This collection of poems by Jose Hernandez Diaz showcases the unique style that has made him a rising star in the poetry community.

In Bad Mexican, Bad American, the minimalist, working-class aesthetic of a “disadvantaged Brown kid” takes wing in prose poems that recall and celebrate that form’s ties to Surrealism. With influences like Alberto Ríos and Ray Gonzalez on one hand, and James Tate and Charles Baudelaire on the other, the collection spectacularly combines “high” art and folk art in a way that collapses those distinctions, as in the poem “My Date with Frida Kahlo”: “Frida and I had Cuban coffee and then vegetarian tacos. We sipped on mescal and black tea. At the end of the night, following an awkward silence during a conversation on Cubism, we kissed for about thirty minutes beneath a protest mural by David Alfaro Siqueiros.”

Bad Mexican, Bad American demonstrates how having roots in more than one culture can be both unsettling and rich: van Gogh and Beethoven share the page with tattoos, graffiti, and rancheras; Quetzalcoatl shows up at Panda Express; a Mexican American child who has never had a Mexican American teacher may become that teacher; a parent’s “broken” English is beautiful and masterful. Blending reality with dream and humility with hope, Hernandez Diaz contributes a singing strand to the complex cultural weave that is twenty-first-century poetry.

In his fourth full-length collection, Jose Hernandez Diaz explores the first-generation Mexican American experience in nuanced linear verse, avant-garde offerings, and deadpan absurdist prose poems. 

The Lighthouse Tattoo features plainspoken pieces that reveal the Latinx experience through the lens of a socially conscious contrarian in work that melds the quotidian and the profound. Also included, of course, are experimental prose poems in the signature style and voice that contributed to the meteoric rise of this unique artist. Invoking James Tate, Gabriel García Márquez, Salvador Dalí, Pablo Picasso, Albert Camus, Marosa di Giorgio, and others, Hernandez Diaz cements his place in both the poetic and surrealist traditions. 

Even as it unravels mysteries and explores the strange—zebras in a zoo on the moon or English dragons on the Pacific Coast Highway—The Lighthouse Tattoo shines its light on the complex emotions of a seasoned Latinx poet. In this extraordinary volume, the titular tattoo itself becomes evidence of a trauma survived, an apt metaphor for the book as a whole. As one speaker says, “I’m trapped inside of this prose poem, but I don’t want to get out. It's nice and cozy in here. I’m invincible.”