At Ginosko Literary Journal, we’re so excited to launch our new In the Knowing series. We step into the minds and craft of writers. Kicking things off, Adela Najarro sits down with Ben C. Davies to talk life, language, and her latest poetry collection, Variations in Blue, published by Red Hen Press. Their conversation touches on the writing process, sources of inspiration, and the stories behind the poems.
Let’s start at the beginning. What first drew you to writing—was there a specific moment that set you on this path?
As far as I can remember, I’ve written poems. First, my scribblings went into diaries, then journals, and now into computer files. In high school, a teacher had us walk around campus for poetic inspiration and then turn in our poems. When I walked into the classroom for the next session, the teacher had written my poem on the board as an example of what a poem could be. Not bad for my first publication—chalk on a blackboard. It was eventually erased, so I had to keep writing.
How would you describe your writing style and the way you approach storytelling?
As a poet, I find absolute freedom in my use of language. That’s the beauty of poetry in our current day—anything goes. However, I’ve made it a point that I want the reader to understand what I’m writing about, so I push for clarity while experimenting with language and poetic techniques. Overall, every poem has its own architecture that I discover and mold in the process of writing.
Who are the writers or voices that have most influenced your work?
I claim both the English/American literary canon and the Latin American literary canon. Being Latina, I am bicultural and bilingual—and so are my influences. There are many. I completed a doctorate, so I’ve read both canons deeply. I claim Walt Whitman and his long, rambling lines, and then César Vallejo and his deep melancholy. At the same time, I love the many contemporary poets who are currently writing, such as Ire’ne Lara Silva and Aideed Medina, the new Fresno Poet Laureate.
Do you have a writing routine or any rituals that help you stay focused?
There was a time when I worried that the writing would dry up if I stopped, but I no longer feel that way. There were times when life’s obligations made it difficult to maintain a writing routine, but the writing still happened. There is an internal drive that is always on, and when I sit down to write, there it is. Poems happen.
Usually, I write until a draft is completed, then I rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. I usually share my poems in writing groups, and with those comments in mind, I revise again. Eventually, the poems go into a computer file, and I gather them into a book-length collection, which is another process in and of itself.
Variations in Blue
Your new collection, Variations in Blue, was just released. Can you tell us about it?
Variations in Blue was selected by the Letras Latinas/Red Hen Collaborative for publication in 2025, and I’ve worked on the book for a long time. The title reflects the indeterminacy of language—how everything is in flux or a variation of what has come before. The themes and poems in the collection repeat, change, and reflect upon each other. In addition, the “Blue” in the title has many referents. Once, I was told my poems sing the blues, and also it’s a wink to Rubén Darío, the Nicaraguan canonical poet whose major work is titled Azul.
What sparked this particular collection? Was there a moment or an experience that set it in motion?
I was in a workshop with Juan Felipe Herrera, the first Latinx Poet Laureate of the United States, and I kept showing him my poems. He would listen, nod, then suggest that I write another version of the same idea. I took him literally and ended up with series upon series of poems. Since I had so many “variations,” I consciously applied that idea to new work and the book’s overall organization.
What are the themes or messages you hope readers take with them after reading it?
That life is hard. That in the middle of the mess, there is beauty. That through writing our truth, we can make transformative art—and in that way, heal ourselves.
What does this book mean to you on a personal level?
Besides the architecture of the book as a series of variations, the book is dear to my heart. It’s full of family stories—so I have placed my parents and Nicaragua into print. I’ve written down their lives and want their stories out there. In addition, this collection contains a series on domestic violence. I was in an abusive marriage in my twenties. Finally, I have been able to create art from that experience and transform it into poems that, hopefully, resonate with the truth of how women suffer in our society—and how we can recover and find joy.
If readers could hold on to just one thing from the book, what would you want it to be?
“Damn, Adela burns red hot.” Ha! I would want the reader to feel the passion of this one person who writes to understand what it means to be alive. I haven’t figured that out, but I hope the reader can feel the passion.
Looking Forward
What’s next?
I’m working on editing a collection of poems titled Fractured Litanies. The title is a tribute to COVID and both Trump administrations. I’m also working on a novel where Gigi Martinez Pineda activates the goddess molecule in her left lung to bring down patriarchy in 1903 Nicaragua. Writing a novel is like writing a 90,000-word poem—so we’ll see how that goes.
Do you have any advice for writers who are just starting out?
Keep writing, keep reading, and follow your heart. Go to open mics. Share your work in workshops, classes, writing groups. Develop a community around you to support and celebrate all this work. Ultimately, writing is work—hard work—and time-consuming. But if it calls, you can create truth and beauty. What could be better than that?
And finally, where can readers find more of your work or connect with you online?
I have a website. I’m on Facebook and Instagram. Soon—oh, very soon—I will begin posting on Substack. My name is unique. Search, and you will find me.