Conversation with g.a. costa

g.a.costa was born and raised in southern California. After college, she moved to Korea and has been there for about a decade. She’s published some stories and poems in indie journals, such as Schlock! Webzine and Jolly Horror Press. She spends her free time writing stories and poetry and taking long walks through the rice fields with her husband. Find her at her website.

g.a.costa is the author of “On the Factory Floor” from Issue 11.

Q: The poem’s restraint makes it all the more devastating. There’s no overt anger, only function. Was minimalism a conscious way to heighten the horror in this piece?

While I was writing the poem, I wasn’t thinking about whether I should make it minimal or maximal. I was only thinking about the two real-life factory accidents that I read about, and thinking about how to approach these deaths in a sensitive way, yet at the same time critique the corporate greed that inadvertently caused these deaths. I also didn’t want the poem to be overtly angry because it could risk being exhaustingly didactic or polemical, which would make it more like an essay rather than a poem.

I think one of the ways to critique the deep flaws of the capitalist system is to show its inhumanity, its aloofness and nonchalance towards the workers that it relies on to make profits. So, I focused on the functional details instead of anger to mirror the system’s coldness and show the abnormality of treating life as disposable.

Q: “On the Factory Floor” is about the normalization of death in the name of efficiency. Do you see poetry as a way of refusing that normalization?

I do believe that poetry is one of the ways to refuse that normalization, because it isn’t normal and it shouldn’t be accepted at all. Poetry is a channel not only to let out frustrations, but to expose injustices.

Q: When you write, do you tend to start with an image or with a concept?

I go back and forth. Sometimes I’d come across an image/post that would spark an idea for a poem, and sometimes a concept from a book or a personal conversation involving politics that would just pop up in my mind randomly and get my mind churning. The idea for “On the Factory Floor” came after reading a news article about a burrito factory worker who fell into a machine; it happened in California. I also remembered another news article about another factory worker who was killed when she fell into a mixer; this one occurred in Korea and the bread company was just so insensitive and incredibly tone-deaf—they sent her family a box of bread at her funeral. These two stories merged as one in the poem.

Q: Which poets or writers, horror or otherwise, have shaped the way you approach social critique or bodily imagery?

Not a poet, but a singer, one of my favorites—Billie Holiday. When I was in high school, my music teacher introduced us to Black jazz musicians and singers. I remember listening to Billie Holiday, and I just really liked her a lot. So, I went and bought a cassette tape of her songs. That was when I first heard “Strange Fruit” (I later learned that it was a poem by Abel Meeropol) and that song just stuck with me for years. Also, Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. That novel changed the way I thought about how labor injustices can be exposed through a novel. Both of these made me think how I should approach my writing.

Q: What inspired you to write about labor and death in such starkly literal terms?

This question ties back to my previous answer about Sinclair’s The Jungle. I’ve only read it once, about 15 years ago, yet I still think about it a lot. Any time I come across an article, like a factory or farm worker getting injured or killed on the job, my mind goes back to The Jungle. This book doesn’t hide behind beautiful metaphors or soft language. I was stunned by its brutal, honest display of the reality that laborers face, and that’s how I want to write.

I don’t want to obscure reality behind too many symbols and metaphors because I believe the message could get lost or become too abstract. I want to reach readers, even ones that normally don’t read poetry or only have a narrow view of what poetry is, and not alienate them and make them think that you have to be in a closed literary clique just to understand what a poem is saying.

Q: Do you find that social activism inspires your poetry?

About 22 years ago, in college, I got involved in a socialist organization and also the Students Against War movement protesting the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the occupation in Palestine. That was when I started to write poetry and stories, some political and some personal. I wasn’t very good at it then because at that time, I was struggling to find my style, my voice, and trying to figure out my philosophy about writing and politics. I felt like I had a general good sense of where I stood politically, but I was still naive and had a lot to learn. Now, 22 years later, I would say that my views have definitely become much clearer and stronger, but I’m still learning—I believe the learning never stops.

Q: Does writing poems make you feel more hopeful, or more resigned to reality?

As a poet, you have to know that your voice is not just a solitary voice, but part of a collective of voices that are against imperialism, neoliberalism, and colonialism. I feel like you have to have some hope because it’s easy to fall into nihilism without hope, and when you’re nihilistic then it becomes easier to be apathetic. I think that’s a dangerous path to walk on; the material conditions of our reality won’t change with that mentality—this is a political dead end and would just end up reinforcing the status quo.

I think it’s important to find the people who also feel the same way or at least have one basic thing you can agree on. For instance, I have a friend who told me that she heard “communism is bad.” Instead of giving a lecture, I just simply asked, “Do you believe that if someone who works 40 hours or more, sacrificing their body and mind, they have the right to a dignified life? Yes or no?” She agreed. So, have hope and build solidarity; easier said than done, but keep at it, even if it’s going slow.

Q: Do you begin with a particular image, a feeling, or a world when writing?

When I write, the feeling comes first then moves onto an image, and then the full vision of the poem. For “On the Factory Floor,” it was anger and disgust. Then, the picture of the factory and machines came to mind. I used to watch videos on how things were made, so I had some idea of what the inside of a factory looks like. Then I just write. I jot down what comes down to mind.

Q: How are you finding the writing environment in Korea since you moved?

A little difficult. It’s hard to fit in writing time when I’m working most of the time. Sometimes there are days or weeks when I don’t write because I’m just mentally and emotionally tired from work. I usually spend the weekend with my husband, since we don’t have a lot of time just for us during the weekdays. I’ve also been joining the protests in Seoul for Palestine when I’m able to take the trip up (I live in a different province from the city).

So, I usually write in the morning and sometimes on my bus commute to work. There’s a small writing group in my city that gets together once a week, but I’ve never been to a meeting. I’ve also heard that there’s a writing residency opportunity in Seoul that’s opened to international writers. That would be something I might look into in the future. For now, my priorities are at home and work, and fitting in writing time and submitting to journals whenever I can.