A bilingual selection of tender, transgressive poems by a Peruvian poet and multimedia artist
In Tilsa Otta’s The Hormone of Darkness, we find a queer, Latinx person who has lived through iterations of authoritarian rule, and who answers these conditions by creating poetry that doubles down on a life force that precedes and exceeds received notions of the poetic. Here poetry is bawdy, fabulist, and spiritual―in short, it is alive. Otta has created a heaven where readers can go after they die.
Drawing from four volumes spanning Otta’s career, translator-poet Farid Matuk has curated a playlist we can dance and dream to, one that honors Otta’s drive toward liberation through both perreo in the club and transdimensional wandering among the stars.
Tilso Otta Vildoso (b. 1982) is an audiovisual artist and writer. She has published four books of poetry, a book of short stories, a children's poetry book, and a comic book. She creates experimental and fictional films and leads poetry workshops for adults and children.
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Tilsa Otta Vildoso es escritora y artista audiovisual. Ha publicado los poemarios “Mi niña veneno en el jardín de las baladas del recuerdo” (2004) e “Indivisible” (2007) con la editorial Álbum del universo bakterial, y “Antimateria. Gran acelerador de poemas” (2014, Ediciones Neutrinos, Argentina; 2015, Editorial Pesopluma, Lima; 2016, Juan Malasuerte, México). También el libro de cuentos “Un ejemplar extraño” (Solar, 2012) y el cómic “VA” (Contexto Editorial, 2017), en co autoría con Rita Ponce de León.
Estudió dirección de cine en el Instituto Charles Chaplin de Lima y la carrera corta de fotografía en el Centro de la Imagen de Lima. Completó sus estudios de cine con un máster en Videolab de Creación Audiovisual cursado en LENS Escuela de Artes Visuales, en Madrid (España).
En 2021 publica a través de Literatura Random House la novela Lxs niñxs de oro de la alquimia sexual .
What I love about good poetry is that you don't have to understand it to understand it.
You know??? Like...do I fully grasp the meaning of everything in here? Likely not. But did I find meaning in a lot of it? Indeed. I love the way she plays with imagery of the land and the sea and such and infuses these things with her own emotions. Anthropomorphizing the planet in a way, and it was really effective at times. There's also this delicate blend of both the pain and joy of simply being alive, and that you can feel both things simultaneously without one diminishing the other.
There were certainly a few bits where I admit I had no clue what she meant, but I do wonder if that might be a lost-in-translation thing. (The book is "bilingual" and everything is written out first in Spanish followed by English.) But I really enjoyed this a lot and want to check out more of her work.
Thanks to NetGalley and Graywolf Press for the ARC!
Tilsa Otta’s The Hormone of Darkness is a low-key anthology of translated poems from almost two decades of work.
The collection is framed as a playlist, and I think that’s a helpful way to think of the reading experience. Most of these poems wash over the reader, eliciting acknowledgment more than appreciation, but every so often, there’s a line or two that demands a re-read—a song worth a re-listen.
Consider, for instance, the following lines from the titular poem:
El recién nacido observa por primera vez el rostro de su madre / Como un astronauta contempla la tierra desde el espacio / Se reconoce en esa topografia cambiante
(The newborn sees its mother’s face for the first time / The way an astronaut regards earth from space / Sees himself in that inconstant topography)
I mean, wow.
Unfortunately, few poems—with the notable exception of “El nuevo cielo” / “The New Heaven”—showcase the same kind of imagistic or narrative cohesion. Instead, moments of clarity feel like infrequent interruptions. I’m sure it’s a stylistic intention, but it’s one that doesn’t always feel fruitful, at least in translated form.
Speaking of which, despite Farid Matuk’s largely excellent work, I think some of these translations overstep their bounds. My Spanish is not great, and everyone has their own personal philosophy of translation, so take these critiques with a grain of salt, but some of the interpretive decisions seem odd. For example, “Contar en orden alfabético” / “Counting in alphabetical order,” a poem comprised only of numbers, finds the translator completely changing the numerical sequence in English to fit the poem’s title, and it feels less like re-mediation and more like regurgitation—the original poem chewed up and spit out. At the very least, one wonders why the poem was included at all when this is an anthology. Elsewhere, certain lines shift in their sequencing, and it feels a little like the translator’s taste usurping the poet’s voice.
That said, Matuk’s wonderful opening essay explicitly wrestles with the translation process, and even the less successful pieces are interesting as a negotiation between two artists. There’s no perfect way to translate, and I appreciate their justification for their decisions. If you're reading this in 2024, there's a scheduled conversation between Otta and Matuk on October 24th about translation, and I expect that will be fascinating.
All in all, The Hormone of Darkness is a pleasant enough collection, and for an English speaker hoping to explore Peruvian poetry, it seems like a great starting point.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC! This collection releases in the US from Graywolf Press on September 30th, 2024.
Full Rating: 3.5 stars rounded up
The Hormone of Darkness: A Playlist is a mesmerizing and surreal collection of poetry by Peruvian poet Tilsa Otta, translated into English by Farid Matuk. Spanning work published between 2004 and 2018, this bilingual collection pulls readers into a world where beginnings and endings blur, and autonomy is reclaimed in the face of social and existential constraints. Otta’s poems chafe against boundaries—whether they are imposed by society, God, or the speaker’s own sense of self—creating space for new forms of desire, love, and resistance.
Otta’s poetry is wildly experimental, dreamlike, and often deeply abstract, with a rhythm that carries the reader through fragmented reflections on life, pleasure, and grief. There’s a raw beauty in her vivid imagery, which invites us to question reality and meaning while feeling deeply the weight of human experience. The collection doesn’t shy away from the bizarre or the kinky; instead, it fully embraces queerness, both in identity and form, pushing the boundaries of what poetry can be. Themes of existential questioning and the tension between the material and spiritual worlds recur throughout, with a constant undercurrent of yearning for freedom.
However, the collection’s abstract nature occasionally left me lost in its tangled thoughts. At times, the poems’ resistance to conventional narrative made it difficult to find an entry point. Still, this only reinforces the collection's relentless desire for expansiveness, reflecting the speaker's ongoing struggle for hope and autonomy. Though challenging, The Hormone of Darkness is an evocative exploration of queerness, creativity, and rebellion, leaving readers with more questions than answers—just as it should. Overall, I rated it 3.5 stars for its bold experimentation, even if some poems felt a little too abstract to fully connect with.
📖 Recommended For: Readers who enjoy surreal, experimental poetry, those interested in exploring the fluidity of identity and desire, anyone who values boundary-pushing, queer narratives, fans of Anne Carson.
🔑 Key Themes: Autonomy and Rebellion, Existential Questioning, Queerness and Identity, Desire and Pleasure, Transcendence and Spirituality.
3.5 rounded down to 3. Maybe if I had a better morning could have been 4.
Tilsa Otta is a visual poet, and in this collection, there are many powerful images of the land, the sea, and the cosmos. The poems read quite experimental,a beautiful reminder that we don't read poetry with an expectation of understanding but we read poetry to multiply on what's experienced in that pocket of time and space.
Likely, this couplet is my favorite:
"Speed reading doesn't work with roses Because their pupils dilate for love I press the light that falls on them against my body and I pick the fruits, the softest, the ones meant for today I abandon my friends at night I look at the mountain and it gives off a moan I look through the window and it howls I'm a sun that never sets in a sea that never returns I don't find calm in being alive"
**Thank you to NetGalley and Graywolf Press for the eARC of this beautiful collection.**
I have been on a poetry kick thanks to a reading slump keeping me from my TBR. I really enjoyed this collection and especially appreciated how the poems were written in Spanish, followed by the translated English version. I am nowhere near fluent in Spanish but loved being able to skim the originals and pick out the words I know. This allowed me to start building some context. The English versions then gave me the "feel" of the poem.
Overall, this was a really cool reading experience and the poems were absolutely beautiful. I would recommend this collection for anyone that dreams of a life untouched by criticism and the ability to just "be."
I loved getting lost here. In "The new heaven" and the worlds that float right about the ones we think of as real. I loved the wonder and horror mixed together. And how poems began as if we all just woke up and started talking:
I can't dive deep I always get lost somewhere along the surface I can play dead out at sea Where the sun bathes And the waves get more glitter, more glam
(it's the "glam" that gets me.)
In the introduction, Farid Matuk describes "Definitive animal" as a love poem and I'm in awe: at the violence inside it, and the abandon with which it is translated.
A mix of stuff I really enjoyed and some that just felt too small and lacking which I chalk up to being just not really my style for the most part. I will grab onto a few poems to remember but a lot of this failed to hit me in any meaningful way.