A Farang Poet in Thailand: Interview with Ajarn David

Seen Above: The Thailand-made GPX motorcycle which Ajarn David has used to visit over 200 Buddhist temples in Sakon Nakhon.

The following is an interview conducted by Khun Angsuma Tappila with Ajarn David, author of the new book of poetry “Poems from Sakon Nakhon,” published by Ysaan Books (2025). Ajarn David is a longtime resident of Thailand and a lecturer at Sakon Nakhon Rajabhat University.

UPDATE! This interview now includes a follow-up interview that was conducted on May 9th (2026), after Ajarn David’s new book “Under the Weeping Fig” was published.

Sawasdee ka, Ajarn David! You’ve lived and taught in Thailand for over 20 years — what first inspired you to write Poems from Sakon Nakhon about our country?

Ajarn David: Sawasdee krub! I think one of the main reasons was that I’d seen so many misconceptions about Thailand — especially about rural places like Sakon Nakhon. After 20 years here, I felt I had something worth saying, a fresh view of Thai culture and village life that only a farang who’d actually lived here for a long time might be able to offer.

Many of your poems, like the ones dealing with rainy, cool, and hot seasons, capture Thailand’s nature so vividly. How did you learn to see our landscapes through a poet’s eyes?

Ajarn David: I think it really began with my passion for literature and poetry — especially authors like Hermann Hesse, Rilke, Lawrence Durrell, Pablo Neruda. I immersed myself in those writers as a university student, and that slowly taught me to see the world with greater sensitivity and empathy. I’d actually written two published books of poetry, but that was over 20 years ago, and I stopped for a long time. Then Thailand gave me a reason to start again — I wanted to give something back to the country that had become my home.

In “The noodle seller” and “Some mangos are sweet,” you write about everyday Thai life — street food and markets. Why do you think these small moments are important for poetry?

Ajarn David: Small moments of everyday life are always important for poetry, I think. They’re so easy to walk right past, and yet they can reveal so much about people and places — and sometimes they’re just heartbreakingly beautiful.

Your poem about “Mae yai” shows deep respect for Thai grandmothers. What did teaching Thai students teach you about family values here that shaped this poem?

Ajarn David: Well, I have a Thai wife, a large extended family, and two Thai daughters, so that’s really where my understanding of Thai family values comes from first. And then I see those same values reflected over and over again in my university students. So I know that what I’ve experienced personally — that deep reverence for grandmothers, for elders — isn’t just my family. It’s universal here.

Poems that deal with “Khao Phansa” and “Mae Thorani” touch on Thai Buddhism. As a farang, how did you come to understand and write about our spiritual traditions?

Ajarn David: I’ve visited over 200 Buddhist temples here in Sakon Nakhon — and I’ve been drawn to Buddhist philosophy and art since my student days. What I love is that I approach every temple as not only a place for meditation and contemplation, but as a little Buddhist art gallery. The sculptures and paintings are always different in some unique way.

You explore the language of love in Thailand, highlighting the nuances of words like “ruk” (love) and “dtok loom ruk” (fall in love). What do you find special about how Thai language expresses feelings?

Ajarn David: I think it’s the simplicity. The Thai language perfectly matches the needs of the heart, which are really best expressed in simple, honest, direct terms. And of course, all those “jai” — heart — words help a lot when it comes to genuine expression of feelings.

In one poem, you write about our smiles and the “Siam spirit.” How do you see this famous Thai trait after living here so long?

Ajarn David: That’s not an easy thing to capture in a short answer, honestly. But I think one important aspect of the Siam spirit is this ability to recognize the beauty and joy in the everyday things of life — and to not let that go.

You dive into Thai social ideas like being “greng-jai'” and “loss of face”. How did you learn about concepts like “greng-jai” and “sia naa,” and why did you put them in your poems?

Ajarn David: You simply can’t navigate life in Thailand successfully without fully understanding what it means to be greng jai and how to help others save face. And unfortunately, most farangs aren’t very good at it — including, I’ll be honest, when I first arrived. So I felt it was important to write a poem about each of them.

Your poem about the legend of Nong Han Lake tells a Thai love story. What drew you to our folklore, and how did you choose which stories to write about?

Ajarn David: I’m most drawn to stories from Thai folklore that carry a universal message — something that resonates across cultures. The legend of Nong Han Lake is a good one because it’s really about unrequited love, and that’s something that can be both a tragedy and, in a strange way, a boon.

You celebrate many things about Thai culture, like your poem that describes the Isaan khaen and barefoot dancers. What is it about Isaan culture that you love so much as a poet?

Ajarn David: I love the earthiness of it. Things still made by hand, in the same way they’ve been made for centuries. And the pace of life — it’s slow enough that you actually get to savor the details of the moment. That’s rare.

You praise butterfly pea tea over soda, a curious choice for a farang. How did you grow to enjoy Thai drinks and flavors during your time here?

Ajarn David: It certainly wasn’t instantaneous, I can tell you that. There are so many Thai drinks and dishes and sauces — nam jim jao, for instance — that I absolutely love now but couldn’t stand when I first arrived in 2002. The key was really learning to step back from my preconceptions about flavors, and approach new tastes with a curious, open mind rather than just reacting.

You acknowledge in one poem that you’ll never be Thai, but you see a “grander vision” as an outsider. What does this mean to you, and how has being a farang shaped your poetry?

Ajarn David: It all comes down to a kind of freedom, I think — not being confined by the constructs of the society and language you were raised in. Growing up in America shaped me in certain ways, but living in Thailand for this long has really broken up that old mindset. I’m distanced now from the way the average American or native English speaker thinks, how they arrange their thoughts and perceptions. But at the same time, I’ll never be Thai, and I’ll never see the world quite the way they do either. So I get to live from this unusual position, with a mind that has more freedom to roam — and hopefully, greater insight.

Your book ends with a dramatic cobra scene. Why did you choose that as your “last poem” from Sakon Nakhon? Is it a goodbye to the region?

Ajarn David: No, not at all. Sakon Nakhon is where I’ve built my home and my family. But I’ve always had this heightened awareness of how tenuous life is — how death really can come knocking at any moment. My last book was over 20 years ago, and I genuinely didn’t know when, or even if, I’d ever be moved to write another one. So that poem felt like a fitting end — not a goodbye to Sakon Nakhon, but a kind of punctuation mark on the book.

Your poems use simple English but feel deep and Thai. Did you write them with Thai readers in mind, or were they for an international audience too?

Ajarn David: I wrote them for both, really — an international and a Thai audience. And I think my use of simple English, compared to the more elaborate language you often find in modern poetry, actually reflects the influence Thai culture and language have had on the way I think in English. Those thoughts are now stripped of pretentiousness, stripped of needless complexity. Thailand did that.

In your poem about the Thai language, you call our words “tiny jewels.” As a teacher and poet, what do you love most about the Thai language?

Ajarn David: Its flowing simplicity and beauty. And the way it’s perfectly suited to being spoken while smiling — which I think says everything about the spirit of the language.

Poetry isn’t as big in Thailand as novels or songs. What do you hope Thai readers — especially students — take away from your book?

Ajarn David: Yes, Thai poetry has never really had a big fan base — and I think a lot of that comes down to its complexity and rigid forms. Traditional Thai poetry is very hard to write, and for many Thais, genuinely hard to understand. Most Thai students have never been exposed to free verse, in Thai or in English, which is so much more accessible. So I hope these poems might encourage them to explore free verse in their own language and in English. And perhaps more than anything, I hope they come away with a greater appreciation of their own culture and language — seen through the eyes of someone who chose to make Thailand his home.

A Follow-Up Interview with Ajarn David: Under the Weeping Fig

Sawasdee ka, Ajarn David, and welcome back! In our last interview you told me that the cobra poem felt like a fitting end — and that you didn’t know if you’d ever write another book. And yet here we are, with Under the Weeping Fig in our hands. What changed?

Ajarn David: Yeah, I changed my mind pretty quickly, didn’t I? The reason is that not long after Poems from Sakon Nakhon was published, I was walking around Somdej Phra Srinagarindra Park. The park has this giant weeping fig tree, and as I was standing under it, I had a vision of all those who might have stood under it over the years, thinking about the loves they had lost, the unrequited loves that were never returned, all the regrets and sad moments in their lives. Right then I knew that I had to write one more book of poems called “Under the Weeping Fig.”

What a beautiful origin story for the book — and how fitting that it came to you in a moment of stillness, standing under the very tree that became its title. In Poems from Sakon Nakhon you wrote about Thai culture from the outside, as an observer who had earned his place here. But this new book feels much more inward — it’s about love, longing, and loss at a very human level. Was it more difficult to write from such a personal place, and do you worry at all about what people will think when they read it?

Ajarn David: No, not really. Poems from Sakon Nakhon came from a very personal space, too, sometimes dealing with the subject of love and loss as well. This book is obviously much more inward, as you say. And I realize that some people might view the work as autobiographical, but it’s more biographical. That is, it is inspired by all the conversations, friendships, and experiences I have had living in Thailand for over 20 years.

That’s a really important distinction — biographical rather than autobiographical. It suggests you’ve been quietly collecting these stories for years, carrying other people’s heartaches alongside your own. In your author’s note you describe something that fascinates me — that these poems were written simultaneously in Thai and English, your mind moving back and forth between the two languages, rather than translating after the fact. Can you describe what that felt like? Did the two languages ever pull a poem in different directions, or reveal something about love that only one of them could express?

Ajarn David: Yes, the Thai and English would often pull the poem in different directions. The poems would usually start with a thought I had in Thai, or a particular phrase or sentence in Thai that I liked the sound of when spoken out loud. This would then often be built upon as I thought about it in English, and then swing back again to Thai. In the end, the English version would usually come to me in final form, but I would need to fill in and refine my Thai thoughts — since my English is obviously much better than my Thai. But both versions were always held to the same standard: a memorable sound when spoken out loud. This is something that Thai readers, especially, might not immediately recognize, since I don’t use traditional rhyme or meter.

That last point is interesting — because traditional Thai poetry is so bound by rhyme and complex meter that many Thai readers may not immediately recognize what you’re doing as poetry at all. Yet you’ve always championed free verse as the more accessible form. Do you think Under the Weeping Fig might actually win some new converts — Thai readers who have always found poetry too difficult or too distant — precisely because it sounds like something a friend might say to you over a drink?

Ajarn David: I think that free verse poets like William Carlos Williams, e.e. cummings, and Emily Dickinson greatly increased our appreciation of the beauty of plain-spoken English. And frankly, I think everyday spoken Thai is even more beautiful. However, we sometimes lose sight of that when the language is spoken too quickly and sounds are dropped. Free verse encourages readers to slow down, to really experience the beauty and power of Thai words. It would also encourage more Thais to start writing and reading poetry by making it much more accessible.

You mention slowing down to experience the beauty of everyday Thai — and I think that quality comes through most tenderly in some of the quieter love poems in this collection. Poem #47, for instance, is just a simple wish: to eat som tam with someone on a sunny day, with a fan blowing gently overhead. It’s so small, and yet it’s completely devastating. Do you think the most profound love poems are always about the ordinary moments rather than the grand gestures?

Ajarn David: Absolutely. And again it’s an issue of accessibility, as well as empathy. Not everyone is capable of the grand gesture, or has the opportunity. But everyone is capable of creating a simple but loving experience for someone they care about that will be remembered for years afterward, if not forever.

The collection contains a poem about fatherhood that sits quietly among all these poems about romantic love, and yet it stopped me completely. It feels like it belongs to a very different kind of loss. What made you include it?

Ajarn David: It is quite different from the other poems, but if we go back to the vision I had under the weeping fig tree, it fits perfectly — that image of people standing under the tree, thinking sentimentally about their loved ones and the past.

That’s a lovely way to think about it — the weeping fig as a place where all forms of love and loss are welcome, not just the romantic kind. Several poems in the collection speak from inside a Thai woman’s perspective — her self-doubt, her quiet longing, her heartbreak. How did you find your way into those female voices, and were you ever concerned that a foreign man writing from inside a Thai woman’s heart might get something wrong?

Ajarn David: Not really. Ever since I arrived in Thailand, my closest friends have always been women, and I still have many today, along with of course my beautiful Thai wife. I seem to have the kind of personality that makes Thai women feel comfortable sharing their problems, hopes, and dreams with me. And a Thai woman’s heart is much like any woman’s heart, regardless of nationality.

What a wonderful note to end on. And I think that universality is really the heart of this book — whether it’s a woman doubting her own beauty, a man rehearsing clever things to say to someone who never arrives, or two people walking silently beside Nong Han Lake as the sun goes down, every reader will find themselves somewhere in these pages. Just one last question. The epilogue ends with a remarkable experience — a five-day forest fast in the Phu Phan mountains, a dream, and a conversation with an ancient tree. It’s a deeply personal and unexpected way to close such a rich and moving collection. What did that experience give you that you couldn’t find anywhere else?

Ajarn David: The Phu Phan mountains are a magical place, which is why they have attracted so many forest monks from throughout Thailand, including the legendary Ajarn Mun. Fasting in those mountains will always fill a person with inspiration, and, if lucky, a vision that can change your life.

“Poems from Sakon Nakhon” (Thai Poetry in English) and “Under the Weeping Fig” (Thai Poems of Love & Loss) are available internationally in paperback and hardcover via Amazon. In Thailand, it can be bought at Ysaan Books’ online store on Shopee and Lazada.