Photo by Ebony Lamb
Jordan Hamel is a Michigan-based writer, poet and performer from Aotearoa.
He was the 2018 New Zealand Poetry Slam champion and represented NZ at the World Poetry Slam Champs in 2019. He is the co-editor of Stasis Journal and of No Other Place to Stand, an anthology of Aotearoa climate change poetry published by Auckland University Press. His debut poetry collection Everyone is Everyone Except You was recently published by Dead Bird Books.
He is currently studying an MFA at the University of Michigan on a Fulbright Scholarship.
Do you remember the first thing you wrote?
I don’t know, but I’m sure it was shit! I have a couple of handwritten journals from when I was an angsty teen, filled with some really bad poetry; half-My Chemical Romance, half-wannabe Jim Morrison. I don’t know where they are now actually. I’m terrified that, if I ever get famous, when I die someone will find those journals and stick them in a museum for the world to see. So, I need to find them first and destroy them.
You’ve written about the difficulty of finding a place that involved poetry in your teenage years growing up in Timaru. Was there anyone or anything that encouraged your writing at that age? What would you like to see more of in regional Aotearoa around writing and reading, or to support young writers?
Yes, my English and drama teacher! Cliché I know, but she essentially taught me from the age of 8-18. She introduced me to so many of my favourite writers, playwrights and poets. She made a point of teaching challenging and engaging texts in her classes, which in turn resulted in kids like me being drawn to her and wanting to explore literature we otherwise wouldn’t have been exposed to. We’re still good friends to this day and I go visit her whenever I’m back in Timaru, we get horrendously drunk in her home library and argue over Baxter and Leonard Cohen.
I’m not sure what I’d like to see more of, I think it’s contextual on the school, the environment, the region etc. I think the big things are ensuring young readers and writers see themselves in the work they study. Which flows into the other blanket wish I have for young people in the regions and their various institutions, which is teach more relevant, representative, and contemporary texts and authors! A lot of schools and teachers have been amazing at picking up this challenge in the last few years.
I’ve been lucky to run workshops in high schools around the country and teachers always ask me how to make students care about poetry, my answer is always the same: get your library to order some Tayi Tibble, Hera Lindsay Bird, Dominic Hoey, Mohamed Hassan, etc etc and teach those books. It doesn’t mean you can’t also teach war poetry or Ted Hughes, but you need to show kids what poetry is and what it can be, not just what it was.
How did you get into slam poetry? For poets interested in getting involved, what would be some good places to start?
Essentially by accident. I didn’t grow up in Wellington or study at the IIML, so I didn’t really have a poetry community. One day, during a quarter-life crisis ‘say yes to everything’ phase I stumbled upon a poetry slam and signed up for it, even though the idea of getting on stage and saying poetry terrified me. I turned up, not really knowing what was going on, it went really well, the rest is history. There is a vibrant slam and spoken word scene in Wellington, Motif Poetry puts on incredible events pretty regularly as does Poetry in Motion, both also host slams throughout the year and newcomers are always welcomed and celebrated.
You are a poet who has the ability to move between slam/performance poetry to poetry on the page. What makes a good slam poem, and how is that different from what works best in print (if there is a difference)?
A good slam poem is any poem that scores well at a slam! Sorry, that might sound like a glib answer, but a slam is purely a format, a device, a construct for poems to be spoken and heard. While particular styles become prevalent in that environment, I’ve seen poets get up at slams and read from their books and win. That’s why I like slams – they’re welcoming, diverse, and ultimately a silly, fun way to trick people into liking poetry.
In terms of what makes a good performance poem… It ultimately depends on the poet, some poets excel at being loud and bombastic, others are hushed and can put an audience on the edge of their seat to the point where no one makes a sound. Some people can use comedy, some use anger, sadness, relatability, spontaneity – every poet has their own superpower, it’s just about harnessing it.
However, I think the two universal qualities that all good performance poets have in their work are honesty and awareness. Not honesty in the traditional, non-fiction sense, more in the sense of believing in your poem, in your words, in your messaging. As for awareness, it’s both self-awareness, knowing who you are when you’re on a stage and what makes you and your performance unique, and also an awareness of the room, the people who are in it, how you’re being perceived. An awareness that these people are in this space watching and listening to you perform, and an understanding of how that level of attention and generosity from others can never be taken for granted – as soon as you do, the audience realises and you’ll lose them.
Oh shit, there’s more to this question – what’s the difference between a good performance poem and a good print poem? This is something I find myself wrestling with constantly. When I started writing and performing seriously, I think the old school NZ literature attitude was that the two are distinct and separate and never the twain shall meet. An attitude which is obviously outdated and wrong (not to mention harmful, but that’s another rant). I think initially I rebelled against this idea by deciding that they are one and the same, because fuck the binary etc, but now I think I’ve landed in a peaceful middle, where I see the two as a Venn diagram of sorts.
A big part of writing my book was learning how to write specifically for the page, which was one of the things I’m most proud of about it, the purposive nature of it. The book is its own specific thing, not a transcription of my performance poems. I love the tangible, concrete nature of the medium. Ultimately, I have poems that will only ever work on the stage, and some that are meant to purely exist on the page, and poems which can do both well. I’m just really enjoying slithering between the worlds.
You’ve said that Everyone is Everyone Except You, your debut collection, is ‘an attempt to use poetry to reject masculinity and reclaim it’. Can you speak a little about your experience of reading masculinity in poetry and how you’ve come to navigate that theme in your own work?
I can! I know in some circles, poetry has been seen in the past as a masculine pursuit, man alone with the landscape and his thoughts etc. But where I grew up, in rural NZ, poetry was not, in any way shape or form, masculine. Masculinity was the pub, the farm, the All Blacks on weekends. But as I grew up and read more, my understanding of poetry and Aotearoa grew, and I realised that not only was there a tradition of poetry as a form of masculinity (often reinforced by the patriarchy etc), but that there was also space to inject my own form of masculinity into the canon. A version which can critique aspects of the past while also taking from it. My masculinity might be closer to Chris Tse’s He’s so MASC than Brian Turner’s Taking Off, but it all finds its way in there in some form or another.
One of the running themes is Everyone is Everyone Except You is of outsiderness – that life’s important events and successes are happening for others, except for you, the writer/reader, culminating in the book’s quasi-title poem, ‘Human Resource’. How did you come to this as an organising theme for the collection?
I think it’s outsiderness (is that a word?), but it’s also not… sorry, terrible vague poet answer. Essentially, it’s about how the feelings and things that you are supposed to experience in life are either not happening to you or happening to you in a passive way, or are happening in extremely vivid and momentous ways, making you feel like you are at the centre of your own universe, and how to balance those two quite conflicting states of being.
When I started looking at an early version of the manuscript I realised that, in terms of subject matter, the poems covered quite a broad range, but that the central tension between feeling anxious and alone, and feeling like you are the main character, the desire to be hidden and seen, passive and active, was there throughout them all. That led me to building and developing the manuscript into the final product.
You reference a number of poets – Hanif Abdurraqib, sam sax, Chris Tse – as influences on individual poems in the collection. How does your reading of/listening to poetry, and of those poets specifically, inform your writing of it?
The poets I read and hear and love mean everything to me. We’re all a product of our experiences and influences, no one writes in a vacuum. I was a terrible poet before I started stuffing myself with poetry, that’s how you get better. You read and you watch and you listen and the whole time you keep asking yourself: did I like that? Why? Why not? You won’t always have answers, but I think that’s just what you have to do and keep doing forever and ever amen.
As for Hanif, Sam and Chris. What can I say? All three are geniuses, all three are incredible poets and storytellers in general. Also, all three have an incredible talent for building conceptually spectacular poetry collections. With them it’s never just a collection of poems thrown together, it’s an idea an evolution, a voyage. We all love a concept album, and we all love a concept collection.
Importantly, what is one of your favourite seasons of Survivor and why?
Okay so this is a fraught question, because I’ve been raving about this for so long and no one believes me: Australian Survivor is better than US Survivor. Sorry Louise, I understand if you want to cancel this interview right now, but it’s true. Australian Survivor is longer and more demanding, which allows for more in-depth gameplay and strategy, more character development, more complex interpersonal dynamics and a wider scope for story arcs. Australian Survivor season 2 (2017) and Australian Survivor: Brains v Brawn (2021) are two of my faves of all time.
As for the inferior US version, it’s hard to go past season 20: Heroes v Villains, a truly iconic season filled with the best characters of all time. If I had to pick an all newbies, no returnees season, Season 28: Cagayan and Season 37: David vs Goliath are top-tier.
Along with Starling editorial committee member Sinead Overbye, you founded and edited Stasis journal, which operated during New Zealand’s Covid-19 lockdowns. What led you to founding this journal and what were some of the highlights? For others considering starting a publication, what would your advice be?
Stasis was 100% Sinead’s idea because she is a kind-hearted queen who saw other writers despairing and decided to do something about it. I simply jumped on board as an extra set of hands (and eyes). Honestly, the development of Stasis was one of the things that got me through lockdown. There were so many highlights: I remember when we found out we got CNZ funding, we just rang each other and screamed for five minutes. Before that, we were looking at paying writers out of our own pocket, which we would have done, but it was a huge relief that we didn’t have to.
Also, I think the reception Stasis received online blew us away. To this day random people will still talk to us about how much they enjoyed it. I think it’s a testament to Annie James’ amazing website design and brand aesthetic, the incredibly talented writers who trusted us with their work, and, hopefully, our editorial capabilities. I’m still proud of every piece we published.
But to be honest my favourite part of the process was the long editorial meetings with Sinead: pizza and wine, two conflict-averse, indecisive libras trying to figure out what we liked and what we didn’t like. You could feel our energy change as we slowly got more decisive and ruthless with the pieces we wanted in or out of the journal, those were the best moments.
As for people starting their own journal. DON’T. Nah, jk, do. But I think it’s good to talk to people who have done it before to understand what a huge time and energy commitment it can be, because it is. It’s 95% admin and 5% fun stuff. I think we made a few mistakes early on because we didn’t realise how big a job it was going to be, so make sure you have good people around you and good processes in place, because when that isn’t the case, things can go wrong, writers can be treated poorly, journals can become unsafe etc. But if you have all of that sorted, you’ll be fine, don’t worry! It’s been so cool seeing all these new journals pop up like eel and bad apple, each with their own voice and perspective, the more the merrier! Also, if you are in a position to do so, either through CNZ or a mysterious, wealthy poetry patron from the Cayman Islands, pay your writers and yourself, even if it’s just a little bit.
Everyone is Everyone Except You was published by Dead Bird Books, which, along with other independent presses such as We Are Babies, seem to be really flourishing at this point in time. Why do you think that is and how did you get involved with Dead Bird Books?
It's so great to see the smaller presses flourishing, both in sales and exposure and in the Ockhams lists! I think those presses were born out of necessity. Necessity in the sense that there are so many exciting new writers out there and not enough space in the University Presses to house them all, especially those who haven’t gone through the MA programmes or have taken other unorthodox paths. In any event we love to see it. I feel incredibly honoured to be a small part of the ‘year of poetry’, long may these years continue.
As for Dead Bird, it was started in 2019 by Dominic Hoey and Sam Walsh. I’ve known Dominic since 2018, initially I participated in one of his writing workshops (I highly recommend them btw). Then we started being booked in readings together and became friends (he’s the only person who’s allowed to bully slam poets). Once he started Dead Bird he reached out and said to send him a manuscript once I had one that was good enough. Initially I was unsure what Dead Bird would become but they’ve been consistently putting out interesting and quality books for a couple of years now, also I think they have a vision and tenacity for marketing that other presses don’t have. Dom is, after all, still just a naughty child at heart. It took a couple of years but eventually, after many revisions and the sharp editorial eyes of generous friends and other writers, it was ready. Luckily, he liked it and away we went.
People might think you submit a manuscript, it gets accepted and then the book comes out. What was the process of publishing your book like?
It’s quite a long-winded process! It varies slightly from press to press but mostly the press will need time to consider and accept your work, then try to fit it into their, likely already packed, publishing schedule, then there are things like working with an editor, cover design, copy-editing and typesetting, printing, marketing, etc etc. It’s a long process. Dead Bird were great at keeping me involved and informed along the way and ensuring I had a lot of say over the elements of the book and how it came into the world, which meant a lot to me.
In 2021 you held a Michael King writers residency, where you’ve said you started work on a novel. How is the novel going(?!) and do you have any tips on how to go about putting together a proposal for a residency application?
Slowly! I have barely touched it since my residency, but I’m really excited to get back into it soon once life calms down a bit. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do and the residency provided the space and time to start what will undoubtedly be a long and challenging journey. Ask me again in a year and I might tell you I’ve given up on the novel and convinced myself that prose is the devil’s work.
I don’t have many tips for residency applications unfortunately, it always feels like a shot in dark. I think it’s important to have a really clear idea of what you’re pitching, share it with some friends who aren’t afraid to give feedback, remember that you are selling both yourself and your project, so you have to believe it’s good, no NZ tall poppy humility nonsense, if you don’t believe in your work or vision, the people reading it won’t either. Also, just be mindful of the residency or fund you’re applying for, you need to know exactly what it is they want and why, and make sure you fit the bill. Also don’t despair if you get rejected, keep trying. Okay, maybe I do have some tips.
You are one of four editors of the climate change poetry anthology No Other Place to Stand published by Auckland University Press (the other editors are Rebecca Hawkes, Erik Kennedy and essa may ranapiri). How did you become involved in this and what did the editing process involve?
No Other Place To Stand has been in the works for nearly three years now and I can’t believe it’s finally out in the world. It has been quite the process. The anthology was Erik’s brainchild, it was something he’d been keen to get off the ground for a while, and he realised it would be a mammoth job that would require many hands. So much like George Clooney in Ocean’s 11 he set about putting together a crack team of co-editors. I think I weaselled my way in because, unlike the others, I come from more of a performance background where climate change is becoming an increasingly common topic. It was great that Erik recognised this and I was so honoured to jump on board. That’s what makes us a great foursome, we all have different backgrounds, experiences, tastes, poetry communities, which helped ensure that we could cast an incredibly wide net for the anthology.
As for the editing process itself, even with four of us it was still so much work. Admin on admin on admin. Seriously, if you don’t love spreadsheets, invoices and emails, don’t become an editor, because that’s most of what it is. We were lucky that AUP were not only receptive to the idea of the anthology but incredibly supportive every step of the way. I think doing this without a bigger publishing house that has a lot of anthology experience would have been tough. It was also great to have the Chris Tse and Emma Barnes, who were always a few steps ahead of us in the editorial process with their anthology Out Here, to share their wisdom, teach us how to learn about mistakes and ultimately just trauma-bond.
But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it. My co-editors are many things: smart, talented, astute etc, but above everything else they are supportive and generous. Three years is a long time and we all had our various breakdowns and tough periods within that, it was comforting to know there were three other editors willing and ready to pick up the slack in a guilt-free way, so you could take the time and space you needed – I only hope they would say the same about me. Also, nothing compares to the privilege of reading literally thousands of climate poems from across the Pacific. The sheer vastness of it all was, while at times intimidating, pretty incredible. Of course, we would argue and debate poems and get really into the weeds on it all, as you have to on a project like this, but we all realised how lucky we were to be in that position in the first place.
You are about to embark on a Master of Fine Arts at the University of Michigan with a Fulbright scholarship. Why did you decide it was the right time to pursue higher study in creative writing and what will you be working on there?
I knew it was the right time because I’ve been in full-time employment for 6 years and I’ve finally realised that I just hate working. I’m terrible at getting up at 7 to catch a bus, at ironing shirts, at staring deeply into my cup in the breakroom, as I stir the Moccona mindlessly and whisper to no one in particular ‘Mondays, right?’
I am only half-joking. But I have never formally studied creative writing at a tertiary level and I started to get FOMO from all my IIML pals. I had a friend who got a Fulbright scholarship a couple of years ago for fancy indigenous science stuff that is well above my head. I went and visited him at Stanford when I was in America for the Poetry Slam World Champs, and then he began to badger me about applying for Fulbright. Initially I didn’t think creative writing was the sort of thing that Fulbright was interested in, especially because I didn’t have a creative writing academic background. Turns out I was wrong.
It also felt like a now-or-never type situation: the world is, for better or worse, opening up now, and not only have I never really had the chance to study writing and write full time, I’ve never lived overseas, something that has not been very feasible the last few years. So, I’m stoked with how it’s all come together and I feel so lucky that I get to go to one of the best writing schools in the world with the help of Fulbright. I’m still expecting someone to ring me up and tell me this has all been one elaborate prank on me.
As for what I’m working on, I don’t have a firm idea yet. It’s a two-year course and I hope to end up with an excellent manuscript at the end of it, but I don’t really know what I want it to look like yet or what I want to write about. I think I’m still in my refractory period from my first collection and my brain fogs up when I think about writing new poems. But hopefully that disappears soon, because I’m leaving in like a week!
For other young writers who may aspire to a similar path, can you speak to the process of the Fulbright and/or international MFA application? Where should others begin?
It’s a pretty daunting process, especially when you start. There are so many forms and applications, choices and possibilities. Fulbright applications close at the end of July every year, I’ve helped a couple of writers and artists with their applications this year, which has been cool and I hope the trend continues. Everyone should apply, I won’t stop until poetry nerds outnumber the science nerds.
As for the MFA courses – there are so many in America and such a variance in quality, structure, location, available funding, focus, everything. I recommend doing as much research into the courses as possible to get an idea for what ones you might be interested in. Also, this is probably the most important thing, I recommend getting in touch with other Kiwi writers who have gone through or are currently going through this process. Nikki-Lee Birdsey was incredibly kind to me and talked me through her experience at Iowa, the schools she’s heard good things about, the schools she’s heard bad things about, what to put in your application, things like that. I’m more than happy to talk to anyone who is looking at applying, or is just curious about the process, and wants some advice (I can’t promise the advice will be good). I’m sure the other NZ poets heading over to the USA for their MFA this year are too.
What do you think you will miss most about Aotearoa?
I feel like I should write something here like Whittakers Chocolate, or Fairlie Bakehouse pies or the giant salmon in Rakaia. But to be honest my answer is quite straightforward and sickeningly earnest: it’s my friends and family. Going to a town on the other side of the world where I know no one is quite terrifying and I know I’m going to get homesick. I’m lucky to be surrounded by a lot of loving, excellent people and it’s hard to leave them. Also, my anxiety means I automatically assume they’re all going to forget about me the moment I leave. I think the only solution is that everyone comes to Michigan to visit me at some point. It’s the right thing to do. Also, I’m going to miss book launches! I’m going to miss seeing my friends’ faces when they bring their work into the world, I'm going to miss the terrible Unity platters, the awkward publisher speeches, the post-launch BYO and karaoke, all of it.