Your book, Citizen: An American Lyric, has won the National Book Critics’ Circle poetry award in the US, the Forward in the UK and is shortlisted for the TS Eliot prize. It exposes racism in the US at its most violent and at its most nuanced. Why the title?

I called it Citizen because I wanted to ask: who gets to hold that status – despite everyone technically having it? How is it embodied and honoured? The title contains a question.

What the book does most powerfully is to make it clear that racism is everyone’s problem.

Racism is complicated. White people feel personally responsible for racism when they should understand the problem as systemic. It is interfering as much with their lives as with the lives of people of colour. And racism can lodge in them. It isn’t them yet it can become them if they are not taking notice.

Does the subject sometimes feel a burden to write about?

For me, this will sound odd. I find it interesting to look at language itself and think about what language can do. Language reveals something that happens so fast. It is language that pulls moments into their reality. And for readers – for people of colour – they have said they find it cathartic to have moments that they have kept to themselves openly written about.

Is there a denial of racism among black people?

I don’t think black people are in denial. They just need to lead their lives. They are going to shut things up and there will be repression. I include myself in that.

I find it interesting to look at language itself and think about what language can do

The book is much more than autobiographical. How many people did you interview in preparation for writing?

It was a loose anthropological exercise [laughter]. I spoke to my friends! About 25 people, black and white.

Has Serena Williams read or responded to the piece in Citizen in which you champion her?

Well, do you know what has just happened? Apparently, Serena Williams is [Sports Illustrated’s] athlete of the year and the LA Times has put out a cover to its sports magazine asking the question: does Serena Williams deserves sportsperson of the year more than a horse? [Kentucky Derby winner American Pharaoh is the horse in question.] As one of my friends protested: this is the same paper that made Citizen one of its books of the year. And, yes, Serena has seen what I wrote about her. I interviewed her for the New York Times in August. I took her willingness to be interviewed as a sign of approval.

“Because white men can’t/ police their imagination/ black men are dying.” What was in your mind when you wrote that line?

When white men are shooting black people, some of it is malice and some an out-of-control image of blackness in their minds. Darren Wilson told the jury that he shot Michael Brown because he looked “like a demon”. And I don’t disbelieve it. Blackness in the white imagination has nothing to do with black people.

Why is it so hard to call out racism?

Because making other people uncomfortable is thought worse than racism. It has taken me a while to train myself to speak out.

You make “situation videos” with your husband, John Lucas, using news stories, to illustrate your poems dynamically…

Yes – have you seen the recent video in Clinton correctional facility where guards refer to a black prisoner’s “non-compliant” body? He is non-compliant because he is dead.

You quote a friend of yours who said: “The condition of black life is one of mourning.” Do you agree?

Yes, I would agree, although black culture is also alive and vibrant.

You have a daughter – how do you arm her against racism?

It is important black parents are on guard against self-hatred, which gets communicated to children. We talk about racism but my daughter gets sick of it and rolls her eyes…

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You were born in Jamaica. Do you define yourself through it? Do you feel pride in being black? Or is that a racist question – I’d find it absurd if anyone asked me whether I have pride in being white…

It is not a question I would ask. It is like asking: do you feel a pride in being human? I am a black person, it has made me into the person I am. I grew up with Jamaican parents and came here when I was seven. My parents came to the US, as all immigrants do, for economic betterment. We lived in the Bronx. My parents worked as hospital orderlies. I know it’s not the image people have of the Bronx but we had a comfortable, regular working-class life.

How did this lead to becoming a writer?

I went to Williams College, a fantastic liberal arts school. I started writing in my sophomore year after reading the poet Adrienne Rich and thinking: this is almost right but does not quite say what I want to say…

How often in your life in southern California does racism impinge on you?

I have had a privileged life in academia. But racism is inescapable, even among well-educated, questioning people.

You have mentioned walking in the mountains with your dog, Sammy. Is that your escape when you are not on the literary frontline?

I am considering walking in the mountains this afternoon, but don’t see it as an escape. Walking is slow, meditative.

You have talked about an incident at an airport where you were travelling with your husband, who is white. You were stopped and you said: “I am being racially profiled.” Why did they stop you?

You can’t know – but they stopped me. Then they said: “Go.” No explanation. When I said: “I’m being racially profiled”, the official asked: “Why are you saying that?” And he did look chagrined.

In a New Yorker article you wrote: “There really is no mode of empathy that can replicate the daily strain of knowing that as a black person you can be killed simply for being black.” What is needed if empathy is useless?

I’m not saying that anything can be enough. Empathy is not a cure.

What’s the most surprising reaction to your book been so far?

The initial embrace of the book was surprising. You don’t know if two people will read it. And to have people come out in force… The most surprising thing has been the number of Asian women who have come up to me at book signings with tears in their eyes to say: this is my life you’re writing.

Citizen: An American Lyric is published by Penguin (£9.99). Click here to order a copy for £7.99