Black Lavender Milk is an experimental lyric that dreamt of becoming a novel only to wake up as notebook. Employing and smudging elements of poetry, prose and memoir, Black Lavender Milk offers the space of a “novel” as a site of mourning, inquiry and recuperation. Through a complex, hypnotic blur of language, the lyric-as-novel functions as an extended meditation on Writing in relation to the Body; Time, Loss, Ancestry and Dreaming.
Angel Dominguez is a Latinx poet and artist of Yucatec Maya descent, born in Hollywood and raised in Van Nuys, CA by their immigrant family. They're the author of RoseSunWater (Operating System, 2020) and Black Lavender Milk (Timeless, Infinite Light, 2015). Their third book, DESGRACIADO (the collected letters) is forthcoming from Nightboat Books in 2021. You can find Angel's work online and in print in various publications. Angel lives in Bonny Doon, CA.
As soon as I started, I knew this would be one of my all-time favorite reads. I don't have enough words to convey the depth that I felt, the void in my chest filled with black lavender milk, making my muddy memory less insecure, less guilty, more dream-like. I cannot recommend this enough.
"Water remembers. We do not. I need more time. I need you to believe me" (86-88).
Besides the many obvious rituals that Angel Dominguez presents in his book, I am most interested in the setting of the plane as a possible means (or anti-means) to his rituals of connecting with his family’s homeland. The airplane represents transportation back in lineage, in time, in language, to the Yucatan peninsula. Yet it is the source of the problems as well as the only way for him to understand himself: “I keep waiting to arrive to a point in my life where the air is hot and thick with ancestral-familiarity, where I stare back into a portal or a space of recollection, clear as sky.” (18). Dominguez sees the airplane as a state of limbo, one that signifies the state of processing what is going to happen on a trip, or what has happened after the trip. This container of transit stands out amidst the many instructions for rituals, many of which cannot possibly be done at the airport, or on the tarmac, as he claims. However, transit is a form of tangible ritual that he cannot escape; his grandfather emigrated to the US, and now the speaker’s Spanish is mediocre. A failure, the way he admits his writing repeatedly fails too: “I keep trying to form: narrative. I keep trying to write a “novel.” I fail.” (138) compared to the Spanish he attempts on the following page, misspelling basic words like cuando (“quando”), mantener (“mantenar”), posible (“possible”), etc. (139) The vessel of an airplane functions like a schrodinger’s cat experiment as well, where his writing is and isn’t occurring at the same time: “Waiting releases writing; most of this book is (not) happening somewhere in an airport or transit vehicle; as you’re reading, I might be above the continent, reviewing this sentence and wondering how you curved the light into your pupil so gracefully;” (95) This space of transition and uncertainty is the one place he can’t perform rituals, so instead he is forced to plan them, to write them down and share them. Without the limits of the airplane/ airport/ tarmac, the speaker would not have been able to write these rituals down. His writing would have failed entirely. He would have dug dzonots in silence for the rest of his life. The dzonots are the source of the spiritual magic of the book, yet they are stories, retellings, parts of the notebooks and compositions. While the airplane/airport is the actual setting of this book. It makes me think about writing in between bouts of sleep, with a painful neck, and cramped legs. Dreaming often in the naps. Fragmentation. “Lightheaded sleep brings you to a series of awakenings. In 21 minutes, we will encounter/discover/create the earth.” (155) Finally, on the last page, he invites the disgruntled spirit from that transitory space into firm ground: “keep waking up with me, practicing dreaming, somnambulist” (156) and this way the writing is allowed to fail; in fact it is what makes it special for him, the schrodinger’s cat, the ability to write and not write, ritualize and not, at the same time.
Beautifully designed, a book of searching. The poems transport you to a “nowhere space,” the experience of which is valuable and affirming. However, the book didn’t seem to carry as much weight as it had space for.
For every brilliant insight into mourning, the difficulties of doubling one's experience in the form of writing, and embodied experience this text generates, it offers 2 to 3 expressions that strain for visionary status. Then again, how do you critique a book whose stated goal is to fail as literature? Ultimately, BLACK LAVENDER MILK probably has to be interpreted and evaluated in terms of its performance, not its readability per se.
The book takes you thru the authors journey of pain, loss, confusion, person growth and an amazing descriptive path toward a greater enlightenment of knowledge. Never had I read a book of this personal depth and magnitude. This was a different experience for me, both in the reading genre and in being taken to and from different perspectives. Looking forward to more work from this author.