Bao Phi and Ed Bok Lee:
Call and Response Poetics
Call and Response Poetics
By Marlon E. Lima
The microphone is one of the single-most powerful social tools for its potential to amplify a movement. Yet, only the
charismatic have the ability to let robust voices echo their message throughout history.
Two Minnesota-based poets approached the microphone at the Overture Center on the second night of the Wisconsin
Book Festival, armed with vocal vigor and freshly published material. Their tongues carried the narratives of their Asian-
American community portrayed through impassioned performance, clever metaphors and lyrically tangible imagery. Who
were they?
The first performer to verbally christen the event was Bao Phi. Phi is a Vietnamese-American spoken word artist, writer and
community activist compelled to writing the Vietnamese-American community out of the country’s margins and into shared
history.
Reading from his newly released book "Sông I Sing," Phi mostly performed poems written from the perspective of
characters he created. Each character’s literary authenticity was manifested through the intense narrative detail as they
addressed different social issues facing the Asian-American community.
After Phi’s first 15-minute poetry set Ed Bok Lee stepped up to the podium-based microphone. Lee is a Korean-American
spoken word artist, author and playwright whose experience navigating global terrain guided the scope for his second
book Whorled. Lee performed poetry from his new book in which he explores the hidden, invisible and spiritual costs of
globalization.
Throughout the hour of performance, the poets switched out between 15-minute sets to split the time. Regardless of
whoever was speaking each poem began with a preface of background information and personality from the author.
Despite 20 years of experience with a nationwide resume of performances, Phi showed a humble gratitude for the turnout
and the opportunity. His mixture of humility and passionate delivery bared his heart along his forearm just beneath the
tattooed line of Vietnamese poetry.
Phi’s first poem “Waiting for a Ciclo in the hood” read from spoke to the difficulty in returning to a homeland after
immigrating through the metaphor of a one-way street.
Ed Bok Lee opened his set with a metaphor, saying that getting your first book published is a wedding where, “all the
characters in the book get married together at the same time.”
In a preface to one of his poems, Lee brought to mind the New York Times coverage of a hunting accident leading to a
Hmong hunter in Wisconsin being charged with six murders. His piece If in America literarily embodied the response of
researched, deep-sentimented poetics to real life newspaper tragedies.
The poem replicates the perspective of the hunter with “If” statements that climax into a high-pressure situation that calls
for survival instincts. The piece speaks to the tense strain in the country’s racial relations that set up these situations. “If
you spent your adolescence watching blacks,/ Asians, Latinos, and whites/ watching one/ another watch each other for
weakness and flaws.”
One of Phi’s early poem’s called "Love, Angel, Music, Baby" referenced the legal names of Gwen Stefani’s contracted
“Harajuki Girls.” The poem was the narrative of a fictional performer attempting to sell herself to Stefani to be a Harajuki
girl: “I promise I won’t speak English/ when you take away my name.” Phi wrote the poem to sympathize with the struggle
of Asian-Americans in entertainment taking limited roles.
Lee opened his title poem, "Whorled," with statistics on language extinction in which he says every two weeks the final
living speaker of a world language dies. Written in letter opening refrain, the poem acts as an elegy for dying tongues that
vanish “like a global hurricane of power and indifference."
After another switch in performers, Bao Phi took a moment to challenge any Asian-American poet to write about issues
their community faces. “We can’t let our history be buried twice,” Phi said as he announced their responsibility to voice their
narrative, before their perspective is lost. In an interview, Phi says he issues the challenge where it’s appropriate while
avoiding any claim to self-righteousness.
Raising an activist issue, Phi mentioned a cultural fusion restaurant in Minneapolis called “Chino Latino.” He said the
Caucasian-owned restaurant sells Americanized versions of Asian and Latino food while marketing under offensive
slogans like “Our happy hour is cheaper than a Bangkok brothel.”
His response poem "Fusion" refers to the double-edged blade of acculturation and appropriation in the voice of a
Vietnamese-American cook. The character refers to the customers and consumers as benefactors who don’t taste the
details of her struggle: “Where everyone wanted/ the flavor of culture/ without the rotted sense of racism.”
Despite the serious material the poets performed, there were lighter moments such as when Phi randomly pulled a
camera from behind the podium for a candid audience picture meant for his Facebook. The half-filled room allowed a
sense of intimacy with the audience. However, the performers kept the formality of the podium and the utility of the
microphone in delivering certain poems in a softer voice.
Yet, given the open environment, there was overlooked opportunity for crowd engagement. Audience members unfamiliar
with spoken word performances were hesitant to applaud as a proper response until halfway into the performance.
The Question and Answer part alleviated some audience barriers for interaction. Responding to an audience member’s
question, Phi and Lee mentioned their parents’ not entirely supportive reaction to their poetry. While Lee’s mother
questions his topic choices, Phi’s parents don’t see Bao’s poet career as the strongest option for economic stability from
their refugee mentality.
Although both performers noted the huge influence of poetry in their respective home countries, their parents’ reaction may
suggest a generational gap in thinking about poetry’s purpose. While their immigrant parents might see their career in
terms of financial survival, these poets see the potential the microphone holds as they speak the narratives for their
communities.
Marlon Eric Lima is a student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Journalism & Mass Communication; a First
Wave Hip-Hop Theatre Ensemble's Scholar; and a National Society of Collegiate Scholars' Member. He is Asian
Wisconzine's new contributing writer.
The microphone is one of the single-most powerful social tools for its potential to amplify a movement. Yet, only the
charismatic have the ability to let robust voices echo their message throughout history.
Two Minnesota-based poets approached the microphone at the Overture Center on the second night of the Wisconsin
Book Festival, armed with vocal vigor and freshly published material. Their tongues carried the narratives of their Asian-
American community portrayed through impassioned performance, clever metaphors and lyrically tangible imagery. Who
were they?
The first performer to verbally christen the event was Bao Phi. Phi is a Vietnamese-American spoken word artist, writer and
community activist compelled to writing the Vietnamese-American community out of the country’s margins and into shared
history.
Reading from his newly released book "Sông I Sing," Phi mostly performed poems written from the perspective of
characters he created. Each character’s literary authenticity was manifested through the intense narrative detail as they
addressed different social issues facing the Asian-American community.
After Phi’s first 15-minute poetry set Ed Bok Lee stepped up to the podium-based microphone. Lee is a Korean-American
spoken word artist, author and playwright whose experience navigating global terrain guided the scope for his second
book Whorled. Lee performed poetry from his new book in which he explores the hidden, invisible and spiritual costs of
globalization.
Throughout the hour of performance, the poets switched out between 15-minute sets to split the time. Regardless of
whoever was speaking each poem began with a preface of background information and personality from the author.
Despite 20 years of experience with a nationwide resume of performances, Phi showed a humble gratitude for the turnout
and the opportunity. His mixture of humility and passionate delivery bared his heart along his forearm just beneath the
tattooed line of Vietnamese poetry.
Phi’s first poem “Waiting for a Ciclo in the hood” read from spoke to the difficulty in returning to a homeland after
immigrating through the metaphor of a one-way street.
Ed Bok Lee opened his set with a metaphor, saying that getting your first book published is a wedding where, “all the
characters in the book get married together at the same time.”
In a preface to one of his poems, Lee brought to mind the New York Times coverage of a hunting accident leading to a
Hmong hunter in Wisconsin being charged with six murders. His piece If in America literarily embodied the response of
researched, deep-sentimented poetics to real life newspaper tragedies.
The poem replicates the perspective of the hunter with “If” statements that climax into a high-pressure situation that calls
for survival instincts. The piece speaks to the tense strain in the country’s racial relations that set up these situations. “If
you spent your adolescence watching blacks,/ Asians, Latinos, and whites/ watching one/ another watch each other for
weakness and flaws.”
One of Phi’s early poem’s called "Love, Angel, Music, Baby" referenced the legal names of Gwen Stefani’s contracted
“Harajuki Girls.” The poem was the narrative of a fictional performer attempting to sell herself to Stefani to be a Harajuki
girl: “I promise I won’t speak English/ when you take away my name.” Phi wrote the poem to sympathize with the struggle
of Asian-Americans in entertainment taking limited roles.
Lee opened his title poem, "Whorled," with statistics on language extinction in which he says every two weeks the final
living speaker of a world language dies. Written in letter opening refrain, the poem acts as an elegy for dying tongues that
vanish “like a global hurricane of power and indifference."
After another switch in performers, Bao Phi took a moment to challenge any Asian-American poet to write about issues
their community faces. “We can’t let our history be buried twice,” Phi said as he announced their responsibility to voice their
narrative, before their perspective is lost. In an interview, Phi says he issues the challenge where it’s appropriate while
avoiding any claim to self-righteousness.
Raising an activist issue, Phi mentioned a cultural fusion restaurant in Minneapolis called “Chino Latino.” He said the
Caucasian-owned restaurant sells Americanized versions of Asian and Latino food while marketing under offensive
slogans like “Our happy hour is cheaper than a Bangkok brothel.”
His response poem "Fusion" refers to the double-edged blade of acculturation and appropriation in the voice of a
Vietnamese-American cook. The character refers to the customers and consumers as benefactors who don’t taste the
details of her struggle: “Where everyone wanted/ the flavor of culture/ without the rotted sense of racism.”
Despite the serious material the poets performed, there were lighter moments such as when Phi randomly pulled a
camera from behind the podium for a candid audience picture meant for his Facebook. The half-filled room allowed a
sense of intimacy with the audience. However, the performers kept the formality of the podium and the utility of the
microphone in delivering certain poems in a softer voice.
Yet, given the open environment, there was overlooked opportunity for crowd engagement. Audience members unfamiliar
with spoken word performances were hesitant to applaud as a proper response until halfway into the performance.
The Question and Answer part alleviated some audience barriers for interaction. Responding to an audience member’s
question, Phi and Lee mentioned their parents’ not entirely supportive reaction to their poetry. While Lee’s mother
questions his topic choices, Phi’s parents don’t see Bao’s poet career as the strongest option for economic stability from
their refugee mentality.
Although both performers noted the huge influence of poetry in their respective home countries, their parents’ reaction may
suggest a generational gap in thinking about poetry’s purpose. While their immigrant parents might see their career in
terms of financial survival, these poets see the potential the microphone holds as they speak the narratives for their
communities.
Marlon Eric Lima is a student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Journalism & Mass Communication; a First
Wave Hip-Hop Theatre Ensemble's Scholar; and a National Society of Collegiate Scholars' Member. He is Asian
Wisconzine's new contributing writer.