Hollis Kurman's poems have appeared in
Amsterdam Quarterly, Atlanta Review (International Poetry Competition
finalist), Barrow Street (Pushcart nominee), Intima: A Journal of Narrative
Medicine, Lilith, Ocean State Review, Phoebe, Rattle, and elsewhere. Kurman was
born in New York City and educated at the University of Pennsylvania (BA) and
the Georgetown School of Foreign Service (MSFS). She is Chairperson of the Ivy
Circle and Acting Chair of the Fulbright Commission NL Board. She also serves
on the Human Rights Watch Global Advisory Council for Women’s Rights, served on
the Board of Trustees of Save the Children Netherlands, and moderates literary
and academic events.Kurman is also the author of two
internationally acclaimed children's books, Counting Kindness: Ten Ways to Welcome Refugee Children (2021), endorsed by Amnesty International, and
Counting in Green: 10 Little Ways to Help Our Big Planet (2023), selected as
Book of the Month by the Children’s Environmental Health Network. She also
writes book reviews, personal essays, and guest blogs and is working on a
concussion memoir. She lives with her husband in Amsterdam and can be found
online at holliskurman.com.
1 - How did your first book change your
life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel
different?
There was a big difference between
publishing my first book, a children’s book, and my first poetry
book. I published my first story in a NY area newspaper when I was in 2nd grade
but waited decades before trying again.
Fast forward to publishing my first book,
Counting Kindness: Ten Ways to Welcome Refugee Children (Charlesbridge) internationally in spring 2020. Just as Covid was disrupting
book shipments and closing bookstores, schools, and libraries! But in getting
this story out in the world, I experienced firsthand how our words can touch so
many people. And what an enormous responsibility that was. All the
international attention after such a long slog to publication probably spoiled
me, too. Reality check: it’s not always like that!
When I published my first poetry book, Unlikely
Skylight’(Barrow Street Books) five years later, I had already published a
second children’s book (Counting in Green). But this… was a Poetry
Book. Finally. I had been writing poetry most of my life, publishing poems on
and off in literary journals, but never committed myself to finalizing a book
until the Barrow Street Editorial Board proposed publishing my work.
With my first books now published, I dare
to call myself an author and poet instead of someone who ‘also writes’. There’s
no turning back.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or
non-fiction?
I have been reading, writing, and
loving poetry since I was a child. My mother read lots of poetry to us when we
were young. Even before I understood poetry (if we ever really do), I loved the
sound and bounce of it, the compactness and puzzle of it. In a recent talk I
gave on The Power of Poetry to the Amsterdam Rotary, I shared the e.e.cummings poem ‘anyone lived in a pretty how town’. Even though English was not their
native language, they felt it. I could see it on their faces. This poem had
played a part in my love for poetry. The rebelliousness of it, beginning with
the poet’s refusal to capitalize anything. The rhythms. The twisting or
reinventing of words and grammar rules. It was an invitation to play with
language that I took to heart and never let go. One of the biggest compliments
I got during my launch readings for ‘Unlikely Skylight’ was when a young
actor said, ‘You make me want to play with language.’ What a gift.
I also really love the challenge of short
formats. Both poetry and children’s books do so much with so little, each word
doing triple duty and having to earn its precious real estate in a piece. I
also love that both genres are meant to be read aloud, so they should feel good
in the mouth and sound good to the ear.
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?
All of the above!
Some poems come to me in the middle of the
night and make me sit up in bed to grab a pad and pen. Then I’ll pick it up again
in the morning, excited to get to writing, structuring, and editing whatever had
knocked on the door of my unconscious. I’ve had amazing results with these but
also duds and dead ends, of course.
Some poems, especially metaphorical or
allegorical ones, reveal themselves to me while I’m doing something else. My
political poem ‘Omelet Nation’, from Unlikely Skylight, was like that. I
was making an omelet, zoning out with the spatula and egg mixture heating in
the pan, when I suddenly saw it. The current state of the United States,
bubbling and hissing right in front of me.
Other poems start with an idea or issue
I’ve been obsessing about. These can take me weeks, months, or years to write. The
ideas loom large and put quiet pressure on me to do them justice. The bigness
of it all forces me to go deeper, pick an angle, and get much more specific. That’s
when good work gets done.
Most of my poems, though, start with notes
and scribbles. I take constant notes and am never without a notebook. This is
also a great way never to face a blank page. I’ll often start with a
handwritten ‘écriture automatique’, or automatic writing, a technique I learned
studying surrealists as a student in Paris. Structuring and shaping come later.
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 can be triggered by anything that
finds its way into my heart or my peripheral vision. An injustice. A news
article. A random comment by a taxi driver (two of my poems started this way).
A tiny observation in nature or in the street. A painful memory or experience –
whether it be mine or someone else’s. And because I’m already doing the
thinking and looking, these observations have a place to land and can be turned
into something interesting. This is what Arthur Koestler calls ‘thinking aside’
and bisociation in his brilliant book, The Act of Creation.
For poetry, I write pieces separately and
then later gather them into a collection. Though I do tend to work implicitly
in thematic sections and series, such as migration, trauma and healing, or rites
of passage.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter
to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Yes! I love it all: readings, open mics,
interviews from both ends of the mic, podcasts…
Bring it on. Small or large audiences, live or virtual, in different languages.
I enjoy performing and fielding questions
– but I also love being in the audience or moderating readings and events. I
recently had the privilege of interviewing US Poet Laureate Ada Limón in
Amsterdam for over 200 people, and then, weeks later, listening to NY Poet Laureate Patricia Spears Jones read at Artists’ Space in downtown NYC as part
of the Segue series. Lucky 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?
Everything I care about deeply ends up in
my writing one way or the other. Probably most writers would say that. In my
case, though, I studied international affairs and human rights as an
undergraduate at Penn and then for my MSFS at the Georgetown School of Foreign
Service. This education, coupled with my family background and professional
involvements, taught me to study the world deeply. And it’s all there in my
writing, whether my poetry, children’s books, or other pieces: Immigration and
refugees; conflict and climate; political polarization and identity. I also
explore how we heal from trauma; manage life stages; and keep moving toward the
light.
That last point feels urgent now. An image
keeps coming back to me from when our children were little, taking swimming
lessons in Amsterdam (where I live and where they grew up). The Netherlands is
a country of water – and 60% of us live below sea level. So, swimming lessons
are serious! Early on, our kids learned a valuable lesson in the water: ‘if you
fall into deep, dark water…look for the light. Swim towards the light.’ Yes! In
the water, in life – and in my writing.
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?
Until recently, I might have distinguished
between the role and the responsibility of a writer. The role of a
writer, or any artist, is inherently an act of value, defiance, and humanity. Great
writing can clear the fog or bring us to tears. In the words of British artist Peter Kennard, art can ‘show a human spirit that hasn’t been bashed down.’ I
might have said that a writer could choose to write for the joy or necessity of
writing, to make sense of the past, to give voice to longings. But that it wasn’t
necessarily the responsibility of the writer to change the world.
I wonder if writers still have that
luxury. Each of us, in some small way, can get people to pay attention. Slow
down and notice. Connect the dots. Squirm. Dare to imagine something different
and perhaps, as a result, demand or even build something different. In an
opinion piece from The Financial Times in April 2025, Margaret Heffernan wrote
that history teaches us, ‘if you want to identify when change starts, the best
place to look for it is in art.’ Writers talk about creating mirrors (where
readers can see themselves) or windows (where readers get a glimpse of another culture
or viewpoint, hence the writer’s role in fostering empathy). But we are also
uniquely positioned to create doors: a way through if not always an immediate
way out.
8 - Do you find the process of working
with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Always valuable, often essential, and occasionally a joy. I’m grateful to
editors who can help unlock some magic trapped in my work to bring it to a higher
level. This has happened many times – especially with Peter Covino, a brilliant
poet as well as editor, in editing Unlikely Skylight for Barrow Street
Books. The back-and-forth with a demanding editor is exhilarating. I even heard
one editor say great editing together was like great sex… No comment!
Working with editors, even the best of
them, can also be maddening. As poets and writers, we pick our battles, but the
wince of reluctant compromises never fades. I find this to be especially true
in poetry and children’s book texts, not only since each word plays an outsized
role in the piece, but also because we read them aloud – over and over. And so
I hear the compromise over and over, as if stubbing my toe repeatedly on
a stone I neglected to move.
Editing is hard. Great editing is gold. I
do a lot of editing for other writers, myself, and I know how tough it is not
to fall into the trap of rewriting the writer’s work or coasting along with
line edits.
9 - What is the best piece of advice
you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
One valuable piece of advice from my
student days was a passage I read in an essay by German novelist Thomas Mann.
He said if he ever gets stuck with his writing, he can get going again if he
manages to ‘write one true thing.’ It almost doesn’t matter what it is. I have
found this technique helpful for all kinds of writing through the years. Start
with a true thing, keep writing, and come back to revise or replace it later.
And yet sometimes that one true thing turns out to be perfect.
I also recently discovered the ‘guiding
mantra’, now much publicized, of writer Suleika Jaouad. She says, ‘If you want
to write a good book, write what you don’t want others to know about you. But
if you want to write a great book, write what you don’t want to know about
yourself.’ This gut punch is already serving me well.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to children's
picture books)? What do you see as the appeal?
Writing-wise, and personality-wise, it suits
me perfectly. But there are upsides and downsides.
What I appreciate most about writing
across genres is: it strengthens my different ‘writer’s muscle groups’; helps
me cross-fertilize in terms of both craft and community; and never lets me get
bored. Most importantly, being a poet helps all my writing. The economy,
beauty, sound and rhythms of poetry can elevate any kind of writing.
On the other hand, writing across genres
risks diluting my ‘writer’s brand’ and makes me harder to position. Also, there
are surely writers, poets, and editors out there who don’t get how a serious
poet can also be a children’s book writer. Or how much poetry and children’s
books have in common. Or how difficult it is to write good children’s
literature, since it looks so easy.
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 wish I had a writing routine, but I
don’t! Especially because I have other professional roles and travel quite a
lot. It’s still a challenge every day to carve out the time and head space to
get into the writing zone and stay there. I’m best and most efficient when
working and writing against deadlines. Whenever possible, though, I start my
day with a great breakfast, an oversized cup of green tea, and physical
movement – whether it’s pilates, dance, tai chi, or my own workout. Then, with
my brain crackling, I get down to work and try to avoid the sinkhole of my
phone.
12 – When your writing gets stalled, where
do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
As I mentioned, the best way for me to get
unstuck is to rummage around in my notes. They’re my Mary Poppins bag. It also
helps just to get moving, pick up a cat, or go outside for a walk. For me, a
walk in nature or city streets can do the trick equally, especially if I will
myself into micro-observation, multisensory mode. And, if all else fails, or
when I think I’ve forgotten how to write and may never write again, there’s the
Thomas Mann technique I mentioned – getting started by writing ‘one true
thing.’
You didn’t ask, but the worst thing I can
do at these moments is check my phone or emails. Inspiration killers and time
wasters.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
‘Home’ is a tricky concept for me since I
was born in New York but have lived abroad most of my adult life. So I’ll pick
my long-time home, Amsterdam, with its unexpected scent of chocolate. Not
because the Dutch make great chocolate, which they do, but because the wind
occasionally carries a hint of cacao from a chocolate factory somewhere outside
the city. Subtle and usually off-hours, it reaches us all the way to the canals.
The mystery of this smell haunted me for years, so I finally wrote a poem about
it, ‘Cacao’, which appears in my book Unlikely Skylight.
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?
Even though I’m a city girl, nature and
urban landscapes probably influence my work in equal and significant measures. Flora
and fauna, forests and seascapes are inexhaustible sources of inspiration, as
are city streets. So long as we keep shifting the lens. I’ve also noticed that
there’s a lot of science, math, and mythology woven through my poems. Music and
paintings a bit, too, and especially dance. I’ve been dancing (and
choreographing) for many years and just finished a new poem called ‘Life
Lessons from my Dance Teachers’.
15 - What other writers or writings are
important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
My bible is Arthur Koestler’s The Act
of Creation. He analyzes the act of creation from three perspectives – humor,
discovery, and art – and delves deep into the power of blending seemingly
unrelated things to create something new. It’s riveting and profound. I also
love writers who write non-poetry poetically, like Cormac McCarthy, Claire Keegan, Annie Dillard, and Samantha Harvey. I love poets who make their own
rules, like Sharon Olds and Terrance Hayes. And poets I wish would write more
poetry, like Katha Pollitt.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Finish and publish my concussion memoir so
I can help others heal. Translate my poetry into other languages – at least
into French and Dutch.
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?
Ha! I’ve already had several overlapping careers
– as a management consultant, Board member, rights advocate, and
speaker/moderator – in addition to being a writer. But I was initially en route
to working in foreign policy and diplomacy following grad school, and I
occasionally wonder what good I might have been able to do in the world had I
pursued it.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to
doing something else?
I tried for many years to keep it on the
back burner, but it boiled over.
19 - What was the last great book you
read? What was the last great film?
I have read some brilliant books recently,
such as Ada Limón’s Startlement and Kaveh Akbar’s Martyr. And
I finally, finally had the chance to read Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker
Creek. Her sentences made me want to reread them, read them again aloud
just to feel them in my mouth, then run outside and look at the world anew,
full of wonder at all its tiny moving parts.
I’ve not recently been blown away by films
that reach the level of Super Bad, Almost Famous, Beasts of the Southern
Wild, or Parasite. But I’ve enjoyed and admired several newer films,
such as Past Lives, Anora, The Holdovers, and Frankenstein, and
I’m keen to see more.
20 - What are you currently working on?
More poetry, always, and more children’s
stories, always. I’ve been writing more poetry with a second book in mind, with
some pieces I’m very excited about. I’m also currently working with my
publisher and illustrator on the next book(s) in my counting book series. Importantly
for me, I’m finally wading back into writing my concussion memoir, an excerpt
of which will be published this month in the Amsterdam Quarterly. The excerpt
is titled ‘A Summer to Recover’.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
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