INTERVIEWED BY DHAYANA ALEJANDRINA
Welcome, Noire Family,
In this interview, I had the pleasure to sit down with the talented and amazing artist, Ra Yukawa, as they offer a captivating glimpse into their inspirational journey, delving into their roots, the reasons driving their creative endeavors, exciting future projects, and more. Please join me in welcoming Ra Yukawa to Afrique Noire Magazine!
Can you share a bit about your background and what initially inspired you to pursue writing/poetry?
Yeah, so I think what inspired me to write was my love for seeing my inner worlds personified and visualized in the world outside of me, in a way that made it more real, you know? I just loved creating an external world of my world that I could sort of live in all over again, and then share that with whomever I invited into my space. And I believe I started doing this at a very young age, around four or five years old. I would doodle and scribble all over my bedroom walls with crayons — which, according to my mom, I was never allowed to do, so I would get my “tail to’ up.” But I don’t remember such a thing at all; I just remember the joy of having my stories on my walls. I vividly remember that freedom. From what I can remember, to me, that art — those “illegible” words and toddler sketches — was my earliest hand at writing, at poetry. Then, of course, as I got older, I started compiling composition books of songs I would write, alongside poetry and more sketches.
How does your identity, including cultural background, influence your writing and the themes you explore? In what ways do you navigate the intersection of your personal identity and the broader cultural context in your work?
As for my identity, I believe that instead of my writing being influenced by my identity, I explore the many facets of my identity through my writing. Whatever comes of it tends to influence me or shape-shift who I’m becoming. So, my writing is like a mirror, a spiritual map that my ancestors and descendants across lifetimes create through me, for me to find myself, and hopefully, help others find themselves. With that said, my writing usually revolves around the transformation of identity within the experience of chaotic or complex life changes. Creatively and journalistically, I’m constantly exploring that for myself, as well as for others. I suppose this ties into my culture, as I come from multiple diasporas that I had to educate myself about and ultimately redefine for myself, due to a sense of displacement within my background—not feeling at home in my own home (America). It’s like, who are you as a whole if part of you rejects you?
Moreover, being a “free-spirited,” gender nonconforming, transmasculine, queer person navigating the mental and emotional waters of disorders such as BPD, Bipolar II, and PTSD, I often don’t even feel at home within my own body or my family—my literal home. Yet, it’s a double-edged sword, because in the same breath, that perceived lack of belonging has gifted me the space and ability to make an omnipresent home out of “no home,” within my art.
All of this converges within the framework of pain and love, as a human experience that we all can relate to; yet from my narrative, my work is especially relatable to those who can see themselves in me, who share parts of my personal identity and cultural background. That’s how I navigate the intersection of the two, by allowing them to be one through the shared scope of turbulent growth and intimate disconnections that symbiotically occur there.
How would you describe your creative process? Do you have any specific rituals that help get you into the writing mindset?
There’s something special about the time when I first wake up. I think it’s because my brain is just emerging from the depths of sleep, entering a new day with no other energetic influences but my own. The guards of my ego are down, and I’m open to a smooth, creative flow. I find that I do my rawest, most immersive work during that time.
Similarly, the time between eleven at night and four in the morning is exquisite. The world is quieter, and it feels like the moon’s playground, so I give her full creative reign over my process. Sometimes, I’ll light incense or a candle, do some breathwork or yoga, maybe even work out beforehand to set the mood even more. But usually, I just enter my writing cocoon raw and maintain the mood with those rituals being done intermittently and intuitively throughout my flow.
Of course, as an artist or storyteller, you’re always in the creative process. Throughout the day, I take notes and photos, capturing ideas, words, or visions. Occasionally, I have to drop everything I’m doing and flow to completion with whatever is coming to me. But more often than not, I receive a concept and flesh it out during those flow-state times that I mentioned.
Who are your literary or poetic influences, and how have they shaped your work?
My literary and poetic influences include Jean-Michel Basquiat, Audre Lorde, Edgar Allan Poe, Rūmī, and Paulo Coelho.
Basquiat was a writer and poet through his paintings and notebooks. Like my early pieces at four years old, he told stories through images, using words or “words”. Though our work was on walls, it was poetry nonetheless. His unique use of language within his paintings, sometimes as his paintings, is poetry—just words and illustrations. He crafted childlike stories that defied and mocked adult logic, yet made you ponder it all the same. His work reminds me of my childhood room and the freedom on those walls—how I’ll never read those stories through adult eyes. That whole trailer park is woodlands now. Yet, studying Basquiat’s work makes me feel a direct connection to it all, helping me honor the “Rasquiat” in my own work.
Mama Lorde—I always knew she existed. In fact, I’d been religiously quoting the “define myself for myself” line since I heard it in The Best Man. But it wasn’t until I recently stumbled upon some of her raw and angry poetry that I decided to delve into her life’s work. Currently, I see it shaping my own work as a pivotal confirmation.
I can see Poe’s influence in the way I sometimes craft strange sentence structures throughout my prose, which can be relatively run-on. It makes sense to me, though. I also intensely weave together mystery and existentialism in much of my fiction and poetry, which tends to be Gothic and Dark Romanticism.
Rūmī is especially present in the way I speak about the undying love, pain, and divinity of soulmates—especially, for me, the most-revered twin flame connection. I think Rūmī spoke so passionately, yet loftily withdrawn, in their description and narration of experiences that their poetry and prose helped me make literary sense of my most confusing thoughts and feelings. That energy has shaped my eloquence in expressing serpentine emotions.
When it comes to Paulo Coelho, it’s really the spiritual nature of his work that moves me. My favorite book of his, and of all time, is The Alchemist, which I read in adulthood. I couldn’t put it down—something I hadn’t experienced since my youth. During high school, I used to spend my lunches and breaks in the library’s loft with piles of books, wrapped in a reading cocoon. Among the pile was sometimes Kerouac (“On The Road”) and other writers from the Beat Generation, of which I saw shared elements within Coelho’s writing. These elements were about pilgrimages, deeper meanings, and bigger purposes, which ultimately lead to simplistic but emphatic wisdom, like in the movie, Into The Wild. Coelho wrote about it in a way that gave me a better understanding of my own personal journey, my own destiny to fulfill. It made me want to write more about that and guide others to that same sort of understanding for themselves.
What challenges do you face as a writer/poet and how do you overcome them?
Creative chrysalis, or cocooning. I often discuss this as the process of fully immersing myself in my work. I dissolve into my projects, much like a caterpillar entering a cocoon and emerging as a butterfly with fully-formed masterpieces.
While this immersive process is fulfilling, I sometimes find myself working on multiple ideas simultaneously, which leads to feeling as if I’m neglecting one project for another. This results in them being partially baked. At times, I even neglect other areas of my life in pursuit of my art. All of which has helped me realize that as a human being, I can’t remain in a perpetual cocoon if I want to truly grow and develop in life.
Therefore, I’ve learned the importance of striking a balance. I now approach my work with a mindset of choice. I remind myself that I have chosen to be an artist, I have chosen these projects, deadlines, and capacities. I have an abundance of creativity and opportunities, and I can choose how to engage with them. This mindset helps me make thoughtful choices rather than frantic ones.
By practicing this approach, I can pour more quality into a simplified quantity of projects and show up more fully for other aspects of my life. As a result, my projects are of higher quality, and I may even find that producing multiple high-quality projects in a singular cocoon becomes almost effortlessly possible, almost like “muscle memory.”
Could you share one of your favorite pieces or an excerpt from a project that holds personal significance? What does it mean to you?
“We’re on the porch, taking the quills out of our arms, naturally talking about the porcupine, then continuing our conversation we were having. It’s kind of raining. We had run out in our socks. There’s puddles inside, on the screened in porch, from condensation of the rain. A bunch of items are scattered about. It’s all kind of old or junky – the house and the porch. Not cluttered, just scattered. Not entirely derelict at all, but ambivalent in remodeled-ness and needing work. Very nice, nonetheless. And I guess we did call ourselves cleaning it all up. I remember there being equally dirty and clean parts of the porch. Super puddly parts and dry parts. I was shifting to and fro between the two, trying not to show too much of my peculiarity, before deciding to just stay near her.
“I took some of her quills out.
We were close. We felt it.”
This excerpt is from a short story I’ve been writing since early 2023. There’s no other way to explain how I received this project other than “divinity.” I believe that this mini-book will touch the core of those for whom it’s meant and transmute poisonous traumas into omnipotent healing wisdom because it’s done that for me. Since its conception, the rewriting, re-editing, and rereading of it has been my personal elixir for undying truth and unconditional love. It’s been reminding me of the importance of friendship, romantic relationships, self-love, and most of all, God, simply because of the revelation that you are me and I am you, many times over, in many ways, and in many others.
What advice would you offer to aspiring writers or poets aiming to leave their imprint on the literary world?
Don’t look to make your mark. Don’t even look. Just close your eyes and write.
Aside from Needles to Stay, and my high fantasy autofictional newsletter, XXXALKHEMEY, I’m working on publishing my first poetry and prose book, ‘END., VOL. 1: III Musings of Raw Self-Acceptance’. END.’ began as a song and visual experience in 2021. A year later, I realized a need for its work to be expanded upon. As the title of the book suggests, it’s the first of multiple volumes, with this one confronting self-acceptance—supposedly the final stage of grieving.
According to Kübler-Ross, the stages are purported to be denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. However, I’ve experienced the grief that’s the subject of the
‘END.’ series in what feels like cycles, with a shifting order of the stages, and at times, multiple stages coexisting at once, It’s as if there’s truly no end to grief at all.
Once you’re losing yourself, the life you’ve always known, or the people you’ve held dear, it’s something you’ll always sense as you journey on. And that’s because “energy never dies,” which
something new. You get to decide what your grief will become. For me, it’s become the offering of ‘END.’ (and other works of art). I’m looking forward to putting it out into the Universe in every way that I can.
I believe this question suggests that writers and poets have a specific, unilateral role in society, to drive change and progress. However, I don’t see our impact or importance as such. While we have contributed to shaping the world, as spoken in the phrase “in the beginning was the word,” our
presence is void without considering the diverse
perspectives and experiences of us as individuals.
Society is complex, comprising various societies, sub- and alt- alike, and the concept of “today” is shaped by both “yesterday” and “tomorrow.”
Therefore, the role of writers and poets in today’s society depends on the specific society and its era of modernity. Ultimately, the role of writers and poets is personal and depends on how each artist perceives their role in society. I don’t have a generalized view of how society regards us or how we should contribute. Each of us has the freedom to express ourselves as we see fit, resonating with our unique understanding of our role.As Audre Lorde aptly put it, “I am who I am, doing what I came to do, acting upon you like a drug or a chisel to remind you of your me-ness, as I discover you in myself.
Give yourself flowers, what is something you feel proud of when you think about your creative gift?
Watch out for another episode of Noire Poetry Series next week!
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Our Guest – Ra Yukawa here on Instagram
Stay tuned!