Joaquín Zihuatanejo is a poet, spoken word artist, and award-winning educator from East Dallas. His work captures the beauty and brutality of Chicano culture, drawing from a youth shaped by the barrio and a deep love of language. A National Poetry Slam Finalist, HBO Def Poet, and Grand Slam Champion, Joaquín has performed across North America and Europe. Known for his electrifying presence and emotional honesty, he inspires students and audiences alike to find and share their voices. Despite the accolades, he remains grounded in two lifelong passions: poetry—and his wife, Aída, always in that order. @joaquinzihuatanejo
You were born and raised in East Dallas. How did it shape your view of the world and the kinds of poetry you’re drawn to? My tío Tino, used to tell me when I was a mocoso, “Mi’jo, if you ever make something of yourself, make sure you tell them you were born on the mean streets of East Dallas, because your mom was in the back seat and we were flying up Gaston Ave toward Baylor Hospital and you we’re…happening back there.” A story…and I understand what the word story implies, but I love that story. So much. I’m from East Dallas. I’m from the streets of my city. My first poems sound like the streets of my city. My early poems sound like el jardín de mi abuelo…my grandfather’s garden. They sound like stories bouncing off the walls of Roy Hernandez’s Barbershop over off Henderson Ave. They sound like laughter in the produce aisle of Jerry’s Super Mercado. When I heard Jonathan GNO White’s poem, “Street Poet,” and the opening line…”I am a street poet / and I write about bad things,” I knew that’s what kind of poet I am…I am a street poet.
Were you the kind of kid who always had a book in hand? What books made you fall in love with reading as a child? Voracious. My abuelo was a treasure hunter. He never used the word, basura, foot things he would find on the side of the road that someone had discarded. He used the word, tesoro…treasure. I remember he found a box of books on the side of the road when I was a mocoso…snotty nosed kid…he placed them on a shelf in the sala. That shelf had a gangster lean to it. Because he found that small two-tier wooden shelf on the side of the road and brought it home for us to use. Really the only thing keeping it upright was the weight of the word upon it. I used to read to him from those books aloud. In that way I could practice my English and reading skills. He always talked to me about the power in reading and writing and education. I’ve won many literary awards and prizes in my life. I owe every one of them to him. He was the first man to place a book in my hand and challenge me to read it aloud.
Describe your typical writing day. I used to be a night writer. During the day I would be partner/father/teacher and at night from 10 pm to 3 or 4 am I could be selfish. I could be researcher/writer/poet. Now, I write in the mornings. I think earlier or later works best for me as a writer. I think it helps to be a little sleepy or perhaps just awakened...in that way I'm closer to the subconscious and perhaps closer to the truth. For me the poem starts with an image. Then I want to find a way to get to the music of the initial line. We have so few tools as poets to work with. Perhaps just three...the image, the line, and the truth. When a line or lines comes to me they are usually handwritten in a journal or typed into my laptop immediately. I find myself early in the process aching over sound. What happens if I remove this article? Or leave it in? What happens to image? But equally important for me is what happens to sound?
Tell us about the creative process behind your most well-known work or your current writing project. I'll speak to my last collection, Occupy Whiteness, out now from Deep Vellum Publishing. These are hybrid erasures. A term for a very precise form that I created. They begin by me reading a long form work of fiction or nonfiction by a white male author. I read and read and read until a page or series of pages jumps out to me for whatever reason. I then tear those pages out and discard the novel. Destruction was a central part of the creative process for that collection. I then search for poetic words in the prose deserving of remaining on the page. These erasures are extreme. I only leave isolated words. I cannot keep two consecutive words in sequence. I limited myself for these poems to three to 14 words. No less than three. No more than 14. (Just in case I wanted to write a deconstructed sonnet...which I did; however, none found their way into Occupy Whiteness. I use white out markers to white out words as I'm searching for the ones I will colonize. When I finished with that part of the process I am left with several isolated words floating in a sea of white space. I transpose those discovered words onto a blank document in my laptop. Setting the margins to those of the novel. Counting out spaces and lines in the novel to place the words on page just as the fall on the original source. I then occupy the white space with what I call Brown verse. This is how the hybrid erasure takes form. I knew for this project I wanted all of these hybrid erasures to touch on the erasure of Brown life in the border regions of the United States. I also wanted them to speak to the migrant experience as I was traveling through the Southwest and Western part of the US, speaking with migrant students about their lives and the lives of their familias. After completing the first draft of the manuscript, I recall being at a literary festival before the book was submitted to my publisher and telling people about the process. A very famous white poet asked me several questions about Occupy Whiteness and my creative process. They ended the conversation with the question, "But don't you feel bad about taking words, even if it's just three isolated words from a white male author?" "No," I replied. "But why...?" she asked. "Because you see, I'm not taking any words. I'm discovering them. I'm colonizing them." That conversation made its way into the book as the first page in Occupy Whiteness. A guide of sorts to let the reader know as early as page one that what they were about to read was an act of resistance. An act of defiance.
When I submitted the final draft to my publisher, it was my editor, Sebastian H Páramo PhD, who suggested the idea of inserting pieces into the collection that had no business being in a poetry manuscript. Things like essays and micro essays. In that way he thought Occupy Whiteness could could explore hybridity even more. I was thrilled to accept his challenge, under a series of conditions: 1. I wanted the poems to appear on white pages with black text and the essays and micro essays to appear on black pages with white text. 2. There would be one micro essay near the middle of the book that would appear on a gray page with white text. 3. The essays and micro essays would appear in the books in my Abuelo's language first, Spanish, and in my language, English, second. 4. Finally, all of the essays and micro essays would have no title and no mention in the table of contents. Meaning...there are undocumented pieces in my book. But believe me...they are just as important as the documented ones.
Do you keep a journal or notebook? If so, what’s in it? Yes. I read once that Claribel Alegría called hers a "seed book." I love that. I travel around the country working with young writers and challenge them all to keep a seed book. I tell them the line or image they write into it, can grow into a poem. A poem that just might change the world. In my seed book you will find poems, short stories, ideas for workshops, prompts, and lessons. You will also find drawings. Quick sketches in pencil mostly.
What kind of research did you do for Occupy Whiteness?
Research was a central part of the creative process for that collection. I had to find the book I was going to destroy to create the poem. Many times I would see a title or blurb and thought to myself, certainly I will find something in there to occupy on the theme of migrant field workers. And I would read and read but nothing would jump out at me. So I would discard that book and simply move on to another. I would read 80 pages of one novel and find nothing, so I would move on. I would read 70 pages of a work of nonfiction and find nothing, so I would move on. I knew going into the process that it would take hours...sometimes days...sometimes weeks to find the right page to deconstruct and occupy the white space of that particular piece to create my peace.
Who’s the one writer you’d invite to your dream dinner party?
Rudy Anaya. Rudolofo Anaya, was my mentor. My guide when I began my journey into my MFA. He actually wrote one of my letters of recommendation for me. He was so generous with his time and energy. When he met my family he showered them in his Light. Every year he would send my daughters birthday presents and also sent them both graduation gifts when they both graduated high school. Now that he has transitioned, I would love to have the opportunity to have one more dinner with him. Laugh with him. Read him some of my newer poems from Occupy Whiteness and the forthcoming, IMMIGRANT...just to get his insights on them. Just to see that contagious smile of his one more time.
Do you draw inspiration from music, art, or other disciplines? I love to draw. Mostly quick sketches in pencil. If I had more time I would paint, perhaps even begin creating multi-genre pieces that combine drawings or paintings with poems. I pluck on an old guitar in my office that has the flag of Mexico painted across the body. I only know a couple of chords, so I struggle with guitar, but do enjoy trying to play. Perhaps down the line when I'm not touring and visiting as many schools as I do now, I can throw my energy into some art forms other than poetry.
AI and technology are changing the ways we write and receive stories. What are your reflections on AI, technology and the future of storytelling? And why is it important that humans remain at the center of the creative process? AI is here and it's not going anywhere. I'm trying to make peace with that fact. I haven't used it in this lifetime. I have no plans to. I do understand that there are people in the corporate world who simply cannot write a concise well thought out memo for the life of them. In that instance perhaps there is a place for AI in the corporate world. But far far for me...I see no use for it in poetry. Perhaps some day, but not now.
Which writers shaped your early thinking—and who shapes it now?
I just finished The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt. It is a powerful and urgent and necessary book. I'm developing a workshop for scholars and their parents to help them find ways to unplug and reconnect with the natural world around them and in doing so find a way to prioritize self-care over social standing. One that I've re-read a few times over the last year or so is The Tools by Phil Stutz and Barry Michels. It's been invaluable in helping me along my own self care journey. And I also recently read The Misfit's Manifesto by Lidia Yuknavitch. I work with so many young scholars all over the country and more than a few of them have asked me, "who is our Shakespeare today...who is our greatest living writer...who must I read?" I always give the same answer...Lidia Yuknavitch.
Exploring literature, the arts, and the creative process connects me to… the shared humanity of whomever is reading the poem I have crafted or to whomever is reading this sentence.
