Austin Writer ire’ne lara silva Plans Her Year as Texas State Poet Laureate

Texas State Poet Laureate ire'ne lara silva (photo by Jana Birchum)

Lovers of local poetry, meet (or revisit) your newest torchbearer: ire'ne lara silva, the Rio Grande Valley-born, Austin-based artist and the current Texas State Poet Laureate.

Ecstatically buoyant at some moments, heartachingly haunting at others, silva's work revolves around themes of Indigenous history, disability, and the Latinx experience. The child of migrant truck drivers, silva spent much of her childhood traversing the highways of South Texas, where she developed a deep understanding of the beautiful contradictions held inside her home state.

On top of her prestigious new title – the seventh Austinite to hold the position since its establishment in 1932 – silva juggles a number of wide-ranging literary pursuits at any given moment. In February, she finished her second short story collection, the light of your body, while her fifth book of poems, the eaters of flowers, will be published in January. Her first comic book, Vendaval: Origins and Nightmares, arrives in April via Chispa Comics, the Latinx division of popular indie publisher Scout Comics. Over two plates of enchiladas verdes at South Congress staple Jalisco's, silva shared her plans to make the most of her year as the premier poet of Texas before she hands the title over to 2024 laureate Amanda Johnston.

Austin Chronicle: What was your reaction when you received the news that you'd been appointed Texas State Poet Laureate?

ire'ne lara silva: Well, it was really odd, because I was having this day where I just thought, the wind outside is weird, and the world is weird today. I'd actually thought about it the day before and was like, it's kind of late, why haven't they announced anyone yet? Then I saw that [Director of Communications at Texas Commission on the Arts] Anina Moore was calling me.

It was amazing when she told me. I think it's one of the biggest senses of affirmation I've had as a poet. You know, there are different levels of affirmation, from publishing poems to books to visiting classes, but being the Texas State Poet Laureate? That's a whole other level.

Then I went into furious planning mode – what do I want to do with this year? I started to come up with some plans and outlines, even though I was only a couple of weeks away from heading to an 11-day tour of El Paso and New Mexico. As opposed to some of our cities, Texas' poet laureateship doesn't actually come with any obligations. It also comes with no money, so you kind of have to shape it the way you want.

AC: It's still very early, but do you have any plans for the position that you're willing to share?

ILS: I'm planning three very large readings in different parts of Texas. One here, and two in South Texas. I haven't talked to them yet, but I'm also going to try and see if I can get H-E-B to support one of my plans. I sent them a proposal for an event about four years ago that was focused on my Blood Sugar Canto collection. I remember when my dad was told he was diabetic in 1986, and all the literature that he was given about nutrition was not culturally relevant in any way. There's this ongoing belief that Mexican food is unhealthy, and that's because people are only looking at beans, cheese, and meat. They're not thinking about things my mother would make, like caldos, that have so many vegetables in them, or fresh dishes like ceviche. I want to look at foods that are healthy and culturally relevant and bring in poetry and music, too. Let's have parking lots full of food demonstrations and local poets!

I didn't know that it would happen this way, but I have a new book of poetry coming out in January, and I just found out that my first comic book is coming out in April. I've been on this kick for the last year where if a project is new and sounds interesting, I'll say yes. If it's something I've already done or if it sounds boring, then no. But [if] it kind of sounds like an irresistible challenge, then why not?

AC: You've cited your childhood travels with your parents throughout Texas as a major influence on your writing. As an artist who draws so much inspiration from the road, what does the idea of home mean to you? Does Austin influence your work in any way?

ILS: It does, in ways that are maybe not the ordinary, expected ways. So much of my writing is focused on the border and different kinds of borders, but Austin was good for me as a writer. I remember that when I first got here, I met Raúl Salinas – the first writer I met in town – at Resistencia Bookstore. He was so welcoming, but he was also very hands-off and created a space for creativity to happen and for people to meet. Anywhere else that I might have gone, people might have not given me the hands-off approach that I needed. Austin still feels this way to me: It gives you room to breathe and to try out different things, to find your own rhythm and your own life.

People ask me all the time, "Why wouldn't you want to be in someplace that's more Latinx focused?" and I'm like, 'I've loved it here!' There's everything here, and in the same way that Texas isn't just what you see in the headlines, Austin isn't just what you see in the headlines. I also think sometimes people make ideas of the border and its culture too geographically specific and think that the border is only 20 miles on either side of the actual Rio Grande. But it's something you carry with you, something you live in no matter where you go.

AC: As a poet, essayist, novelist, and now a comic book writer, how do you distinguish the boundaries between these different forms? Where does poetry end and something else begin?

ILS: I think what I've very recently decided is that everything is poetry, but I think I also like the separation of genres for different purposes. Poetry is dealing with my emotional and actual life. Short stories are like word problems, you know, to figure things out or try out a scenario. Novels, I'm thinking, are how you undo reality and put it back together again.

AC: In 2013, the fantastic Rosemary Catacalos made history as the first Latina appointed to the Texas Poet Laureate post. Could you speak on your relationship to the laureates who came before you?

ILS: Rosemary Catacalos constantly awed me. The last time I got to hear her was in 2018 when we were invited to a reading at Trinity University. What I always remember was her telling me about meeting up with a friend for her 73rd birthday, and that the friend asked her what she was proudest of in her life, assuming it would be her publications or books or whatever.

She said that poetry wasn't an accomplishment. "Poetry was how I made myself the best version of myself I could be." I love that answer so much, because I think that's one of the things that a lot of people don't understand about poetry. A lot of people think of it as a form of intellectual playing or narcissism or being emo but don't realize how powerful poetry can be in life. With the way that I grew up, I was supposed to self-destruct and take as many people as I could with me. Poetry allowed me to look for ways to self-create instead of self-destruct, and in turn, try to nurture that for other people, too. It's not about getting prizes and positions, but if you have all of those things, it's easier to do the work of poetry because your reach is greater.

It's not about the building of a bio. It's about putting yourself in the best position and getting the lever to be able to move the things you want to move. To encourage and help people where you can in the same way that other people's poetry has – by taking me out of difficult, difficult spots and inspiring me.

ire’ne lara silva’s new collection, the eaters of flowers, will be published by Saddle Road Press in January 2024. Buy her books directly from irenelarasilva.wordpress.com.

puño de flores

one of my favorite Ramon Ayala songs says
that all you'll take with you is a fistful of earth

i think if death is a fistful of earth
then life must be a fistful of flowers

held loose held fiercely held carelessly
held as if our skin could taste their colors

as if we could drink in the sunshine they fed on
as if we could catch the scent of the rain they drank

as if the stems were made of light and not dull earth
as if the stems spoke in electricity and sang in sinew

as if each flower was someone we'd loved as much
or more than we'd loved ourselves—for a time at least

as if each crease or dark edge on a petal was a pain
we'd endured and taken so deep it had renamed us

held as if we could convince them to endure forever
even as the heat of our hands shortened their time

– ire'ne lara silva