Regie Cabico: DMV poet, performer, activist, teacher & literary entrepreneur
An interview
By Gregory Luce
If you’ve spent any time in or around the D.C.-area literary community, you have probably encountered Regie Cabico. A talented poet and performer, dedicated teacher, and tireless promoter of poetry, Regie represents the best of what the DMV has to offer to poets and poetry lovers of all ages. The full range of his literary activities is far too great to detail here—though he discusses some of it in the interview. In honor of Pride Month, co-editor Norah Vawter and I managed to get him to sit still for a conversation about his life and work.
Q: First, tell us a bit about yourself. Where are you from? When did you start writing poetry and why?
RC: I was born in Baltimore, Maryland, the child of Filipino immigrants, and we moved around a lot. Growing up, there was very little Filipino representation [in the places where I lived]. So I think for the first decade of my life, I was just very quiet, and by the time I was at the beginning of college, I became a theater person. So poetry was not my first love, it was performance in theater. And so upon graduating [with a degree in theater from New York University], I started to write my first poems because I was just trying to figure out what I wanted to do creatively within New York.
In the ‘90s there was something called the Poetry Calendar, which was similar to Washington Unbound, listing every reading you could possibly go to in New York City. … I went to all the poetry open mics. And one of the places I went to was the Nuyorican Poetry Cafe. I started performing at the open mics …
I didn't know anything about poetry slams, but my entrance into poetry was through the poetry slam world, and it was just starting in New York at the time. It came in from Chicago, brought by Bob Holman, who is a poet I'm still in touch with, who published me. So the story is this, the first poems I wrote were immediately anthologized in a book called Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. Whether I liked it or not, I was sucked into a poetry world, and so I wrote poetry just so I could talk about the Filipino experience and queer Filipino experience, and anything else that I wanted to to address. That's probably the reason why I write poetry, and probably the reason why I like to teach poetry, because I feel everyone's got a story, and if you don't tell your story, other people will.
Q: Following up on that, your roots in poetry really start with performance and spoken word, which is characteristic of a lot of what you're still doing now. So do you think that was particularly helpful in trying to get out the kind of stories you wanted to tell?
RC: You know, I think it's accidental, and it's [the product of living in that] time period. If [I’d gotten started as a creative person in] the ‘70s, I'd be in a rock band. If it were in the 80s, I would be doing performance art and getting weird and rubbing baby oil all over myself. … So I just feel like it was sort of the time. And I think that poetry, or slam poetry, or that Lower East Side aesthetic, was embracing that at the time. So there were a few artists like Dael Orlandersmith, who was nominated for a Pulitzer for playwriting, and Reg E. Gaines, who co-wrote the book for the musical Bring in ‘da Noise, Bring in ‘da Funk. So this was sort of where artists were at the time. … I had the Asian American writers workshop. They were just starting. They supported me there, and I was taking these poetry workshops. Tim Seibles, Agha Shahid Ali, who passed away in 2001, were the first two adult poetry teachers I had. Everyone was twice my age. I was probably like 20, and I knew zero about poetry. Like, I thought Sylvia Plath was a cologne or maybe a fashion designer. So I found myself in this poetry world not knowing if this poem was good, or even how to judge. I think that there's a bliss when you don't know what's good or bad. Just writing, right? So I liked those days. I think I know too much now.
Q: I feel that spoken word or slam poetry probably does make it a little more accessible to people who might not really be drawn to poetry otherwise, or they think it's too mysterious or whatever. And it seems you have carried that over into some of your current activities. So maybe we could just transition into my next question. Tell us about what you're doing now to promote Asian and Asian-American poets, queer poets, what you're doing with your own work, how you're reaching out to students, etc.
RC: In March of last year, I was appointed to the executive director position for A Gathering of the Tribes, which is an organization that nurtured me when I was in my 20s. So this is a sort of evolution. I never [imagined myself directing] this important organization. So that's my main project now, balancing [my energy between] D.C. and New York, and making sure that I'm serving New York, but also making sure that I can have New York writers accessible to D.C. I've always wanted to make that bridge happen, even when I left New York.
I left New York in 2006, and so I've been here almost 20 years now, in Washington, D.C. and so my projects have always been with queer voices and Asian American voices, but I feel like now in this administration, there's yet another level of protesting in such a way that I never thought … I never thought it was gonna get to this. I thought in my 20s, I did all the hard work, I lived through the AIDS era [and I didn’t think we would have to get back to this level of activism].
But now we can't take a break. We have to move together intergenerationally. When I started, I didn't have these mentors. So going back to the project, I do feel that when people write together, they understand each other. And I feel that if we wrote poetry together, there would be less fear of each other. So I’ve been promoting workshops in New York for Gathering of the Tribes, but also building a Filipino cultural community, Kwento Collective, in connection with D.C. bookstore Loyalty Bookstores, we produced the first Filipino Literature Festival [in the area]. Since the pandemic, we haven't really had an Asian-driven gathering or series as a way to galvanize Asians and Filipino folks. So that's a big project of mine. I'm also trying to work now on my performance work.
So this is really funny. Since I moved from New York, my work is focused on nonprofit and arts education, and even though I don't have children of my own, I feel that in teaching elementary, middle, high school, even pre-K over the last two decades that I have raised children. And so not that I want to stop teaching, but now I am trying to figure out what the next chapter is, still trying to write poems and being middle-aged, finding out what I might want to say now. And Greg, as an elder, you know what it's like. It's like all of a sudden, you know, if you're like, 55 and it's oh, whoa, I better finish this manuscript, finish this play. So those are some of the facts.
Q: I was just thinking, to go off script a little bit, but still relate to what you're talking about: How are you able to balance these various activities and make sure you have time for your own writing? And I assume, social life, fun stuff, relaxation. It seems like you've got a lot going on at any time.
RC: Well, I just can't go out at night anymore. I mean if I have to go out at night, if there's an event, then I've got to take a break. And I think self care is so important. I really believe in eucalyptus, sea salt and steam, and CBD oil, right? All of those tricks. How do you balance it? I don't know. I don't have children. I have a very understanding partner, who lives in upstate New York.
It's a lot to balance. I always say, Regie, you have to stop and finish it tomorrow. Now that was due three weeks ago. But you just have to try to be kind to yourself as much as possible. As far as writing, I write with my students, so I go around to D.C., Maryland, and Virginia schools. I will write with them, but I also think reading is as important as writing. So there’s a lot to catch up on.
Q: Many who know you would think of you as an entrepreneur of literature, and particularly poetry. And I think one of your missions, as you've already talked about, is to bring people into the poetry world who might otherwise not have entrée. As you know, it's what we at Day Eight do with the D.C. Poet Project, which you've curated for us. So how did this come about when you moved to D.C.? Did you just hit the ground running and start finding the connections, or did it slowly develop over time?
RC: It slowly developed over time. I knew very little about D.C., and so what brought me back to D.C. was running a nonprofit social justice organization. I started Split This Rock with [local poets] Sarah Browning and Melissa Tuckey. So immediately I was involved in getting that started. Entrepreneur? … I look at myself more as a poetry activist, and then, is there any money? You think that there's gonna be money, but there's really not in the work we're doing. I can't say that I don't get any money, but for the amount of work that we all put in, it's never equal to what we all should be paid, even for this publication [Washington Unbound], right?
I've always wanted to make myself be of service to poets. Maybe some people look at themselves differently, but I look at myself as a person in service to poets. Now, ironically, when I first arrived in New York City, maybe around 1993 or 1994, I immediately started two reading series. I started a Queer reading series called “Writers on the Ledge” at a cafe, and I also did a jazz poetry series simultaneously. So even as soon as I became a poet, reading at open mics, I also was giving opportunities for other poets. I think I [find myself doing that kind of work] because growing up as a child of Filipino immigrants, I had no community … so I feel like I'm trying to give myself the childhood that I didn’t have by creating the Filipino events, and feeling like I belong, and that I can be heard.
… So this entrepreneurial identity, it’s sort of an activist identity. It's sort of a spiritual identity, among so many things.
Q: Regarding the word entrepreneur, I think what you're doing is that there's some spirit in you that is so independent and so open to encouraging new things and starting new things and creating new pathways and communities. And I think the spirit that you seem to bring to the community and to the work is that sort of entrepreneurial type of spirit. Like, well, if it's not there, let me figure out how to get there. But having known you for a long time and always admired what you were doing, it was always about the poetry. It was always about the community. It’s not a capitalist venture. And I love what you said about asking, how can I make the childhood that I didn't have? How can I make some things happen that I didn't have when I was younger?
RC: I didn't have birthdays growing up, like I had birthdays, but it's not like anybody outside my family was there. … I hate the word family. I came from a dysfunctional family. Some people say we're all family. I'm like, that's either good or bad. Like, if you have a dysfunctional family, then it's not a great thing. So I've been trying to find the family that would accept me fully, and accept my creativity and my voice and my story. It’s something that I'm always in search of.
I also just want to say that we can't let other people have power over us as artists. I think this is one of the hardest things for poets to understand: if you're a poet, you're a poet. No degree or publication is going to distinguish that you are a poet. And when we write poems, it's what we believe, it’s the absolute faith of our work … There's no particular way that anyone needs to exist in order to be a poet …
Any poet could start a journal. Any poet could start a reading series. It is possible. So if you asked, for example, [D.C. poet] Sue Scheid, another friend of mine, she’d say Regie, whenever I was talking to you, you were planning the next thing. [And I usually am] because I think we need the next thing, and I think I see a space, and we should gather. And so, yeah, my eye looks at these spaces and everything. This is a good space to have a series. So I'm always thinking in that way. So maybe that is the entrepreneurship—that I'm always searching. But I'm also looking for emerging voices who don't even know that they need a break but they have the potential to be really great. Unless you give someone the space to read their work or publish them, you're not going to know. So I feel like there's so many poets who need to be heard, and who should be heard.
Q: What advice do you have for writers who don't know what they should be doing right now, or are frightened? I think you've got a lot of wisdom to share because of the experience you've had, like you were just talking about working with the kids in the hospital, you know, living through the AIDS crisis and everything that comes along with that, all of the difficulties. What advice do you have for people who are just trying to figure out how to be involved in community, or just how to stay sane?
RC: Wow, that's a huge question.
We have to keep fighting. We have to keep gathering. We have to keep supporting each other. So let's just talk about now. Look, I was afraid for World Pride. A lot of people were. A lot of queer and trans people left. I respect that decision, but I did say that we’d make a program for the MLK library, and we're going to do a queer literary festival, and we're going to be bringing poets together.
I feel like at this point, we cannot be quiet. We can't stop writing. We have to document what is happening, whether that's through poems, or through essays, or in video, or in art. … [One thing I’ve thought about is] I would like to have queer readings in front of the Kennedy Center …
I feel like as poets, we are trying to replace what is being taken away from us. So how can we create platforms for undocumented immigrant voices to speak out right now? How do we give opportunities for educators and teachers who are building that? How do we protect journalists? How do we get the story out? How do we explain this to our children?
And so I do think, at this point, poets need to be out, and we need to look at ourselves as a human social service. If we stop writing, then we have lost.
Visit poets.org/poet/regie-cabico to learn more about Regie and read some of his poems.
You can also watch Regie’s 2018 Ted Talk and listen to a podcast episode.
And definitely check out Regie’s poetry collection, A Rabbit in Search of a Rolex, which you can buy directly from the publisher, Day Eight. This book was included on our recent Washington Unbound 2025 Pride Booklist among some other stellar titles by D.C. area authors.
Regie Cabico is a spoken word pioneer who won the Nuyorican Poets Cafe Grand Slam. Cabico was a featured poet at the 2022 Whitney Biennial and received the 2006 Writers for Writers Award from Poets & Writers. Television credits include HBO’s Def Poetry Jam, TEDx & NPR’s Snap Judgement. He is a teaching artist at the Kennedy Center for the Arts and is one of the inaugural recipients of the 2023 James Baldwin Fellowship from La Maison Baldwin, Paris, France. His work appears in over 30 anthologies, including Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. He has shared the stage with Patti Smith, and Allen Ginsberg, and through Howard Zinn's Portraits Project at NYU, has performed with Stanley Tucci, Jesse Eisenberg & Lupe Fiasco. Cabico received a 2008 Future Aesthetics Arts Award from The Ford Foundation, three New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowships for Poetry and Performance, the Larry Neal Award for Poetry, and several DC Commission for the Arts Poetry Fellowships. He has served as faculty at Banff's Spoken Word Program and Kundiman. He received three New York Innovative Theater Award Nominations for his work in Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind. The Kenyon Review named Regie Cabico the "Lady Gaga of Poetry," and he was listed in BUST magazine's 100 Men We Love. He has served several artists in residencies for New York University's Asian American Studies, and is a founding Board member of Split This Rock Poetry Festival. His latest book of poetry is A Rabbit In Search of a Rolex (Day Eight, 2023).
Gregory Luce is the co-founder and poetry editor of Washington Unbound. He has published six chapbooks. He lives in Arlington and serves as Poetry Editor of The Mid-Atlantic Review and writes a monthly column for the online arts journal Scene4.
