National Poetry Month: This library quenches the thirst for verse

From Hiram Sims’ earliest memory, poetry defined his inner world – songs of praise at his church choir; the rap lyrics of The Notorious B.I.G., Puff Daddy, and Mase’s “Mo Money Mo Problems”; Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” in seventh grade.

“Poetry’s like a frequency that I can hear above all other frequencies,” he says. “It’s like a dog whistle; you know, like other people, they just walk right past it. They can’t even hear it. But when I hear that sound, I pay attention.”

That sound became his favorite form of expression. As a kid, he wrote about candy, his thoughts about God, and a lot of verses for girls at school. In college, while he progressed to mature writing around the Black experience in America and the struggles of being young and broke, witty comic poems remained key to his repertoire. He chuckles recalling a poem comparing Ugg boots to rhinoceros feet. Now, he has published three collections of poetry and frequently writes love poems for his wife.

While it was clear early that his calling was poetry, Mr. Sims remembers having an anchorless feeling: Poetry sections of libraries were rare, and the poetry scene was a series of countless borrowed spaces in restaurants, cafes, and bars. It felt like “poetry is homeless because it’s constantly couch surfing,” says Mr. Sims, who became a creative writing and composition professor at colleges in the area, including his alma mater, the University of Southern California.

In 2020, he gave poetry a permanent home in his South Los Angeles neighborhood, founding the Sims Library of Poetry, for reading, writing, studying, and performing poetry. 

The space has evolved into an indispensable gathering place for anyone looking for inspiration, say poets who live nearby. It whimsically invites the public in: “Poetry Lives Here” is painted on a low concrete boundary. A mural pays homage to the dragon fire that poets spit in words. A “Poet Parking Only” sign peeks from a patch of grass. 

The spiritual foundation for this landmark came from what Mr. Sims considers a personal triumph: the Community Literature Initiative (CLI), through which he helps poets produce manuscripts ready for publication and connect to presses.  

“I was at an open mic and I heard all of these amazing poets. After the show, I said, ‘I’d like to buy a copy of your book,’ and none of them had books,” says Mr. Sims, who has coached poets in publishing now for 10 years in space provided by USC. “And so I felt like it was about filling a void.” 

A vision in a suitcase

The Sims Library origin story goes back to a $29.99 suitcase. After assigning his CLI students to read one book of poetry a week, he realized: They couldn’t afford them, and libraries had slim poetry offerings. 

So, he fit 80 books from his collection into the purple-brown suitcase, carted it around in his car, unzipped it, and let students borrow poetry collections by living authors, especially local LA poets.

“One of my students said, ‘This is the little Sims library of poetry right here.’ And I was like, ‘Wow, that’s an ... incredible concept,’” Mr. Sims says. “After that, I put all my energy into building that microcosm of the library that I had in my head.”

The idea came to life in his garage at a birthday party-turned-library-launch where Mr. Sims invited every poet he knew, including Kamau Daáood, Lynne Thompson, and Conney Williams. Several poets read their own verse. And people brought boxes full of books: The party started with 300 and ended with 2,000. 

Mr. Sims’ mother, Gwendolyn, who remembers her young son loved to read greeting card stanzas at the Rite Aid, was one of the first to donate money. The library continued to thrive with family, community, and foundation contributions of books, cash, and grants. And CLI class tuition also helped. 

It was peak pandemic, and the preschool run by his wife, Charisse, closed. The family decided to take over the building as the next iteration of the library. Mr. Sims’ father, Edward, who is a contractor, and his brother Job helped with shelves. Word of another donation drive reached further and book donations came from across the country.

The azure landmark on Florence Avenue boasts an enclosed outdoor space with sofas, tables, and a piano. Inside, there is a cozy room with black velvet couches on three sides and full black bookshelves. Visitors have use of three laptop computers and a printer. There is also a writing room with heartening words from local poets adorning the walls. Stacks of books sit in the librarian’s office because shelf space has run out. 

The nonprofit offers more than 9,000 volumes of poetry, says Mr. Sims. “So many of these books are people that live in LA, you know, people in this community.” 

Poetry spills out

Open until 8 on Saturday nights, the thrum of activity – from book launches, workshops, and open mics – spills into the neighborhood with singing voices, fingers snapping, and the rhythm of rhyme.

People come “to listen and perform,” Mr. Sims says. “I think the library represents value for a part of people they don’t often share. So people often bring poems from their shoeboxes and folders. It’s so personal with people, so they find joy in having a place for eloquent expression.” 

And the library exists only because of community contribution.

“When the first volunteers came in, they expected to come to a library, but then realized, we have to build one,” says Karo Ska, library manager and a CLI writer. For them, the best part is that the library has books that can’t be found elsewhere – pre-1950s special collections, self-published collections, periodicals, local literary journals, and handmade chapbooks.

“The idea of giving back to the community is a phrase that a lot of people use but isn’t always manifested,”  says Lynne Thompson, 2021 Los Angeles poet laureate. “[Hiram] is as interested in the work of others and facilitating not only the writing of it but the publishing of it as he is in his own work. And that is quite impressive.”

Poet bridgette bianca, who grew up in the neighborhood without a public library nearby, says: “We are in an area that’s very much Black, very much brown, very much working class. And that somebody built a library here is just fantastic.” 

Now, as a community college professor, she uses the library as a resource, encouraging students to explore the poetry collection and attend events for extra credit. 

Another poet who held his book launch at the library in December 2022, Jeff Rogers, notes that at the library – surrounded by poetry and people who love poetry – he doesn’t have to compete with the loudness of a bar and “the sound of the espresso machine” while reading.

Permission to be whoever you are

Throughout his life, Mr. Sims says there has always been this unstated – though loud – message that you can’t make a living as a full-time poet. But, with community support – particularly from the poet David St. John, who mentored Mr. Sims at USC – Mr. Sims says he learned to, as poet Mary Oliver wrote, “Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” 

“So,” he adds, “that’s what’s happened in my life. I like to write poetry. I publish poetry. I teach poetry. That’s how I buy Happy Meals for my children.”

That has a big impact on the poetry community, says Professor St. John: “Young poets, young writers, older poets, older writers have felt, seen, and recognized in a way that they might not always feel walking into a conventional library. I think they’ve experienced a really unusual sense of permission to be whoever they are.”