In Chen Chen’s deceivingly simple poem “Chen [No Middle Name] Chen,” names are far more than the words on our birth certificates: they’re insults and affirmations, histories and experiences, intricate portraits of our identities and aspirations. By writing a loose sonnet consisting solely of anagrams of his name — including its “flaw” of having “No Middle Name” — Chen explores his multifaceted Chinese-American self, from the insults he’s received to the surprising adjectives with which he describes himself. Though the words that comprise “Chen [No Middle Name] Chen” may be difficult to find within the poem’s title, they have always been part of Chen’s name — therefore, they are an inevitable and indelible part of his being.
Unfortunately, many of these words are aspersions, ranging from innocent mistakes to microaggressions to slurs. Chen is “called Chad called mini / called homo” (1-2), words that both define and demean his identity. He learns that he is not who he considers himself to be, but what society views him as; he is no longer “Chen Chen,” but “Chad,” a “homo, a “Chinaman” (1-3). The world turns his simple descriptors — “gay,” “Chinese” — negative, replacing his true identity with degrading racial epithets. In the next stanza, when Chen recounts how “one man called [him] Hannah / then mad,” simply correcting his presumably White persecutor reveals their racial privilege: that they have a right to be angry when all Chen did was assert himself. The persecutor’s defensiveness is a display of White fragility, but at once it’s a reminder that others’ perceptions of Chen — in this case, as “Hannah,” — outweigh the truth of his name and his being. Eventually, the oppressive name-calling Chen faces in these two stanzas causes him to question: “am I a man?” (4).
Following the tradition of the sonnet form, these eight lines form the octave of “Chen [No Middle Name] Chen” and set up Chen’s internal conflict: his loss of power when both his name and his identity are determined by outside forces. Western sonnets are comparably White and restrictive, mirroring Chen’s own confinement by White, heteronormative American society. However, the next two stanzas show how Chen is able to create something beautiful out of the sonnet’s strict rules, as he breaks free from the traditional rhyme scheme and ten-syllable lines. The poem soars as he exercises the agency taken away from him in the first lines to make this sonnet defined by him, not by straight White men from 400 years ago.
The second half of “Chen [No Middle Name] Chen” begins with a volta, or a shift in the sonnet’s direction, signifying a resolution to the conflict introduced in the octave. By switching from past to present tense, from “[they] called me” (5) to “call me” (9), Chen reclaims his name as something he gets the last word on. He is “mad,” as he should be after facing both racism and homophobia, and he is “mean” because, sometimes, he needs to be callous in order to defend himself. Simultaneously, Chen is “ammo” because of the hostility his assertiveness may cause — like the White man’s self-justifying retaliation in the second stanza. As Chen wields the dual identity of being Chinese-American, he is also “alchemical,” transforming and blending parts of himself depending on the situation. Though these adjectives aren’t all flattering, what’s meaningful is that now Chen is doing the “calling,” not the anonymous figures who called him “Chad,” “homo,” and “Chinaman” (1-3) in the stanzas before.
Chen, however, still knows he deserves complimentary words, despite being forced to see himself through the lenses of racism and homophobia, and despite his “blemish” of not having a middle name, spelled out in the poem’s title as if it is something missing. In the final stanza, in which every word uses letters from the phrase “No Middle Name,” Chen lists a series of beautiful nouns, like “ocean,” “dahlia,” and “eel-dance” (13-14). Through his “blemish” of having only a first and last name comes so much more — the poem itself, these elegant words. Chen may be a “nomad” (14), constantly traveling between cultures, and “loam” (14), split between identities like the soil is split between sand and clay. Still, Chen knows he is more than the negativity spewed at him in the first two stanzas, whether he received it from others or from himself. He knows he is worthy, and throughout this poem, he chronicles his journey towards declaring himself as such. Chen reveals how, though the world may try to restrict our identities, language ultimately prevails. Unlike anything else, as Chen learns, words allow us to claim and reclaim, define and redefine, who we are. By its final stanza, in the tradition of most sonnets, “Chen [No Middle Name] Chen” is a poem about love — not for others, but for ourselves.
Lila Raj is a junior at San Francisco University High School with passions for writing, music, and psychology. She is a 2023 Juniper Institute for Young Writers alumna and 2024 recipient of numerous Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. When she’s not writing, Lila can be found curating her many Spotify playlists or playing jazz on the saxophone.