These are the words that 17-year-old poet Thy Hope Luong read aloud the first time she ever performed poetry. It was her first spoken-word poem, written about her experience with intergenerational trauma and not feeling “Vietnamese enough.” Thy decided to perform the poem at a Vietnamese American Round Table at Brave New Voices, an international poetry festival, in San Francisco. After her performance, Thy looked up and saw her mother crying. That was the moment, Thy recalls, when she began to understand why poetry is so important to her: it has the power to touch people who mean something to her.
Thy, who’s name quite literally means “poetry” in Vietnamese, is a high school student in San Jose and is Santa Clara County’s youth poet laureate. Her writing and art have been recognized by the New York Times, YoungArts, the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and various galleries.
In addition to being a poet, a critical part of Thy’s identity is as a youth activist. She is the founder and executive president of Learn4Justice, a youth-led outreach program to bridge the educational gap and facilitate cultural exchange among young global change makers; the co-chief of policy at GENup, which pitches bills to California legislators to support student attendance, mental health, equity, and more; the youth commissioner for San Jose’s District 4; and an intern at Harvard Law School, where she researched and tracked rhetoric and campaign strategies of conservative candidates for the 2024 presidential election.
“all i truly know is that i am a culmination and a beginning all at once a product of a million wants. and i hope i can strive to grow a seed that has been with me, within me all along.” -From “to be longing”
Thy’s exposure to poetry started young— her father is also a poet. Although she initially looked down at poetry as a form of expression that was “pretentious and inaccessible,” she has come to view it as a way to deal with and process the world. To Thy, poetry and activism are inextricably linked, two forces that work together to create more meaning. “Art is inherently an act of resistance,” Thy said. “It is useless, and that is the point. There is such beauty in creating something simply for the sake of creating. There is a reason why oppressive regimes crush art during resistance. Both poetry and activism create community and connection, which works against individualist forces like capitalism.”
Thy is so passionate about social activism because she recognizes the power of young people’s voices, as well as the potential for their words to be manipulated or misconstrued when they let someone speak on their behalf. Thy points out that the voices of young people are often tokenized, especially for political benefit. She claims, “Our voices deserve equal standing. So many issues affect us, and it is important that we find our way into decision-making spaces.”
To Thy, poetry, much like activism, is not an art that needs to be created and performed individually. Her deepest motivation in continuing her art is other youth and the lessons she has learned from her peers. She believes in the power of collaboration as a way to create new meanings and understandings of the world. One such act of collaboration was a group poem that Thy wrote alongside three other youth poet laureates—Matthew Kim, Sage Cobb, and Emma Zhang—for Santa Clara County’s State of the County Address on January 25, 2024. “If safety is home, / And home is you and me, / I find refuge in you,” they wrote in “Home.”
Thy also draws inspiration from Ocean Vuong, a Vietnamese American poet who shares his experiences with queerness, loss, love, and heartbreak in novels such as On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and poems like “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong.” Similarly to the deep introspection and evaluation of childhood that Ocean explores in these works, Thy’s poetry has explored a loss that occurred before she was born, but that nonetheless left a deep and indelible mark on her family and her place in it—the death of her older sister very soon after she was born. “I think of her often, alive, and wonder what it’d be like to be the younger sibling, to not pave the way. It would have clashed with my independence, I think. Or it would have unraveled me, in the sense that everything I am is premised only by my sister’s death,” Thy writes in her poem “White Lies.”
Just as poetry has been a way to connect with, process, and acknowledge her own trauma and pain, poetry is also one of the deepest sources of beauty in Thy’s life. “One thing that I have learned is that creation is so important,” Thy said. “Don’t just consume, create.”
In fourth grade, Rosanna Alvarez once laughed from under her desk as an earthquake shook her classroom and the rest of Eastside San Jose. Her classmates thought she was demented. She didn’t know how to explain that she was nervous and had not actually enjoyed the temblor.
These days, Rosanna expresses herself through all the languages a multifaceted interdisciplinary artist works with. As a painter, dancer, jeweler, and poet, among other things, she has plenty of outlets. But a good giggle opens her pressure valve. “I laugh all the time,” she says, punctuating it with a small but generous chuckle.
Levity helps balance the consulting work Rosanna provides, which often includes navigating sensitive matters for governmental agencies like Santa Clara County Social Services and Executive Offices. She provides support to the people who do the groundwork so that communities can thrive.
In her own life, Rosanna’s mother greatly supported her dreams. It was her mother who helped Rosanna sew the artist’s first set of regalia. “She didn’t know what the hell I was asking her to do, but she was like, ‘Okay. Sure. We’re gonna do this,’ ” Rosanna explains.
Inside iJava cafe, underneath Highway 87 on the edge of Downtown San Jose, Rosanna looks at her phone, obsessing over an Aztec regalia she wants to buy online. She dances with and is a founding member of the Aztec dance group Calpulli Tonalehqueh.
Rosanna credits her mother’s creativity for drawing her to community and adds that her mother would never claim to be artistic. “But then you look at the way she ran her household,” Rosanna adds. From Halloween costumes for Rosanna and her siblings, to countless party favors for baptisms and quinceañeras, her mother was there.
“My mom taught us the art of the glue gun—[she had] so many glue sticks! That is her love language—helping other people,” Rosanna says. “Folks appreciated the love she put into everything she made,” she adds.
To meet Rosanna is to be met with her big hoop earrings and an ensemble of dark and vivid colors that almost run counter to her stoic nature. She describes herself as a bit of a peacock but exhibits a locked-on-target focus—one that remains engaged as she tells a story while a dozen police cars scream past the cafe. Rosanna finishes her thought, then calmly peers out the window, succumbing to curiosity.
Originally, Rosanna wanted to become a lawyer. After studying political science at Santa Clara University and in grad school, her focus shifted to community and art as she worked in youth development, hopped around non-profit organizations, lectured on Chicano and Chicana studies at San Jos é State University, and co-founded Eastside Magazine
While pregnant with her second daughter, Rosanna’s family lost their house in San Jose during the 2008 market collapse, forcing them to move to Gilroy. Her daughter was born with congenital birth defects, so Rosanna and her husband began advocating for the best medical care they could get. Their daughter is now a teenager and is doing well.
Rosanna’s firstborn recently told Rosanna that she decided not to join MEChA, a high school club that focuses on empowering Latinx students, because other club members made her feel not as Mexican. “I thought I fought that battle!” Rosanna says, and adds, “How can we be less ugly with each other?” She offers her daughters guidance through their own art and teaches them about their deep cultural connections.
Whether she is speaking in front of students, government workers, or employees at Apple, Rosanna brings her authenticity. “I think I show up in a way that encourages people to remember that it’s okay to put aside what might feel like a costume for some of us and to just connect.”
Online she sells T-shirts, one of which reads, “Hocicona eres mas chingona.” This translates to “You’re more badass for being outspoken,” Rosanna explains. Growing up, hocicona meant “Don’t be so outspoken. Don’t have that audacity.” She shares that in reality, “It’s the container for the audacity of certain behaviors women in particular aren’t supposed to have, [like] being outspoken.” She counters that idea by stating, “I am raising hociconas.” Her daughters wear the shirt.
Rosanna adds a final meditation on the word. “It’s a reminder that if I wanted to show up in bold red lipstick and my big hoops and speak in my eastside twang, that I’m still the same person with the same insights as if I chose to show up in a blazer and the neutral lipstick and the styled hair.” When asked what her love language is, Rosanna responds with “gangster rap,” an example of her sense of humor, which she uses to balance the heavier parts of the world.
As an advocate for authenticity, Rosanna seems to be less of a peacock and more like a raven in a purple sweater, armed with a glue gun and voice that will be heard.
Tshaka Menelik Imhotep Campbell is a former Silicon Valley Poet Laureate and has authored four books of poetry: Tarman, Muted Whispers, STUFF | I will Write More, and Tunnel Vision. He is preparing to release a fifth book with El Martillo Press, Blood at the Root.
Born in London, England, and raised in Brooklyn, New York, Tshaka was introduced to the words of Malcolm X and Winston Churchill at an early age by his father, an orator and advocate for the power of language. While the influence of those lessons lay dormant for much of his youth, Tshaka was concurrently exposed to the rhythm and rhyme of early rap music and life as a Black man in America.
Tshaka’s passion for poetry did not materialize until his early thirties. Surrounded by a group of close friends during a Friday night gathering called “Isms at 540,” Tshaka realized the beauty within poetry through a friendly writing competition. When Tshaka picked up the pen to write, these interests and dormant influences converged on paper using rhythm and rhyme to parse the backdrop of life and history. What began as a gathering of friends became a community of poets whose respect for the art form inspired his work. Today, much of Tshaka’s poetry revolves around a need for identity, exploring themes such as fatherhood and the experiences of Black Americans.
Tshaka has the ability to manipulate elements of language, such as consonance and alliteration, into a metaphorical gloved fist that can strike audiences to the core. That ability is balanced by the softness of themes related to human experience. His soon-to-be-released book of poems, Blood At The Root, was written for his daughter and has taken over a decade to complete. In this book, he hopes to share experiences she can bring into her life. Blood at the Root aims to address topics related to love, loss, and the human condition.
In this conversation, we discuss Tshaka’s formative upbringing, his creation story as a poet, his purpose for writing, and the perspective behind his upcoming book.
Catch Tshaka at SJZ Breakroom on Sunday, February 16, from 6:30 to 9:30p as he performs and hosts Beautiful Black Books Presents Tiny Room Poetry Series, featuring some of the Bay Area and New York’s most celebrated artists. Tshaka has curated this special Black History Month event that celebrates the power of poetry and music. RSVP Here.
