published or outward validation or even what I think about the quality of the stuff I make; being a writer more than anything, I think,
is about using writing as a way of navigating the world around us, a way
that becomes central to how we feel/think/engage with people around us.
And that is enough. That might be cliché too, but hey.
What’s a “poet” (or “writer” or “artist”) anyway? What do you see as your cultural and social role (in the literary / artistic /creative community and beyond)?
I talked about how writing should always be an act of empathy, and in that
same vein I think the role of an artist is to listen to the stories/struggles/realities of other people’s lives. Obviously, in creating
something, your role is also to speak your truth, to interrogate your own
realities, to strive toward self-actualization, but if that work doesn’t listen to
others and strive to connect with other people in a meaningful way, if you
aren’t questioning your position by being open and attentive to the complex
universes around you that you may or may not actually be able to
understand because they are not your own, then I think that work is wack,
by and large.
Talk about the process or instinct to move these poems (or your work in
general) as independent entities into a body of work. How and why did this
happen? Have you had this intention for a while? What encouraged and/or
confounded this (or a book, in general) coming together? Was it a struggle?
It might peg me as a youngster/amateur to say that this whole project
evolved out of a class assignment, but it did: we were asked to think about
who/what we consider our ancestors, and write to those people/into those
spaces. Everyone in my family going back generations is from West
Virginia, except for me and my brother, and so that tension between
place/legacy is one I’ve always struggled with. I’m also fascinated with
cryptids, as well as lore as a concept, the idea of stories that are so integral
to history but that don’t really get talked about, and the Mothman was a
perfect metaphor for exploring that, as well as my own place/position/personal history as a mixed race black man in this country.
The writing of the poems themselves was fairly easy once they got going,
but tapping into a mental/emotional state to be able to do that writing was
tough. Everything in the book is true.
Did you envision this collection as a collection or understand your process as
writing or making specifically around a theme while the poems themselves
were being written / the work was being made? How or how not?
This was always meant to be a collection, and I always thought of it as such
when writing it. Honestly, the hard part came from deciding which stories
needed to be told, and how to create something like an arc or a sense of
closure within the structure of the book. There are several poems that got
cut that I dig a lot, but just didn’t work with everything else.
What formal structures or other constrictive practices (if any) do you use in
the creation of your work? Have certain teachers or instructive
environments, or readings/writings/work of other creative people informed
the way you work/write?
I don’t wanna just write a list of names, mainly ’cause that’s not very
helpful but also ’cause we’d be here all day, but I will say that I’m most
invested in writers that are thoroughly engaged with and actively/openly
sharing their relationship with a place, whether that be Chicago,
Columbus, California, Kentucky, whatever. I appreciate writers who aren’t
afraid to pull their punches and speak the truth about where they’re from,
location or whatever else, and how that makes them who they are, because
I am always striving to do that in my own work. As for formal structures, I
think my natural poem writing mode is the kind of stuff you see if the book;
no stanza breaks, very little punctuation, narrative beats that recur and
titles that go on forever, maybe becoming poems themselves. I think that’s
the structure that allows me to act in the least inhibited way; I always
overthink stuff like line breaks and I feel like it gets in the way of whatever
I’m trying to say.
What does your title represent? How was it generated? Talk about the way you titled the book, and how your process of naming
(individual pieces, sections, etc) influences you and/or colors your work
specifically.
Titles are super important to me; I’m constantly being roasted by everyone
in the English department of my university for having titles that make
formatting hard, and the fact that you can tell a “Gyasi Title” from a mile
away during blind readings. But for me it’s always about authenticity. I like titles that add context to the piece, that don’t just summarize what it’s
about. The title of the book is Flight of the Mothman: An Autobiography, which is guess is a way to help the reader in working through a book that is, admittedly, very bizarre and maybe a little obnoxious in its extended metaphor(s). I also love having titles that are the first line of the poem, since that provides an organic way of marrying the two “pieces”. It’s just another factor of the poetic form that I feel like doesn’t get played with enough, basically.
What does this particular work represent to you as indicative of your method/creative practice? your history? your mission/intentions/hopes/plans?
I think this book can in many ways act as a microcosm of everything I’m
trying to do; looking at race through a very particular and personal lens,
play with history/legacy, explore various different emotions at once
(hopefully), etc. Since writing this, I’ve developed more of a love for non-
fiction writing, and I plan on going to grad school for it, so I hope it’s also
pretty obvious to see where those two genres meet in the book.
What does this book DO (as much as what it says or contains)?
I think what it was meant to do, first and foremost (going along with what
I’ve been talking about) is help me interrogate my own identity as a mixed
race black person in the world I live in, but I hope it also provides a way
into a lot of these complicated questions about being mixed, being constantly pulled between two worlds, that maybe don’t get brought up as much.
What would be the best possible outcome for this book? What might it do in
the world, and how will its presence as an object facilitate your creative role
in your community and beyond? What are your hopes for this book, and for
your practice?
Paul Beatty said, in response to another author who was talking about
waiting on the Great American Novel that represents and understands
everyone, that he didn’t think that way; that he thinks we need a bigger bookshelf, so people have room to fill it up with their own stories. I feel like
that might be the best possible outcome for the book: to be a part of that
shelf. Also, I mentioned grad school; I think the writing/publication really
went a long way, for a lot of various reasons, in helping me finally start to
take myself seriously as a writer and as a thinker, and I think that’s gonna
be an important thing for me to carry in my heart for the foreseeable
future.
Let’s talk a little bit about the role of poetics and creative community in
social activism. I’d be curious to hear some thoughts on the challenges
we face in speaking and publishing across lines of race, age, privilege,
social/cultural background, and sexuality within the community, vs. the
dangers of remaining and producing in isolated “silos.”
Echo chambers aren’t necessarily good for the advancement of anyone’s
experience/thoughtfulness, but self-care is also super important; that’s
obviously a line every artist has to measure for themselves. In addition to
everything I’ve said about stories and truth, I think the other major facet to
community and social activism within/through a writing community is
accountability. We have to be willing to call a spade a spade, even within
our own circles, in order to make the general environment
better/healthy/more nuanced for everyone. Again, self-care is always super
important, but the divide between language and thought is razor thin at
best, and in order for us to grow as individuals, as artists, as people who
have to live in a world that wants us dead in so many different ways for so
many different reasons, we can’t afford to get complacent.
Is there anything else we should have asked, or that you want to share?
Not really! You guys are beautiful!
Gyasi Hall is a poet, playwright, and cereal enthusiast from Columbus, Ohio studying Creative Writing and Film Theory at Otterbein University. He is the Poetry Editor for Otterbein’s literary magazine Quiz and Quill, and his work has been published/produced by Thoughtcrime Press, Z Publishing, Get Lit, and MadLab Studios, among others.
