12 or 20 (second series) questions with Louise Akers
Louise Akers is a poet living inBrooklyn, NY. She is a PhD student in English at NYU and is theco-organizer of the small press and working group, the Organism for Poetic Research. Akers is the author of two books of poetry, Alien Year(Oversound, 2020) and Elizabeth/The story of Drone (Propeller Books,2022).
1 - Howdid your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first chapbook came out in 2021 with theexceptional people at Oversound, but the process of writing it had begunprobably in 2016. It was a sharply condensed version of a much longer, moregangly and amorphous manuscript that I had taken a pretty sculptural approachto cutting down. Working with Oversound was a wonderful and generousexperience, and I am very proud of that little chap! My second book, Elizabeth/the story of Drone (PropellerBooks, 2022) is a very different beast. I wrote it mostly in the summer andfall of 2019 while I was working part time at a museum, and it is much moreproject-based, much less distilled. For instance, it has characters and scenes,which was a stretch for me! My editors at Propeller were also incrediblythoughtful and supportive, so it retains, I think, a kind of frantic, creepyspontaneity that’s much less condensed. Now my work feels much more personal;both of those books I think were self-consciously non-confessional, almostanti-autobiographical. I lost both of my parents in the last two years, whichreally put my writing on hold. It also kind of disallowed me from avoidingmyself in my work anymore. I think going through that really changed how Iapproach language and self-disclosure in language. Grief makes your braindifferent.
2 - Howdid you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I’ve always been really attracted to language asa medium you can manipulate or organize into something that can exceed orsubvert or complicate its so-called “content.” I’m fascinated by how far awaylanguage can get from its meaning, from anything resembling “information,” butstill do or activate so much else. That’s really what got me into poetry.Admittedly, I tried to make Elizabeth intoa novel, but fell quite short of the mark, I think. I struggle with maintainingthat level of fidelity to an object, maybe.
3 - Howlong does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writinginitially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear lookingclose to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
My writing comes quickly or not at all really,haha. I write in pretty huge deluges and then kind of try to take a scalpel toit. In some cases, the first shot is the final one, but in others only a lineor two will survive the purge so to speak, so it really depends. I take a lotof notes. I go through periods where I feel like I am just accumulating andaccumulating language in a kind of stockpile, and then suddenly, withoutwarning really, I am ready to let her rip.
4 -Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces thatend up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a"book" from the very beginning?
I think I am always aware of a future life of apoem in a book, but I don’t necessarily proceed with that intention. I willhave one document full of writing or poems that I can fully conceptualize manydifferent books around. I think I am more successful when I am moreconceptually agnostic and just kind of let my writing develop constellations ofmeaning over time.
5 - Arepublic readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sortof writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love doing readings–because they are fun andsocial and ephemeral experiences, but also it is a hell of a way to edit apoem. When I know I am reading something out loud in front of strangers, I willbe totally ruthless in a way that only vanity can inspire. Also sometimes whileI’m reading it, and really hearing and feeling its living reception I willchange little things to allow for clarity or rhythm or some other immediate andinterpersonal effect.
6 - Doyou have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questionsare you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the currentquestions are?
My questions or concerns have emerged really outof my professional/institutional backgrounds, which include the art world andacademia. Elizabeth was reallyconcerned with the media-technological intersections between the commercial artworld and the USAmerican war machine; drones became a kind of figure for thatacute anxiety, but also defanged self-disgust in a sense of complicity. Now, Iam thinking more about grief, on an individual level but also on a sociallevel. Covid happened and f*cked us all up in ways that we are still only justbeginning to recognize, let alone understand. The ongoing genocide in Palestinehas revealed many things about the West and the US, including just how tightthe chokehold that the executive branch of government has on the academic andcultural institutions that we, as writers and artists and scholars, have triedvery hard to be a part of, actually is. Grief feels really close, and closerstill the more it is held at bay. There is so much more to say about this, butI’ll leave it there for now.
7 – Whatdo you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they evenhave one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Oh, it’s hard not to just quote Walter Benjaminon this one. I think critique is important; I think it is important to registerthe fact that throwing language at a problem (“problem” standing in here verybroadly and clumsily for any of the myriad social-political-environmental-economiccataclysms we are enmeshed in currently), policing the language around aproblem, or even diagnosing a problem discursively are all deeply incompleteprojects, while also realizing that that is not an excuse or a reason not to dothose things. Very clunky sentence, but hopefully you get the drift.
8 - Doyou find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential(or both)?
I like it. I find it pretty easy to takecriticism, and also I kind of appreciate the moments where I instinctively digmy heels in. I think it’s revealing about what is important to me in ways Imight not register otherwise. I do have to say I have had really exclusivelywonderful experiences with editors, so maybe I am just lucky!
9 - Whatis the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to youdirectly)?
Not every single thing you do has to be done inthe most efficient way. It’s ok to get somewhere via a circuitous, delayed, orotherwise imperfect route.
10 -What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? Howdoes a typical day (for you) begin?
I am in graduate school getting a PhD somaintaining a routine is really a cherished pipe dream of mine. I am workingwith my therapist on it! My only real routine comes from my dog, Moose, whoneeds four walks a day. Everything else can fall apart, but she always gets meout of bed for that first walk!!
11 -When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of abetter word) inspiration?
When I am really struggling, the only way for meto move at all is to read. I often will just grab a comically heavy hitter likeRimbaud or Ashbury or Dickinson off the shelf and open to a random page andstart reading until I feel like I have a brain again. It doesn’t always work.
12 -What fragrance reminds you of home?
The ocean and those little lavender scentedpillows that deter moths.
13 -David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any otherforms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
My sister is a visual artist and she and I arevery close, so visual art has always been really important to me and mypractice. I worked in galleries for a few years, and studied art history inundergrad. I think a lot about Impressionist painters like John Singer Sargentand Romantic painters like JMW Turner, because their work seems to suggest alot about what I think poetry can do: say a lot with a little, which is to say,perform a deceptively spontaneous gesture, and perform it with excruciating precisiondespite its purported lack of realism. I also listen to a lot of music, buthave famously uncool taste haha.
14 -What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your lifeoutside of your work?
A brief and non-exhaustive list of writers whoare very important to me presented in no particular order: Anne Carson, William Blake, Fred Moten, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sean Bonney, Samuel Delany,Wallace Stevens, Denise Ferreira da Silva, Diane di Prima, Alice Notley, Louis Zukofsky, Lucretius, John Donne, Dionne Brand, William Wordsworth (I’m aRomanticist, technically, so I can’t help it), Lyn Hejinian, Walter Benjamin…the list goes on and on!
15 -What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to write a play. That form ofcollaboration and interpretation and spontaneity attracts me immensely, butalso intimidates me!
16 - Ifyou 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 awriter?
I think if I had not been a writer, I would stillbe in the art world. I think if I could start over and have a different life, Iwould be a professional athlete lol.
17 -What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Growing up, my older sister was alwaysdemonstrably exceptionally talented as a visual artist; I was not. I think myparents really didn’t want us to be in direct competition with each other, so Iwas kind of pushed into sports because I was better at that. I had this kind ofcomplex that because she was so good at creative arts, that wasn’t for me. Ihad to be good at something else entirely. It wasn’t until after college reallythat I started writing creatively, and I think it was mostly because my sisterwasn’t a poet, so I thought I could do that. I got into poetry because itseemed the most precise way to get at wiggly, uncertain feelings and thoughtsand desires I didn’t have language for otherwise.
18 -What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I very rarely read novels, which I shouldn’tadmit, but I read Portrait of a Ladyby Henry James last month and it was an absolute delight. I also really lovedRobert Eggers’ new take on Nosferatu, withthe caveat that film is not my strong suit.
19 -What are you currently working on?
Right now I am working on a book about grief.It’s also about certainty. It hasn’t really happened on purpose, but whenever Istart writing it’s like this kind of elliptical return. It’s also heavilyinfluenced by my very conflicted but somewhat obsessive reading of ImmanuelKant’s Critique of Pure Reason. I’mvery curious about ways in which philosophers, misguidedly and dogmatically,try to make their readers feel betterabout how impossible it is to know anything about anything or anyone with anycertainty. Philosophy is supposed to be something like therapy, you know? Butit fails, and often leads us down worse rabbit holes with more distressingquestions, or accusations. I miss my parents and I feel like time stopped whenI lost them. But it didn’t for anyone else. I don’t know what to do with that,so I’m writing about it.
