Rob Mclennan's Blog, page 104

Mira Rosenthal, Territorial

 

begins in dirt, clumps of Queen Anne’s lace, bindweed unfurling in moons
            in the morning

to start somewhere to perform one’s certain act of failure

begins as still life with foliage & road

one man with a shovel, digging one measure-full of map, a clump resting heavy on
            his blade

one woman in a house up the grade laboring at a washbasin, her hands pinked raw,
            her mind worrying some idea east to west, passing it through every state her
            imagination has to offer

begins with her view out the window: blot of man in grass landscape

to throw one’s sorrow throw one’s lonely sorrow like a clod of dirt to the sky

begins with the sound of rustling, dried stalk against stalk in wind whipped up by
            the motion metal makes through space

& you, love, in the passenger seat with muddy boots & what’s native to your veins

The window rolled down, the hand making waves

& me admitting: I am that woman, I am that woman (“The Invention of an Interstate System”)

The second full-length collection by award-winning California poet and translator Mira Rosenthal, following The Local World (Kent OH: Kent State University Press, 2011), is Territorial (Pittsburgh PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2022). Selected by Terrance Hayes for the Pitt Poetry Series, Territorialoffers an assemblage of lyrics that unfurl and reveal across the subtle cadence of narrative lines to speak of the intricacies and minutae of anxiety, despair, resolve, and, as Valzhyna Mort offers as part of her back cover blurb: “The nuances of person & place [.]” Throughout the collection, the expansiveness of Rosenthal’s pared and rhythmic descriptions exist almost as a process of dismantling, stepping moment to moment in a pacing as clear and calm as glass, even across examinations and descriptions of anxieties around violence. Perhaps, too, the anxieties she describes is laid bare through such clear syntax, and I can only imagine that to hear such words spoken aloud might feel akin to a combination of speech and song, simultaneously revelatory and devastating. “No more defenses. I detect the human / beast,” she writes, to open the poem “Subway Theory,” “its astringent waft from the valley / of tracks, from the pushing back / & forth of air as red ticker-tape flare / doles out one measly letter at a time / in the dim ark where I wait, composing / my hypothesis.” There is an element of Rosenthal as a poet documenting the darkness from within, attempting a grounded clarity through a culture of reckless abandon, beauty and consequence. Whether through poems constructed through short or long lines, each poem is set as an extended thread that reveals itself, slowly, through patters and patterning; physically and rhythmically thick, as they sit on the page. “Bone, the bulb & socket of it,” she writes, to open the poem “Dislocation,” “how you cope, how you shift / the weight you carry. / Wicking sweat into cotton where it runs along the spine, descending / from your neck that strains against some phantom / purse on strap, on shoulder tensed / from what you’re used to lugging with you— / perhaps this book, or colored pencils, an apple / in case the run to anywhere / takes longer than expected. A pattern / grown out of life’s deviation.”

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Eileen Cleary

Eileen Cleary is the author of Child ward of the Commonwealth (Main Street Rag Press, 2019), which received an honorable mention for the Sheila Margaret Motton Book Prize, and 2 a.m. with Keats(Nixes Mate, 2021) She co-edited the anthology Voices Amidst the Viruswhich was the featured text at the 2021 Michigan State University Filmetry Festival. Her poems have been published in Sugar House Review, West Texas Literary Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Solstice: A Magazine of Diverse Voices, and other journals. Cleary founded and edits the Lily Poetry Review and Lily Poetry Review Books, and curates the Lily Poetry Salon.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book changed my life because that is the book in which I translated myself to myself. Publishing that book also made me feel as if I belonged in the poetry tribe.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or nonfiction?

I had been practicing as a nurse for many years and also volunteering in a construction ministry called the Appalachia Service Project, which has the wonderful mission of repairing homes for impoverished families living in Southern Appalachia. This work caused me to take an interest in writing grants to help bridge the gap in healthcare for impoverished communities. I took a graduate seminar in order to learn to write grants. The nurse leading the graduate seminar gave us an exercise to create a poem about disparities and unethical practices in medicine. During the writing of that poem, I experienced shaking and trembling and a kind of heat rising. When I got to the end of the page, I knew I could never go back to a life without writing poetry again.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

Writing projects start to declare themselves as I am writing. The writing comes slowly in general, inch by inch. The drafts always take the form of poetry but don’t always look like their final container.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

For me, the poems begin in images and energy. The energy builds and the images start to filter in and I know it is time to sit down and write. After a project is finished, it takes a while for me to know when a new one has started, but once my subconscious lets me in on the secret, I’m off and running.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I much prefer listening to other people read. I can’t believe that as adults we get to have others read to us, and for the most part, at no cost. I give readings because I feel an obligation to my publishers and I love my community, but definitely would rather be an attendee.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I don’t know if I am trying to answer questions. I hope one day, I know the right ones to ask.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I think the most important roles of a writer are authenticity and compassion. My first book concerned my experience as a foster child and some topics such as disability, addiction, the role of the state in private lives, child safety, and hunger. It wasn’t my job to judge or give my opinion on these topics, just to translate the lyric heart of my experience, without compromising or harming others. I hope that book gives another person who is hungry or separated from their family, no matter the cause, a sense of belonging and understanding. Perhaps our roles are to translate our unique experiences and the readers’ roles are to universalize them. The more compassion and empathy in our writing, the better. What is art that extinguishes the heart?

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Both! Not really. I love the collaborative nature of peer editing, and I have several people for whom I edit. They also comment on my work.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

When I was in my second MFA program, I was talking to Nicole Terez Dutton about conditionals: how as soon as I was a published author, and had accomplished this thing and that next thing, I would start a poetry press. She responded, “You are enough already.” 

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

My writing routine is mostly about reading. I try to read poetry every day and that keeps me writing. My day starts around midnight because I work overnight as a hospice nurse. Sometimes, between patients, I jot down notes about poems.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I turn to reading and to the outdoors for inspiration.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Honeysuckle.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Nature, newspaper articles, documentaries and science absolutely influence my poems. More and more, music is taking hold as well.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

My trouble is that I am enamored with too many writers, but luckily not all at the same time. The writers I am most smitten with this summer are Adrian Matejka, Kevin Prufer, Emily Dickinson, Martin Espada, Nathan McClain, Jennifer Martelliand all of my Lily authors.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I would like to write a song and plant a tree.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I have been a nurse for many years but I would also have loved to teach young children.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I can’t draw.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

One of the last great books I read was Celeste Mohammed’s Pleasantview.

I have only recently seen Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams and the cave paintings have replayed in my mind ever since.

19 - What are you currently working on?

Ever since I heard the story of the heroic boy, Steven Stayner, who was abducted at age seven and escaped at age 14, saving another boy in the process, I have been inspired to write it in verse. As a child, I was taken away from my family of origin for seven years (for entirely different reasons), and I identified with his story. We were also around the same age. I am currently finishing up that project.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Melissa Fite Johnson

Melissa Fite Johnsonis the author of Green (Riot in Your Throat, 2021) and While the Kettle’s On(Little Balkans Press, 2015), a Kansas Notable Book. She is also the author of A Crooked Door Cut into the Sky (Paper Nautilus Press, 2018), winner of the Vella Chapbook Prize. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Pleiades, SWWIM, and elsewhere. Melissa teaches high school English in Lawrence, KS, where she and her husband live with their dogs. 

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book, While the Kettle’s On (Little Balkans Press, 2015) was published by my high school teacher’s small press. That teacher, Al Ortolani, is the reason I became a high school teacher, and it was an honor for his press to approach me about publishing. I’d written for more than a decade before that book, and it had honestly never occurred to me to put a book together before that. I used to downplay my writing as a hobby, and this helped get me to take myself more seriously and send out my work.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I actually thought I would be more interested in fiction. In 2001, I took an intro creative writing class in college, and I figured I’d suffer through the poetry unit. Instead, the teacher, Laura Lee Washburn, who is a wonderful poet, became my mentor and dear friend. She’s the reason I fell in love with poetry. I honestly think I’d have a completely different life if I’d never met her.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I know poets who publish a book every year or two, and while I admire that, I also know that will never be me. During the school year, I focus more on revision (I revise a LOT, to answer that question) and sending work out. In the summers, I focus on writing new work. I usually take a class or two to keep me focused and engaged.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

Sometimes I’m lucky enough to feel moved to write a poem, but usually it’s a less romantic process than all that. I schedule time to write. I read poems and journal to warm up, and then I try not to be critical while I’m in creating mode. (There’s plenty of time for that later, when I’m revising!)

I never write with a book idea in mind; I just write poems. After several years, when I have enough poems I feel proud of, I start thinking about how they could fit in a collection.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I enjoy readings, but I wouldn’t call them part of or counter to my creative process. They often feel celebratory, especially when they’re in my hometown and I’m reading with other dear poet friends.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

In the high school creative writing classes I teach, we discuss the difference between writing something that’s purely for ourselves—like journaling—vs. something we hope others will see. My students sometimes initially cater their writing to others too much—they write vague poems that they hope anyone will relate to. I tell them when they do that, it’s more likely that no one will relate to them, because there’s nothing to hold onto. I tell them to write their own stories, the ones no one else could write. And then what they write is gorgeous, and they really do relate to each other’s work. I think about this when I worry that confessional poetry is self-indulgent. And I also think about how many women writers—Sharon Olds, Lucille Clifton, Anne Sexton, Mary Oliver, etc., etc.—have been dismissed for writing their own experiences.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

When I’m feeling confident, I understand that we write to feel seen, and we read to see others. It’s the most beautiful mode of communication, and it’s healing. It’s important.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

When it’s the right editor, I love working with one! I sent my second full-length book (Green, by Courtney LeBlanc’s wonderful new press Riot in Your Throat) to my poet friend Erin Adair-Hodges before it was published, and her comments were incredible—insightful, generous. She saw what I couldn’t because I was too close to it. The book is infinitely better because of her.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

We should focus more on the process than the product. I became a much happier person when I learned to do that. Or rather, when I remembered to do that. The purest writing experience of my life was in the summer of 2002, when I was twenty and writing my first terrible poems. But I didn’t feel self-conscious because I didn’t know they were terrible. I just knew I was depressed and that writing (and reading—I read every one of Sharon Olds’ books that summer) was saving me. A decade later, when I was considerably better and sending work out, I knew enough to be intimidated and self-conscious. I couldn’t write a poem without worrying where I might try to publish it, and I compared myself to much more accomplished writers. It was an awful approach to creating, and it made me miserable. Now I feel like I’m much less ambitious and goal-oriented. I know I don’t want to be famous, so what’s the goal? Where’s the finish line? I don’t know, and I actually think that’s a big relief. I just know that I love writing, and now I write for the pleasure of it. And I remember that my value as a person has nothing to do with what I’ve accomplished (or haven’t accomplished) as a writer.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to collaboration)? What do you see as the appeal?

I pretty much write poetry exclusively, so I don’t think I have an answer to this one.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I don’t write every day, but when I do carve out a few hours to write, I try to make it special. I love to go to my favorite downtown coffee shop, and I’m especially pumped when a seat behind the window is open. I go slowly—read a few pages of a poetry book, look out the window, take a sip. Wait for an idea. It’s OK if an idea doesn’t come, and I just journal that day. I used to put pressure on myself, but I don’t anymore. I’m not a machine, and I’m not trying to crank poems and then books out to sell. I’m making a writing life.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

A poet friend once told me that the not writing is part of writing, and that changed how I think about those droughts. I used to sort of panic and figure I would never write anything again. Now I let myself focus on other aspects of my life. Sometimes my writing is stalled because I’m exhausted from teaching, and that’s OK. But if it’s the summer and I’m not writing and I really feel the urge to, I’ll take an online class, and that usually gets me right back into it. And reading other poets’ work always gets me excited to create my own. 

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

I really love my quiet house with the scents that come from deliberate living. Coffee in the morning, wine at night. My husband’s incredible cooking. Lavender dish soap. (I wash dishes by hand—the closest thing to meditating that I know.) Our dogs’ sweet subtle stink. Hanging laundry on the line to dry.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Really, other poets influence me more than any other art form. Especially my friends. Their poems influence me, of course, but maybe even more than that our conversations. Our support of each other. Becoming friends with poets who’ve accomplished much more than I have actually helped me be less competitive. I understand how many of them have made sacrifices I haven’t. I understand what matters isn’t what we’ve accomplished but who we are. 

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Sharon Olds is my all-time favorite poet. Others I love: Lucille Clifton, David Lee, Anne Sexton. Friends whose work I love, whose friendship has affected me deeply: Ruth Williams, Traci Brimhall, Leah Umansky, Marianne Kunkel, Hyejung Kook, Jenny Molberg, Erin Adair-Hodges, Allison Blevins, Josh Davis. I met Courtney LeBlanc when she published Green, and we’ve since become close friends. We actually roomed together at AWP! And of course my first mentors, Al Ortolani and Laura Lee Washburn.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I don’t know! That might sound like a cop-out answer, but truly I would rather be open and see what happens rather than setting goals that might make me feel diminished if they don’t work out. The older I get, the less ambitious I am. I do love traveling and meeting people and writing poems I’m proud of, so I hope I get to keep doing all of that.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I actually think my career as a high school teacher is the more profound one. I used to downplay being a high school teacher because “real” poets were professors, and now I let myself feel how this career moves me in ways that even being a poet doesn’t. I’m so lucky to love what I do and think it matters. (Also, I didn’t even want to be a professor; I just wanted to be a “real” poet with a “real” poet job.)

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I’ve written since I was a little kid. Journaled from the time I was twelve, wrote elaborate stories in elementary school. I’ve always loved it. And I’m so glad I found poetry in college, because that’s what I was meant to write.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Honestly, the last great book I read was my former student’s creative thesis. Megan Munger was an exceptionally talented poet in high school, and I was honored that she sent me her Master’s thesis to read. I hope it’s published someday and everyone can read it.

I think the last movie I saw that I really loved was Coda. What a beautiful movie about how art can save us.

20 - What are you currently working on?

As always, just one poem and then another.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Lucy Holme

Lucy Holme is a poet and mother who lives in Cork City, Ireland. Her poems and essays feature in The Stinging Fly, Southword, Bad Lilies, Poetry Birmingham Literary Journal, and Wild Court amongst others and she has work forthcoming in The Well Review, Atrium and Janus Literary. She holds an MA in Creative Writing at UCC and her chapbook, Temporary Stasis , which was shortlisted for The Patrick Kavanagh Award, was published this year by Broken Sleep Books. She is co-editor of brand new biannual print journal The Four Faced Liar and Issue One is out now.

1 - How did your first pamphlet change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
It has been gradually changing ever since a reading in which I participated online for Cheltenham Lit Fest that Aaron Kent (editor of Broken Sleep Books) was also attending. I read a poem and he reached out to ask if I had a manuscript. There were many different elements at play that year, I was about to begin an MA in creative writing at University College Cork, I had won a mentorship so I was already working on some poems with the poet Grace Wells but that intense period during the summer of 2021 in which Temporary Stasis came to life really marked a shift. I knew these poems had to come out and be written in order for me to begin exploring everything else I wanted to say. My most recent work is very different to the book because it is informed by so many other experiences but Temporary Stasis represents the stories I lived and travelled with as a younger woman and at sea. The pamphlet explores a theme and definite period of time but my consequent work has been informed by art, Ancient Greece, translation and the role of the muse. There are a lot of longer poems that didn't make it into TS because of space that do belong in print so maybe a section in a poetry collection will serve them well. Also, TS was informed by another, very old book called ' Hundreds of Things a Girl Can Make ' in which I had been making erasures, and there was a strange correlation between the themes of domesticity, servitude and the role of the feminine in the home which warranted exploring. I am not finished with that part of the project but I am finding that my interests are diversifying.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I can’t really explain but suddenly it felt like the right medium. Some of the poems I was trying to write initially didn’t really work and I knew they would be better left aside and re-formulated as CNF or fiction at a later date, but I found that the smaller canvas of a poem really fit the vast chaos of the sea and themes such as adolescence, loneliness and dislocation if I could just learn how to concentrate the material and narrow the focus a little.  My father died at the end of 2019 after I had just begun to think about publishing my work and his obvious pride in me and encouragement of my writing meant that I knew I had to pursue it with no more excuses once he was sadly no longer around. It was too raw initially to write about the grief I felt but I am starting to explore it in non-fiction now that three years have passed.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
If I have a thought or an idea I start scribbling it down anywhere, preferably a notepad but my notes app on my phone also serves as a great tool. I can often grab random books and bits of paper and jot things down and I would say it’s quite a quick process. I enjoy deadlines and the pressure of having to come up with something and that joyful feeling of words and ideas spilling out onto the page and then putting it away only to return to it the next day and not remember all of what I wrote. I like being surprised by where my mind went. First drafts are always pretty close to how it ends up but I keep all drafts and sometimes if I feel I have edited a poem too rigorously I just go back to the first things I wrote and see what I did initially as sometimes the rawness can be edited out.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Not from the very beginning. It can take a while to find its shape and purpose but I am often writing to get to the heart of something so the poems can feel similar and then I will start to see that it should be a sequence or an idea. It can take time to see how the themes are taking shape or what exactly I am exploring but ultimately the real underlying story will start to surface.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I began publishing my work at the end of 2019, beginning of 2020, so obviously the pandemic meant that everything became an online event. It worked for me as I felt that the fear and intimidation was missing. Performing is such a different feeling from writing and I don’t always feel comfortable doing it but I am now beginning to experience  much more excitement about events and I enjoy the feeling of being in a completely silent room and that slight awkwardness that comes from not knowing how an audience is going to react.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
I am asking a lot of questions about solitude in my work, I think, and what a person needs to do or the decisions they must take to safeguard the part of them that wants to create and be free to absorb new experiences. I spent many years travelling at sea away from family and friends and then I married, it broke down and I dealt with divorce, all while being away from home and still in this microcosm of a seafaring life. My life now could not be more different. I retired from yachting, I live in Ireland, am happily re-married and we have three small children.  I have pursued my determination to write relentlessly despite many pitfalls across the years. I ask questions frequently about how I got here and why now? Why not when I was straight out of university or when I had all those endless hours on Atlantic crossings and a circumnavigation? I could have written four novels if I was ready back then! But I clearly wasn't and it took until now, when I have no free time and am constantly pulled in different directions, that I am at my most creative and productive.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I am not sure if a writer has a role in larger culture unless they have a large platform, or specifically promote and / or explore a set of cultural concerns in their work. Obviously writers should read prolifically and read the work of other writers, teachers and thinkers and know where they stand on pressing cultural issues but particularly when it comes to poetry, if you are exploring the microscopic, why should you need to have considered all of the broader ramifications? That being said, I think the same themes have always been explored in poetry over thousands of years, themes like motherhood, feminism, grief, failure, loneliness and desire to name a few and there are always new and intriguing ways of approaching these subjects depending on which voices have been given the space and freedom to speak.  I like to think that writers can help other writers with confidence and talk about how they write or how they stay focused because I definitely take inspiration from favourite writers such as Zadie Smith, Elena Ferrante, Deborah Levy and Annie Ernaux, to name a few, but I could tell you more about their writing processes then the other facets of their lives or where their political concerns lie, as that is what I am most interested in learning about them.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
This can definitely depend on the type of connection you have and how willing both are to compromise and listen to each other's concerns. I have worked with brilliant editors, one of whom being Cal Doyle, poetry editor of The Stinging Fly . It was a short poem and he had a couple of very nuanced suggestions and questions but I felt like he wanted to understand where I was coming from in order for it to be the best it could possibly be. Another exceptional editor is Naush Sabah of Poetry Birmingham who I recently worked with on edits of a lyric essay written for the next issue, because she has a razor sharp eye and genuinely can take your work to another level of comprehension and elegance.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
It was from the editor of a very well regarded poetry journal in the UK who gave me some very helpful advice and said to me that although my submission was unsuccessful on that occasion, he could predict it would really engage another editor and added that even though it can take time, once you find the right editor who champions your work everything becomes easier as the process of submitting is so subjective, you need to wait often to find the person who appreciates your work. It felt both encouraging and wise.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I can usually only write after the children have gone to bed. My partner works away from home for seven weeks at a time (and spends seven weeks at home) so when he is back I have a bit more time but I have to work during the day — (I write stories and blog content for a wine company as part of my day job) so the evening is the only time when I can work on poems or essays and do some submission admin!

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
It's hard because there is nothing worse than wanting to write but feeling devoid of anything original or exciting but I try to stop writing and taking notes and just read. I find it works to immerse myself in non-fiction or find a new album I haven't listened to and start thinking generally and 'blankly' without the pressure of having to create anything. That is when inspiration usually comes.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
I have a few. I would say that the citrus, pine nature of hops reminds me of Kent but I also have strong associations with the Caribbean from spending eight seasons there when I worked in yachting so scents like pear, honeysuckle, clementine, jasmine and tuberose remind me of the sweetness of the night air in places like Antigua and St Kitts.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Nature and the changing of the seasons definitely informs my work. I walk daily with my dogs and I love to see the trees change, lose their leaves and come back again in the Spring. I always walk by the docks in Cork and love the cycles of the river and the ships that come and go and how the seagulls react when the trawlers come in. Music is also hugely important, I normally listen to a mixture of classical and electronic music when I write and find I can listen to one track obsessively when concentrating on one piece of writing.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I find it so important to read other contemporary poetry. I was shocked when I completed a creative writing MA at UCC and found that some students were almost proud of the fact that they didn't read other writers. I don't believe you can grow unless you read other work. I have loved work this year by Victoria Adukwei Bulley, Victoria Kennefick and Zaffar Kunial this year and every time I read work by authors who write very differently to me I just feel so energised and inspired.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would love to publish a book of essays.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I always loved acting when I was young, especially on the stage, and really enjoyed musicals so I think maybe acting or singing in musicals might have been something I would have enjoyed doing as a career. When I see my children acting the little skits they have composed and see them singing and dancing I absorb the joy they derive from performing and I remember how it felt when I was young and discovering my voice.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I put it off for so long that I couldn't ignore it any more. It was impossible avoiding writing because it found me again at a time in my life when I needed it.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I think the last great book I read was The Years by Annie Ernaux. The last great film was Jane Campion's The Power of the Dog which I found extraordinary due to Kirsten Dunst's incredibly expressive acting and it had a really great quite profound twist that I did not predict.

19 - What are you currently working on?
I am currently working on about four different essays one about my time training as a sommelier in London, one about my father's death and another about the imagist poet H.D's visions in Corfu, as well as putting my first full-length poetry collection together.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Spotlight series #80 : Nanci Lee

The eightieth in my monthly "spotlight" series, each featuring a different poet with a short statement and a new poem or two, is now online, featuring Nova Scotia-based poet and facilitator Nanci Lee.

The first eleven in the series were attached to the Drunken Boat blog, and the series has so far featured poets including Seattle, Washington poet Sarah Mangold, Colborne, Ontario poet Gil McElroy, Vancouver poet Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Ottawa poet Jason Christie, Montreal poet and performer Kaie Kellough, Ottawa poet Amanda Earl, American poet Elizabeth Robinson, American poet Jennifer Kronovet, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis, Vancouver poet Sonnet L’Abbé, Montreal writer Sarah Burgoyne, Fredericton poet Joe Blades, American poet Genève Chao, Northampton MA poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn, Oji-Cree, Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer from Peguis First Nation (Treaty 1 territory) poet, critic and editor Joshua Whitehead, American expat/Barcelona poet, editor and publisher Edward Smallfield, Kentucky poet Amelia Martens, Ottawa poet Pearl Pirie, Burlington, Ontario poet Sacha Archer, Washington DC poet Buck Downs, Toronto poet Shannon Bramer, Vancouver poet and editor Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Vancouver poet Geoffrey Nilson, Oakland, California poets and editors Rusty Morrison and Jamie Townsend, Ottawa poet and editor Manahil Bandukwala, Toronto poet and editor Dani Spinosa, Kingston writer and editor Trish Salah, Calgary poet, editor and publisher Kyle Flemmer, Vancouver poet Adrienne Gruber, California poet and editor Susanne Dyckman, Brooklyn poet-filmmaker Stephanie Gray, Vernon, BC poet Kerry Gilbert, South Carolina poet and translator Lindsay Turner, Vancouver poet and editor Adèle Barclay, Thorold, Ontario poet Franco Cortese, Ottawa poet Conyer Clayton, Lawrence, Kansas poet Megan Kaminski, Ottawa poet and fiction writer Frances Boyle, Ithica, NY poet, editor and publisher Marty Cain, New York City poet Amanda Deutch, Iranian-born and Toronto-based writer/translator Khashayar Mohammadi, Mendocino County writer, librarian, and a visual artist Melissa Eleftherion, Ottawa poet and editor Sarah MacDonell, Montreal poet Simina Banu, Canadian-born UK-based artist, writer, and practice-led researcher J. R. Carpenter, Toronto poet MLA Chernoff, Boise, Idaho poet and critic Martin Corless-Smith, Canadian poet and fiction writer Erin Emily Ann Vance, Toronto poet, editor and publisher Kate Siklosi, Fredericton poet Matthew Gwathmey, Canadian poet Peter Jaeger, Birmingham, Alabama poet and editor Alina Stefanescu, Waterloo, Ontario poet Chris Banks, Chicago poet and editor Carrie Olivia Adams, Vancouver poet and editor Danielle Lafrance, Toronto-based poet and literary critic Dale Martin Smith, American poet, scholar and book-maker Genevieve Kaplan, Toronto-based poet, editor and critic ryan fitzpatrick, American poet and editor Carleen Tibbetts, British Columbia poet nathan dueck, Tiohtiá:ke-based sick slick, poet/critic em/ilie kneifel, writer, translator and lecturer Mark Tardi, New Mexico poet Kōan Anne Brink, Winnipeg poet, editor and critic Melanie Dennis Unrau, Vancouver poet, editor and critic Stephen Collis, poet and social justice coach Aja Couchois Duncan, Colorado poet Sara Renee Marshall, Toronto writer Bahar Orang, Ottawa writer Matthew Firth, Victoria poet Saba Pakdel, Winnipeg poet Julian Day, Ottawa poet, writer and performer nina jane drystek, Comox BC poet Jamie Sharpe, Canadian visual artist and poet Laura Kerr, Quebec City-area poet and translator Simon Brown, Ottawa poet Jennifer Baker and Rwandese Canadian Brooklyn-based writer Victoria Mbabazi.
 
The whole series can be found online here.

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Justene Dion-Glowa

Justene Dion-Glowais a queer Métis creative, beadworker and poet born in Win-Nipi (Winnipeg) and has been residing in Secwepemcú'lecw (Kamloops) since 2014. They are a Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity alumnus. They have been working in the human services field for nearly a decade. Their microchap, TEETH, is available from Ghost City Press. Trailer Park Shakes is their first full length poetry book.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Trailer Park Shakes is my first official book of poetry. While I wouldn't say my life is hugely different, I do think about my 11 year old self writing poetry, and how crazy it would be to let that kid know they one day they have a real book. I have also had lots of opportunity to connect with people through this work, which has dispelled a lot of the imposter syndrome I have felt as a new poet without a local scene to support me.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I started writing poetry as a means of coping with my childhood trauma all the way back in grade 6. I think at the time it offered me an opportunity to create something interesting or beautiful - and I had a lot of support from my teacher at the time to continue writing. He also encouraged me to speak openly about the content of the work with my class, which has served me well now that I have to read for strangers. I do write creative non-fiction though, in fact my last few released pieces were CNF.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I don't approach my work as projects, but more like collections. I tend to work on one poem until I feel satisfied with it, and then move on to the next. In this way the collection builds and becomes a project. 

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

A poem is really a moment in time for me, captured. So while this book is certainly not a collection I planned out, I do have ideas about collections that have a more uniform subject matter across the whole work.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I have really enjoyed public readings, and I think as I continue to do them, they will definitely become an important piece of the poetry things for me.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I don't concern myself with much besides the moment I'm writing about in terms of theory. I don't know that my work answers deep questions, only ensures people with similar experiences don't feel alone.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I believe that all art in general is the last place people can actually be themselves and express their real thoughts. We live very compartmentalized and individualized lives now, and my hope is to connect to community through the writing. Connection is the role of the writer.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

While having my first book edited was challenging for me, it was absolutely essential. We become attached to our work and I think the editing process can make a person feel misunderstood and underestimated in some ways. But I certainly feel the book has benefitted in amazing ways because of my two editors.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

The best advice I've ever received was to get paid to be me. Poetry is one piece of that, workshops are too, and so are other forms of art. I am fortunate to have the privilege to do this at least some of the time!

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I don't have a routine because as mentioned, I tend to write about moments, or in moments of inspiration. I need to put more effort into making time for writing, though.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I turn to the writing of others for sure. Some folks with completely different writing than my own can be very inspiring. 

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Sweet tobacco.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Definitely music has inspired my work, and nature as well. As I said reading the work of others is inspiring – I can’t say science has impacted my work but perhaps magic and spirituality.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Other Indigenous poets tend to create work that I find deeply meaningful and relatable. 

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

A hybrid work that's both literary and visual - art gallery style.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

If I could make enough money doing it I would be a barista - I absolutely adore coffee and the craft of making it. 

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I do a lot of different creative things. I think the main reason I returned to it was because of how fulfilling it was in my past.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I'm currently reading Bent Back Tongue by Garry Gottfriedson, and I just keep picking it back up again and again. The film I would choose is called Possessorand it’s from 2020 – very weird premise lots of body horror.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I'm currently doing art workshops and developing more intensive poetry workshops, as well as more poetry of course. 

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Candace de Taeye, Pronounced/Workable

 

CHRONOLOGY

A gamble, our pizza’s ready in 10. My partner
retires in three months or thirty something
shifts. Last week the patient had a fever
or headache. We’ve been downtown five
hours now. Don a paper gown in the wind.
Knot secure the neck and waist, respirator next.
Wedge goggles over glasses. Gloves over gown
wrist. Her mother deftly dicing onions for tonight.
Unfurl the stretcher/ reach under gown/lock up
curb/tight turns the ramp/elevator
down the hall. Hypoxic brain injury happens
within three to six minutes. The water is finally
hot enough as her whole body folds to meet
the drain. But first she takes a shower, to wake up
a little. These days of quarantine drag on.

Guelph-based poet and paramedic Candace de Taeye’s full-length poetry debut is Pronounced/Workable (Toronto ON: Mansfield Press, 2022), a collection composed as sketch-notes during work-shifts. “Two thumbs on the lower third of the sternum with fingers,” she writes, to close the poem “BLS STANDARDS -OBSTETRICS,” “tearing into that croissant, cradling cappuccino. / Encircling the chest and supporting the back. / Promoted off the road at your discretion, or it’s / been determined that birth is imminent.” Through a progression of first-person lyric narratives, de Taeye writes directly into the nuts-and-bolts of her work and experiences as a Toronto-area paramedic, offering description and commentary, or simply the jarring effect of pure detail. And yet, de Taeyre’s poems read with a particularly casual and deceptive ease, as though composed in mid-thought, mid-stride, and everything in-between, even through utilizing an array of formal techniques, whether the pantoum, list poem, call-and-response, open lyric or sonnet-sequence. “And service providers from being subjected / to,” she writes, in the opening poem, “PREFACE TO BASIC LIFE SUPPORT STANDARDS,” “always remember that resuscitation is one part lullaby. // Provide verbal and where deemed appropriate, tactile / comfort and reassurance. That you have mistaken my hunger // for sadness.” She works through formal structures almost as a way to sharpen each poem’s focus, hold each mess of language, experience and realization together as she attends to medical emergencies and the chaos of working on the front lines of medical trauma and recovery. The chaos is held, it would seem, precisely by and even through such formal techniques.

There’s a polyvocality to many of de Taeyre’s pieces, one that allows for multiple threads and characters to float through the tapestry of her narratives, which both attend to any particular situation’s potential uncertainty and chaos, as well as allow potential patients and others their own voice through the storm. Through these, de Taeye’s experiences don’t fall into mere reportage-per-se, but something interwoven, even unsettling. As Shane Neilson offers as part of his back cover blurb, doctors do tend to dominate the realm of Canadian medical poetry, although it is curious to note that Mansfield also recently published a poetry collection by one of those as well, Dr. Conor Mc Donnell’s full-length debut, Recovery Community (2020) [see my review of such here]. Medical poetry, one might say, is alive and well in Canada, despite whatever crises might exist in the current medical field.

Robert Kelly, Earish

 

In Echsen-
häute, Fall-
süchtige,
bett ich dich, auf den Simsen,
die Giebel-
löcher
shütten uns zu, mit Lichtdung.

* * *

Him asking
hide a fall
seek to go
bet each dish off dense incense
they give al-
legiance
shadowing us to myth-leaked tongue

With a title reminiscent of George Bowering’s Ear Reach (1982), American poet Robert Kelly’s latest full-length title is Earish (Toronto ON: Beautiful Outlaw, 2022), a German-English “translation” of “Thirty Poems of Paul Celan.” As Kelly writes to offer in his opening “Translator’s Note”:

In 2002 I was asked to contribute to Alex Finlay’s edition of translations by several hands of Paul Celan’s poem “Irisch.” While working on my translation (which duly appeared in the second volume, Irish (2), Edinburgh 2002), I began to work on other dimensions of the poem, then of other Celan poems. The present homeophonic translations are one result. By homeophonic translation I mean: listening to the sound of the (in this case, German) poem until you can hear it as English – the result, the poem heard, no doubt ‘says’ a ‘different’ thing from the ‘original.’ Those quoted words are all questionable, more question than answer, I mean. So here are some of my hearings of Celan poems. They are, in effect, translations into Earish.

There is a certain kind of poet-translator that attends to the work of Paul Celan, seeking out salve or salvage in Celan’s particular combination of intellectual heft, large themes, dark subject matter and a sense of dismantling and reassembling language and meaning in a way simultaneously playful and potentially devastating. Beautiful Outlaw editor/publisher Mark Goldstein, for example, has worked with and through Celan’s work via his own repeatedly, and even curated a selection of pieces for Celan’s centenary in November 2020 for periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics, a curation that included some of Kelly’s pieces from this current collection.

Set with the original German on the left, with Kelly’s translation on the right, there are five extended sequences of short poem-fragments—‘Fadensonnen,” “Atemwende,” “Schneepart,” “Zeitgehöft” and “Lichtzwang”—thirty poems set within five compositional groupings by the late Romanian poet Paul Celan (1920-1970). In certain ways, Kelly’s homolinguistic translations—following sound over meaning—echo what Canadian poet Hugh Thomas has been working on for some time as well, his “defective translations” or “fake translations” of poems originally composed in languages that he can’t actually read (nor does he look up), working through the words themselves to see what they might suggest to his imagination. Unlike Thomas’ deliberate unawareness of the source material (whether language or meaning), Kelly works through Celan as a life-long reader of a variety of translations of Celan’s work into English. These “translations” that Robert Kelly offers work through sound, adding and offering an element of what Celan worked on through his original German, marking an importance on how sound impacted meaning, from the collision of words and meanings to the very nature of the utterance. Through these short responses, sound overtakes meaning, offering a new strain of possibility, and a perspective, shared. In a certain way, Kelly works at the point where his work and Celan’s might otherwise meet, writing: “Noon you, wearish / the – woeing a blowgunner? – / ash it rousing, / ease vista thick tube gliding, / like tender growing rich meat / deem thick doors waxen tensile / her under suit virgin build / under men / gone soggy and flaccid and / dank rice unlike / bite her.”

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Gabrielle Lucille Fuentes

Gabrielle Lucille Fuentes is the author of the novel The Sleeping World and the short story collection Are We Ever Our Own, winner of the BOA Editions Short Fiction Prize. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Strange Horizons, One Story, The New England Review, The Common, Cosmonauts Avenue, Slice, Pank, and elsewhere. She has received fellowships from Yaddo, Hedgebrook, Willapa Bay, Millay Colony, Anderson Center, and the Blue Mountain Center. She teaches creative writing and Latinx literature at the University of Maryland.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book, The Sleeping World, was the culmination of years of work, of a decades-long goal. Publishing it was really rewarding, healing, and frightening. The publication of my second book, Are We Ever Our Own, feels different because it’s coming into the world in the “after” of what was for so long an unimaginable “before.” It’s coming into the world as I’m figuring out how to keep writing for the long haul, how to make this practice a lifelong vocation.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

I’ve just always written fiction. I read a lot of poetry, but can’t seem to figure out how to break a line. I write some non-fiction, but fiction comes the easiest to me—though it’s by no means easy! It’s really important for me to be able to make things up, to stretch the believable and the factual to encompass the experience of living. But I have a couple of stories that I think have to be told as non-fiction and I’m working on how to tell those.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

Starting a project is easy and fast, with few notes or plans, but editing is a years-long project, with lots of notes and endless rabbit holes. Even fairly short stories usually take me years—I don’t work on just one story for years, but I keep returning to it, setting it aside and working on others, and I repeat this process for a long time.

4 - Where does a work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

My first book began as a short story and turned into a novel. My story collection began as many disparate, standalone stories, which, after a few years, I winnowed down and highlighted the connections between to make into a book. But now I tend to begin my projects knowing (or hoping) they will be books.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I love doing readings! I used to a lot of theatre and readings are a way to connect to that part of myself. And I love talking to readers—I always learn something and get inspired. If you’re reading this and have a reading series, invite me to read!

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I have so very many theoretical concerns! How can we heal from the past in the present? How can we write about that which cannot be put into words? How can we document pain and suffering without perpetuating it?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I’m really drawn to the writing of Minae Mizumura. She writes in A True Novel, that a book can be “a small boat on the vast ocean of literature.” Reading has always given me solace, hope, new ideas, and strength. I’d like to keep contributing to that project, keep adding small boats to that ocean.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I love working with a good editor. I learn so much about my work and literature from editors and readers. Outside feedback is really important to my process. I’m very lucky to be a part of a vibrant writing group that gives brilliant feedback and support.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Lan Samantha Chang writes herethat writers have to protect their inner life and keep a separation between the chaos of publication and marketing and the quiet of creating art.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (novel to the short story)? What do you see as the appeal?

I am usually working on multiple projects at once, so for the past ten years or so, I’ve been moving between novels and short stories. After finishing a novel, beginning a new one can feel overwhelming. Stories are so fun to write because even from the beginning the end is in sight and when I’m editing, I can read through the whole draft several times in a day! And if a story doesn’t work, it doesn’t feel too devastating—more like a set of scales or training exercise, something to learn from.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I used to have a pretty strong routine of writing in the mornings for as long as my work schedule would allow. The pandemic shook that up, as did finishing a couple of big writing projects and needing to take a break. I’m getting back into my schedule, but I’m going easy on myself—it’s a fine tension between respecting your work and pushing yourself too hard. I want my practice to be joyful and sustainable, which means it has to be flexible.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I read! I go back to the books that inspired me to write the project I’m working on. I read what those writers read.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Sofrito frying on the stove.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Many of the stories in Are We Ever Our Own are directly inspired by the work and writing of visual and performance artists: Ana Mendieta, Maya Deren, Hannah Wilke, Kazuo Ohno, and others. I’m also inspired by music—there’s a story in my book story inspired by several different folk songs.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

So many! There’s not much separation for me between works that inspire by writing and my life. Here’s a few off the top of my head: Helen Oyeyemi, Ursula K. Le Guin, Tarjei Vesaas, James Baldwin, Louise Erdrich, Toni Morrison, Emily Dickinson, Harryette Mullen, N.K. Jemisin, Herta Muller, Anne Enright.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I’d like to spend more time in Cuba, to live there for a while. I’d like to write a play. I want to travel everywhere and eat every type of dumpling! I want to backpack in wilderness, far from cars and cell service.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I would love to be a visual artist—to make sculptures or performance art. I would also love to be a playwright, actor, art restorer, farmer, or cobbler.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I’ve always been a big reader and writing has in some way always been a part of my life. But for a long time, I was planning on being an actor. I studied theater in high school and college, but I got really sick of all the sexism and hated that what other people thought about my body was a huge factor in the type of art I got to make. I started writing more seriously and loved that with writing I could make the art I wanted. Even if no one saw it, I could still make it and I didn’t need anyone’s approval to do so. I think if I could have imagined a path in acting that gave me more agency—being part of a collaborate group or directing my own shows—I might have stayed with it. I really admire the people who create those paths.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I’m currently rereading Halldór Laxness’ Independent People, which is this wild, gorgeous, and devastating epic about Icelandic peasants. It’s so good, it reminds me why I’ve devoted my life to books. I also just read The Book of Salt by Monique Troung, which left me in absolute awe.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’m currently writing a collection of linked fantasy stories that revolve around an endless, constantly evolving hotel. I’ve never written a sustained work in a fully imagined world—it’s so pleasurable!

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

 

Gail Scott, Permanent Revolution: Essays (Book*hug, 2021)

My review of Gail Scott’s Permanent Revolution: Essays (Book*hug, 2021) is now up at The Capilano Review!