12 or 20 (second series) questions with M.W. Jaeggle

Born in Vancouver, British Columbia, M.W. Jaeggle is the author of three chapbooks, Janus on the Pacific, The Night of the Crash, and Choreography for a Falling Blouse. He lives in Buffalo, New York, where he is a PhD student in the Department of English at SUNY Buffalo. Wrack Line is his first book of poetry.

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?

It feels more accurate to credit Wrack Line with confirming the various ways I experience the world than with precipitating a momentous change. I will continue to pay attention to the sensuous qualities of words, continue to place emotion in service of the natural world, and continue to try to put the work before the ego—and I can point to the book as confirming my sense that these things are pretty good ways of being in the world.

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

One of the very few benefits of learning to read and write late in childhood is being able to draw upon distinct memories of struggling with words. I remember slowly pronouncing a certain word, dragging my thumb across its letters so as not to be overwhelmed by the thing in its entirety. I remember the joys and frustrations of reading those first words, and later of stringing them into sentences of my own. Poetry came first, and continues to come first, because my early difficulties with language taught me to be patient and approach words as a tenuous meeting of sound and sense.

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 cannot say how long it takes to start a creative project because I don’t know when any of mine have really started. I don’t keep track of when one idea gives way to another or when the words hit the page. It takes some time, that’s all I can say.

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?

I don’t typically write a poem with a predetermined sense of how it will fit within a larger project. I try to stay open for as long as possible.

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

Reading poetry in front of others is great on the condition that everyone in attendance is a willing participant. I will never again read in a pub while the Habs-Leafs game is playing on the TV.

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 2016, as part of his commencement speech to graduates of Simon Fraser University and as part of his acceptance of an honorary doctorate from the university, the poet Robert Bringhurst said something to the effect that in order for one to respect the earth one had to think like an ecosystem. Think like an ecosystem is the closest thing I have to a theoretical concern.

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?

To make the case for more humane and ecologically attentive values than the ones that characterize our neoliberal moment. To develop words, phrases, and sentences commensurate with our encounters with the nonhuman world. To exercise a claim on the imaginations of others.

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

It’s absolutely essential to have that outside perspective. If I have ever faced difficulty during the editing process, it’s always proved worthwhile in retrospect.

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

Get some air.

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 writing routine. I steal the time to write from other tasks.

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

I go for a walk. I listen to music. I get in touch with friends. I give it some time.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Smoked salmon.

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?

Fine art and the natural world influence my work just as much as books.  

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

There are too many writers to list here. Most of them belong to an earlier generation.

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

Grow my own vegetables.

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?

A Zen monastic—more of a calling than an occupation, I suppose.

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

It’s portable and low-tech. All you need is a few inexpensive instruments, some solitude, and some time.

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

Hugh MacDiarmid’s A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle.

Terrence Mallick’s Days of Heaven.

19 - What are you currently working on?

Too many things—all of which resemble people in that they don’t like to be talked about when they’re not present.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;