Greg Santos

[REVIEW] Ghost Face by Greg Santos

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(DC Books, 2020)

REVIEW BY GABINO IGLESIAS

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More than a poetry collection, Greg Santos’s Ghost Face is a written exploration of identity filtered through the memories of a fragmented past. In these poems, Santos explores his roots, digging around in the dirt with his bare hands to uncover his adoption, his ties to Cambodia, his heritage, and the way his childhood experiences shaped him. “I don’t want to forget,” states Santos in a poem titled “Forgetfulness,” and remembering, holding on to memories and passing them on, is a recurring theme in this collection. In a way, Santos wants to give his children the gift of knowing what came before, but he also wants to carry those memories inside himself and use them to avoid becoming a ghost, a thought that comes from one of the lessons his father taught him before passing away:

“You remember how he always said elephants never forget.?

You remember wishing you could transform yourself into an elephant.”

Ghost Face is a collection that embraces plurality and shows the beauty that lives in it. Santos’s writing exists within the frame of his life, the places, people, animals, and music that marked him. It is also about fatherhood, writing, and the lingering scars of the Khmer Rouge regime. His searching for meaning and his obsession with holding on translate into poems about the immense significance of tiny things. Yes, there is darkness here, buy there is also humor and joy. Santos faces death, but sees it as tiny in comparison to hearing his children laugh. That balance between sadness and beauty permeates the collection.

Despite tackling so many themes, Ghost Face is mainly about identity, about being. In “Cambodian,” Santos explores the interstitial, often confusing space inhabited by those who swim between cultures, by those with deep roots elsewhere who are now far from those roots but in a place that feels like home:

“Are you Cambodian?

So, were you born in Cambodia then?

Have you ever even been to Cambodia?

Then how can you consider yourself Cambodian?

How do you mean?

Most folks think you’re Filipino. Remember when someone put you on a Twitter-thread for Filipino writers?

How did that make you feel?

?It’s the last name. Santos throws them off.?

SANTOS. It’s Portuguese, right??

Honestly, this is confusing…?

It’s like you are actually Cambodian or something…”

While there is nothing in terms of voice or style that resembles his work, some of the poems in Ghost Face reminded me of why I love the poetry of Langston Hughes so much. Like Hughes, Santos seems to be holding everything he loves in his hands while writing: his children, his parents, his childhood. He is in touch with the things that live in his heart, and has no problem sharing them with us.

Ultimately, the best thing about this book is that it reminds us that we can talk to ghosts through writing and reading. Words can hold the past and carry it into the future; they can dig into our history and heritage as they forge new memories and allow us to share them with others. More than a poetry collection, Ghost Face is Santos sharing pieces of his life with us, and what he has to share is worthy of your time and attention.

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Gabino Iglesias is a writer, editor, literary critic, and professor living in Austin, TX. He is the author of ZERO SAINTS and COYOTE SONGS. You can find him on Twitter at @Gabino_Iglesias.

[REVIEW] Blackbirds by Greg Santos

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(Eyewear Publishing, 2018)

REVIEW BY GABINO IGLESIAS

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Greg Santos’ Blackbirds is one of those rare poetry collections that seems to hit the right length: long enough to be a book that leaves its mark and short enough to be read twice in a row and leave you wanting more. Also, it delves deep into the world of the poet, allowing not only the world around but also his family and the world inside him to share a space on the page.

Santos is hyperaware of his surroundings. He feels everything. The result of this is hyperaware poetry that bridges the gap between commonplace people and events and the kind of circumstance that earns a spot on our memory forever. The series of events and reflections shared here inhabit that strange interstitial space between the personal and the universal; holding your child, looking out a window, remembering a place, looking at a loved one. This personal/universal binomial starts early on with “I Have a Problem,” a poem that offers a condensed version of the type of thing Santos does time and again in the rest of the collection:

All I care about is everything.

I like to lie down and look up at the stars,

even when there are none.

I am almost nothing but thoughts and water.

I find mirrors unbearably off-putting.

My children find them droll.

Do you feel that too?

My left hand feels like a cataclysmic storm.

I will never tire of looking at my wife.

Her smile is like a constant sonar beep

in the depths of my chest.

I hear rain even when it’s sunny out.

Have you ever squinted at the ocean

so the sky and the water blend until

you don’t know where one ends and the other begins?

I’m doing that right now with you.

While navigating the inside/outside/interstitial space is enough to make this a recommended read, what truly makes this short collection shine is the way the poet deals with his unique and collective identity. Family, migration, discrimination, and hope are all present here, all dancing with each other in the present as they vocalize their ties to the past. For Santos, where you come from is as important as where you’re going because it defines who you are and informs what you do even when it’s not a clear element that can be easily explained or even remembered: “My family is from forgetfulness,/our geography forever shifting.”

Perhaps the best thing about the book is that offers a much-needed dose of hope despite carrying a good dose of doom. Every time Santos writes about love or his family or holding his daughter, he shows there is plenty left to life for, much left worth struggling for even when the darkness seems to cover everything. In fact, there is even a hint of humor when discussing the current sociopolitical state, which is very present in “MURICA”:

Rumor has it we are going to raise a barn.

Stay tuned. Have a beverage with me.

Pepsi says LIVE FOR NOW.

Living for corn syrup is vexing.

Our little American town is exhausted.

Please help.

Ultimately, Blackbirds is a short, beautiful collection that finds its roots in movement, love, change, and migration. Santos is a keen observer and a great chronicler of modern life who understands that looking at the mess outside his window is as important as feeling the warmth of his loved ones, and that makes his poetry as relatable as it makes it necessary.

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Gabino Iglesias is a writer, journalist and book reviewer living in Austin, Texas. He is the author of the novel “Zero Saints,” the book review editor for Pank Magazine, and a columnist at LitReactor. You can find him on Twitter at @Gabino_Iglesias.