10 Essential Poetry Books by AAPI Authors

From an “‘ōiwi abecedarian” to contrapuntal and erasure poems, this poignant debut examines community, the history and mythology of Hawai‘i, intimacy, and so much more. Chosen by Rick Barot as one of the five winners of the National Poetry Series in 2021, Revilla’s brain-rearranging poems and the layered meanings and appearances of mo‘o astonish. A book I want to add to the nightstand stacks of every reader, some standouts among standouts include “Mercy,” “After she leaves you, femme,” and “Shapeshifters banned, censored, or otherwise shit-listed, aka chosen family poem.”

Unfolding in three parts, Stark’s sophomore full-length collection features prose poems to “liberal erasures” of a variety of Little Red Riding Hood stories. Accompanied by vibrant collages, starring Red Riding Hood illustrations and black-and-white pictures of the writer’s mother, I’ve been propping the book open to images with a pink page holder in my writing space. (Today, I gaze at page 79.) This meditation on fairy tales and flowers, Vietnamese American identity and mother-love, stealing and violence is unforgettable. Beginning with “Against Knowing,” the captivating poem — with its repetition, short lines, and single period at the end — propels the reader forward: “Against naming, too / Against notion, ruling, / circumstantial love”

In this moving exploration of Hindu goddesses, specifically Parvati and Sita, Khanna’s compelling poems delve into feminism, girlhood, holiness, and love. If you, like me, admire the gorgeous title, it also appears in the final line of “Because You Forgot Me, I Am Weird in the World.” Take in its second and final stanza, a memorable quatrain: “The forest crowds around me to stare— / blank-eyed, free of conscience. Those / eyes see what I’ve become: a bride / burning like her own planet.”

Comprised of three parts and opening with “America,” a 36-word poem, Sharif’s much-anticipated second collection reflects on cypress and doors, home and loneliness, letters and poetry. A few touching poems I continue to think about long after reading and recently rereading the book in a couple lamplit hours: “Beauty,” “Self-Care,” and “Without Which.” And I want to leave you with some beauty from “Beauty”: “My life can pass like this / Waiting for beauty / Tomorrow—I say”

Meditating on desire, childhood, family, and migration, Cariño’s electric collection includes three sections, “takipsilim,” “ulan,” and “balintataw.” The stunning language and images fill me with awe. A glimpse of “when I say hello to the oldest apples”: “maybe I am unloved because I want to deal / in the currency of ghosts—to traffic in such / precious things as broken rosaries, jars of ash.” At the moment, I find myself obsessed with “I Sing Despite the Tender Stench Outside,” “names are spells, & I have four—,” and “Perishable,” too.