Reflections on One Nite Only | Part II

Before we began the serious planning of the event, we were considering our values and the future of TPC. The reading period in particular brought up a lot of questions around the nature of our journal, the motivation behind this decision to launch a journal, the implications of responsibility, the legacy we want to cultivate, how to best make editorial decisions, how to nurture our poets, encourage them to submit, but not expect to be published. We also did’t want to burn ourselves out. We went back and forth on so many points, always returning to the reassurance that we could revisit these decisions in the future if we didn't have answers now. We relied on gut and instinct and what felt right. We read blind.

Before Toni had said yes to singing opera, one of our newer poets overheard me bemoaning hosting platforms and writing code and the backend stuff of a website when you don't have a budget and are paying out of pocket for everything. Andreas graciously offered to help set up our website and the relief was palpable.

younger_dryas of Nectar offered to DJ and then another one of our poets, Alex, offered to DJ too. Around the time that Toni, our opera singer, had said yes and we had our website taken care of, and our DJ confirmed, I reached out to an experimental pianist I'd seen play a few times before. Mira writes and plays piano compositions that are full-body experiences. Sometimes composed in answer to sitting in a forest, sometimes inspired by a breeze, at turns harsh and pounding, then fluttering and delicate, Mira’s performances leave me with goosebumps every time. Last time I saw her play we were at Acid Lab on a Sunday afternoon and a neighbor began a screaming menty b, and Mira softly, softly continued, eyes closed, fingers light. Witnessing that ability to both continue through such a violent eruption, and have compassion for the neighbor, was... wow.

I reached out to Mario, an artist friend and talented poet, and asked if he would be interested in doing some kind of visual response to the poems. He could paint or draw live, whatever felt good, in response to the visuals, the poets, or the imagery from their words. Mario said yes.

Another friend and visual artist, Joel Suganth, messaged to offer to make a video work to be projected during the evening, and we jumped at that idea. What a wonderful idea, what generosity, what talent!

Am I ever going to get to what happens on the night of the reading?

Reflections on One Nite Only | Part I

I spent the day after the reading in tears, in a state of excitement and disbelief. I took almost no videos or photos - I was still in awe. We did it. We fucking did it. People haven't understood why I'm so surprised. They kept saying "but, of course, Leora" and "we knew it would be a success," but I didn't know. I spent the last few months in a state of extreme stress, managing and leading and troubleshooting every aspect of the event (or at least I thought I had every aspect under control. Spoiler: I didn't).

I kept reminding myself and the team that the first time we do this, it's going to be hard, and we're going to make mistakes and do some things the silly way. "Anything after this is gonna be so much easier, and we're gonna be much smarter," I'd say. "Let's just get through this and reconvene afterwards to check in and see where we can improve."

We were smart to start planning early. We made the decision in June to launch our journal in October and have our reading coincide with that launch. We settled on October 19th because it was the only free Saturday available that month. We decided we'd invite folks to submit to both reading and journal, or either, and it would be the same submission period. We opened submissions for August and while we were waiting to get poems, we began thinking about our venue and what kind of event we wanted.

We spent September combing through the poems in long marathon editorial meetings, deciding what would work in the journal, what we wanted for the reading, how to navigate being a community celebrating our poets while also hosting a journal that would have presence. We had video calls, endless conversations, sent voice notes, and shared spreadsheets, files, docs, fears, and hopes.

Am I ever going to get to what happens on the night of the reading?

Reflections on the opera singer | Otherwise known as how I learnt to stop worrying and love the bomb

I lie, I haven’t yet learned how to stop worrying, only how to better manage it. That’s also kinda a lie. lol. I have learned how to… I have learnt how much I truly adore a long title.

Jump back to last year July. I'm in Sweden visiting my partner Alexander, and we're at this book launch in a little bookstore. Before the tall handsome blonde discusses her new novel, this man in a suit and tie stands up and sings opera, his baritone-deep voice filling the space with slow, satisfyingly melancholic songs. Italian opera, in Stockholm and I’m dreaming of opera in Taipei. Right then, I knew – I want an opera singer at our next TPC reading. It gave me goosebumps, it was such a beautiful moment. The audience was silent. He could’ve been singing about manure and it still would’ve slapped.

I'm alread plotting, goosebumps still on my arms, I’m envisioning a night of real culture and creativity, something Taipei hasn't seen before: poetry, opera, piano, and who knows what else.

I forget about all this for a while but when I do remember again, the journey to find our opera singer becomes a story in itself. I reach out to the arts university's opera department, get quoted NT$6000 for 10 minutes (not including pianist or piano), try to negotiate but aim too low. Other leads either don't pan out or are still too expensive. Jonathan, Piera, and Jeremy remind me that if we're spending money, it should be on our poets. Alexander offers to sponsor the singer, but by then our top choice is booked.

I try to let the dream go. The mixed reviews don't help – some people scrunch up their noses and tell me they think nobody will want to listen to opera. its just not cool, others look confused or uninterested. But then, one day, months after losing our opera singer leads, Jonathan tells me to check out one of our poets' IG stories: "How's your hunt for the opera singer going? Toni's got some pipes on her." Turns out, Toni is a classically trained opera singer who hasn't sung publicly in years, never in Taiwan. When she posts a video of her practicing with her teacher, without knowing about my little dream that had been placed under a bushel, it sparks something big.

Toni says yes, she'll sing. And that feels like a little nod, a little affirmation that I'm on the right track, that I'm in alignment. One of our poets will sing opera at our reading. It’s pretty wild.

When it does all come together, it’s a pretty big production. We're talking 24 poets, 1 opera singer, 1 deejay, 1 video artist, 1 visual artist doing live paintings, 1 emcee, 1 experimental pianist, a venue that can hold 150+ people. We're printing stickers, designing posters, managing social media, doing a feature on each poet reading, each poet in the journal, each artist. We’re creating the lineup, co-ordinating with the venue, launching early bird tickets, managing the event page, answering queries, getting tripods and finding a cameraperson – it's snowballing.

And now here we are, the day of the event. I'm carrying bags of plants and cloth and chairs and books and lights to decorate. We're setting up, laying our the tables, people are arriving, it's getting busy, we're taking the candles off the tables and folding up the cloths, we’re pulling the tables out again because we need more chairs, and now there's not enough chairs, and still more people are arriving and now we're about to start...

Reflections on launching TPCReview

We opened our submission period in August 2024, inviting poets from around the world to submit to our digital journal, while poets in Taiwan could submit to both the journal and our upcoming reading celebrating 7 years of TPC. This was a shift from our past – we'd previously printed zines to commemorate our last three readings, but I wanted to move away from hard copies and create something more accessible, an online journal free from paywalls where poets could easily share their work.

Here's the thing about poetry publishing (a little aside): it's a different beast from most other types of writing. Share your work on social media or your personal website and it's considered "previously published" and most journals won't touch it. Submitting to journals is already this rigorous act of subjugation, with rejection rates sky-high, especially now with waves of AI/machine learning poetry washing up at journal gates. Some journals have even declared they'll only publish poets they've previously published. Dire.

So here we are, launching our journal, submissions streaming in – it's exciting and thrilling. Behind the scenes, we're juggling all the logistics: finding an affordable hosting platform that could be passed on to future poets if needed, continuing our regular workshops, combing through submissions, editing our own poems for the reading, planning the event. It's a beautiful chaos of creation and coordination.

Reflections on Taipei Poetry Collective | Part III

Running a grassroots initiative without funding, while maintaining consistent growth and quality, has been challenging and rewarding. Being a part of TPC and then taking the lead has taught me invaluable lessons about leadership, especially when working with friends and peers on a passion project.

I've learned that when you're leading people but not dictating, when you have a vision but are cobbling things together with limited resources, you need a special kind of approach. We're not employees nor bosses – we're poets doing this for love, not money. People volunteer their time, resources, skills, and money to make these workshops and events happen.

The reality is, we're all often left gasping on the shores of our days. Between day jobs, social commitments, family worries, life-abroad concerns, health issues, and cash flow challenges, finding capacity to write poetry, let alone facilitate spaces for others to share their work can be difficult. Yet this community continues to show up, contribute, and grow. I believe we need poetry even more now – a shared space to make sense of, reflect on, and alchemize the literal horrors we are watching unfold in real time. We need poetry even more now – to share, explore, create, and support each other's artistic expressions.

Looking back at our achievements – from 3 sold-out readings to our new journal launch and our 4th poetry reading (October 19th! 2024), from our month-long #NAPOWRIMO community to representing TPC at various events around the island – I'm amazed at what we've built together. It's pretty freaking incredible to see how this grassroots initiative has grown exponentially year after year, providing value for both beginner writers and established, published poets.

Reflections on Taipei Poetry Collective | Part II

Our mission at TPC has always been two-fold: to be accessible to any poet at any level, while offering critical and thoughtful consideration of work brought to critique. These might seem like contradictory goals — how can a collective be both rigorous and welcoming to poets at all levels?

The answer lies in our approach. We invite poets to come with no cherished outcome, but to bring their best work, to specify which feedback they want, and to expect feedback that hits at many levels. We invite poets to be gracious with others' work and be open to how things land and how they are received. Once you make something and let it out into the world, it's in conversation with people who will read it differently.

The numbers speak to our success: For 7 years, we've consistently held free critique workshops twice a month, totaling roughly 170 workshops. Each session draws 6 to 23 poets, and every single workshop welcomes at least 1-2 newcomers. We have 17 to 60 year-old poets join our workshops.

Since I’ve been at the helm, we’ve expanded beyond critique to offer generative, pedagogic, and craft workshops led by experienced poets in our community:

So far, we’ve had a lot of interesting workshops:

- Piera Chen led an ekphrastic workshop on photography

- Elīna Eihmane led one titled ‘drawing for poets’

- I led one on erasure/blackout poetry

- Jonathan Pyner’s workshop focused on sonnets

- Kevin Wang invited participants to translate poetry from Chinese to English

- L. Acadia led one outlining how to submit poetry, hopefully get it accepted, and how to not give in to the rejection blues

- Jeremy Beacock led one on rhythm and stress in poetry

- C.K. Hugo Chung invited poets to reclaim and write the word(s) that once triggered and overwhelmed

- k tiao’s workshop was based on a surrealist poetry game “le cadavre exquis”, or exquisite corpse, and participants explored the realm of collaborative writing with a series of experiments and restraints

- plus many others I can’t think of right now

And there’s more coming.

Reflections on Taipei Poetry Collective | Part I

When I look back at how Taipei Poetry Collective (TPC) began in 2017, I realise how a single invitation changed the course of my life. I know, sounds hella corny. Idgaf lol, s’true. Three talented women-friend-founders invited me to help run the collective, and I'm. So. Damn. Grateful. This has grown into something that defines a significant part of my world today.

Over the years, as they trickle-left Taiwan to pursue other adventures and dreams elsewhere (as foreigners here often do), I found myself the last woman standing (bless!). This transition presented an opportunity to reflect on our journey and reimagine what TPC could become. The goal was to make the collective more... collective, more democratic, and more expanded.

Since August 2022, I've been serving as the director of TPC, project manager, social media strategist, event organizer, PR specialist, editor-in-chief, et al (leave that little one alone, it works just fine there for me ok la), and I’ve been so lucky to be joined by longtime friends and new poets and friends (shoutout Piera Chen, Jeremy Beacock, Jonathan Pyner, Laura Wang, L. Acadia, Andreas Zai) who in different permutations and at different times have helped pilot the project. As I write this, we're a few weeks away from hosting our 4th major reading and launching the first issue of our shiny new online journal, TPCReview.

Dawn of the Eve of the Rebirth of Summer | Poster Design

Posters for the upcoming TPC workshop and it was so fun to think about these three historic babes having an ice-cold bevvy together.


The seasons don't care how you feel about them and summer's gluttonous for more hours. Each creeping year gets hotter and hotter. Summer wants you to know it's almost here. Matzu, Madonna, and Venus walk into a beach bar to talk about it. They're sweating. They want to know if you are ready for the dawn of the eve of the rebirth of summer.

Collage of Matzu, Madonna, and Venus pose on a shell with a shiny pearl. Dolphins jumping in the sunset behind them.

Thank you for attending TPC's first workshop of 2024

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We had over 20 poets (regulars and new attendees) participate in the Erasure Poetry Workshop. Thank you for coming.

You can find more info on our events, or access the sign-up forms here.