12 or 20 (second series) questions with Isabel Sobral Campos

Isabel Sobral Campos is the author of the poetry collection Your Person Doesn’t Belong to You (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2018), and the chapbooks Material (No, Dear and Small Anchor Press, 2015), You Will Be Made of Stone (dancing girl press, 2018) and Autobiographical Ecology (above/ground press, 2019). Chapbooks are forthcoming with Sutra Press and The Magnificent Field. She is the co-founder of the Sputnik & Fizzle publishing series.

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?

The poems of my first chapbook feel ethereal when I read them now, as if they are swimming toward something they never quite reach. That quality of reaching-toward is still present in my current work, and also the idea of poems as musical scores—each poem returns where other poems have been, not in a linear way but in a messy circuitous manner. My first chapbook was an unforgettable experience. The three women involved in its production, Alex Cuff, Jen Hyde, and Emily Brandt, were amazingly supportive. I have been very fortunate with the people I meant through publishing. Freddy LaForce from Vegetarian Alcoholic Press being another person with whom was very rewarding to work.

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

I tried writing fiction before poetry but always ended up fragmenting the writing, organizing it in vignettes. I arrived late to poetry (I think) perhaps because of writing creatively in a borrowed language. I didn’t think it would be possible. While I now know plenty of models for translingualism or bilingual writers, for a long time, I wasn’t aware of them. Furthermore, I had little understanding of contemporary Anglophone writing. So, one day I was reading Will Alexander’s Compression & Purity. I remember thinking “I’m just going to write whatever I want.” It sounds silly, but it was only then that I realized I had been tied to ideas about writing that didn’t excite me. I wrote my first poems shortly after.

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 am a very slow writer. I have to write a bit every day. Otherwise, it won’t come at all. Usually, a manuscript results from being able to commit daily time to writing. If I study the idea too much or stop to take notes or research, or whatever, I often lose interest. So, I try to write as much as I can. Then I stop and rewrite quite a bit.

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 tend to write long poems. I would say my first poetry collection is a long dramatic monologue divided into sections. The manuscript I am working on now, for example, is a musical score in two parts. So, I tend to write pieces that build on each other, echoing one another semantically and rhythmically.

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

Yes! I do. Readings allow me to hear my work more accurately. I wish I could read every week. 

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?

Writing has to be attentive to the ideological functions of words, tropes, languages. Poems should destabilize messages that have ossified and become corrosive. They should be attuned to the causticness of normative and normalizing conceptions. What normalizes a standard usually expresses the vision of a power group that oppresses. A poem has the capacity to withstand ideology.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I suppose writing uplifts attention from the mud of daily life. It zooms in on the experiential potential we all possess, but that keeps getting buried and neglected. Some books speak truths, so they actively oppose the harm of false, hateful ideas. Some books resurrect our ability to imagine and attempt transforming what oppresses us. Some books make us feel less lonely. I suppose there isn’t a single role but that they are all connected with achieving the best possible iteration of an embodied life.

Writers (whenever possible) should also try to promote other writers through publishing and reviewing. I recognize that this takes time, effort, as well as entails free labor.

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

I do not find working with editors difficult at all. I wish I had more opportunities to do so. I love to collaborate, and also, when others make me verbalize why I made certain choices.

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

I am not sure whether I have a single piece of advice to share. I prefer to couch this question in terms of teachers. Anselm Berrigan taught me more than anyone, but it had something to do with the quiet and generous way he taught me to hear myself more clearly. He modeled listening very well.

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 write in the mornings. It’s the first thing I do when I sit at my desk. As the day progresses, my mind feels cluttered with thoughts that interfere with writing.

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

It depends on the project. I’ll read the books that have informed or inspired the work I am writing and re-read what I have in order to discover the flow of a particular project.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Eucalyptus trees.

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?

Music and visual arts. I write in rhythmic forms. I am interested when poems and images coalesce with rhythms.

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

The writing of Will Alexander, Tongo Eisen-Martin, Anselm Berrigan, Leslie Scalapino, Alice Notley, Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge, John Yau, Karl Marx, Divya Victor, Tonya Foster, and Brandon Shimoda, and many others.

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

I would like to translate, write performance pieces, and collaborate with other writers or artists.

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 can’t imagine being without books. I could be an archivist of some sort. I often wonder whether I shouldn’t be working in the non-profit activist world with environmental organizations or incarcerated people’s advocacy groups.

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

I feel that writing is part of me: it shapes me. I don’t think I ever felt like this toward any other activity.

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

Aditi Machado’s Some Beheadings blew me away! And also, Andrea Abi Karam’s Extratransmission. As for films, Paul Schrader’s First Reformed and Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I am working on a manuscript entitled How to Make Words of Rubble. What if the choral ode sections of Greek tragedy stood alone as form? This is one of the manuscript's formal premises. The other is the musical score. One night I dreamt that a sudden gust of wind stole my daughter away. I realized this dream was connected to news that another hurricane of unprecedented force was approaching the US. In the dream, I saw my daughter from the standpoint of my own disappearance. These poems emerged from this dream and these feelings. Grendel's mother from Beowulf became a helpful image to speak of maternal grief and the maternal body. Section II of the manuscript integrates old English words that capture the gist of how Grendel's mother is presented in the epic.

12or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Emily Brandt on No, Dear

No, Dear Mission Statement:
No, Dear aims to bring together the voices of New York City poets who might not otherwise be in dialogue: both emerging and established poets from diverse backgrounds who are living and writing in New York City’s five boroughs. We aspire to disrupt a field that has historically privileged white patriarchal perspectives by building a publication and communal/critical dialogue that strives to be largely representative of women-identified poets, and poets of color and of all gender orientations.

Emily Brandt is a cofounding editor of No, Dear, Web Acquisitions Editor for VIDA, and the author of three chapbooks. Her poems have recently appeared in LitHub, The Recluse, and Washington Square Review.

When did No, Dear first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
No, Dear started in 2008, and at that time, our goal was just to publish poems coming out of a workshop the original editing team was a part of. That goal quickly evolved to learning about and supporting an ever-expanding circle of poets. Because we have only always published NYC writers, our launch readings have always been and continue to be spaces for poets to get to know and celebrate each other. The poets we publish are our greatest collaborators. We now publish dialogues between issue poets, and host readings co-curated with the poets we publish. We’ve also invited many poets we’ve published to guest edit issues or to submit chapbooks. We are interested in fostering genuine community in a time and place that moves so quickly that community time and space can be a challenge.

What first brought you to publishing?
I wrote and distributed a small newspaper when I was 8, which was significant among my stuffed animal tribe. As an early/mid-adolescent, I was into zine culture, which taught me the art of doing what you need to do and saying what you need to say. As a late-adolescent, I interned for the Favorite Poem Project, which taught me something about the many different roles poetry plays for people. Later, I got into No, Dear.

What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
We can take more risks than big-house publishers, and support more emerging and subversive voices. Small publishing needs to be true to the people who are participating, via writing and reading, in the community. No need to replicate what’s on the shelves at the B&N.

What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
We only publish New York City poets, bringing them together for launch readings, collaboratively curated readings, online dialogues, and more. Focusing on just the local community allows us to build more bridges amongst poets in person.

What do you see as the most effective way to get new books out into the world?
Plan a really good launch and publicize it well. For ND/SA, our runs are small enough that we don’t need to do a ton of work to sell out. We put our efforts to a big launch, some targeted publicity work (reviews/social media), collaborating with the author and their community, and developing and maintaining relationships with our fantastic local bookshops.

How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
It depends! For issues, a light touch, for sure. The editorial team and I will sometimes recommend a tweak, but generally publish poems as they are submitted. For chapbooks, it depends on the manuscript. Sometimes we’ll publish it almost as is, and other times we do several rounds of pretty deep revision suggestions. I prefer to publish work that feels polished but not too sheen, and sometimes an editorial eye is needed to get there. I dislike an overcooked poem, so would sooner overlook a few spots with potential for more than push a writer to go into high-sheen revision. That can fuck up a good poem.

How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
We sell our chapbooks and issues three ways: at launch and other readings, via our website, and at local bookstores, including McNally Jackson, Housing Works, Greenlight, Berl’s, and Quimby’s. We also have subscribers to whom we send issues. At this point, we print 150 copies of each new issue and 100 copies of chapbooks.

How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
For issues, we usually have at least three editors at the table - Alex Cuff and I have usually been two of those people. We’ve had a wonderful range of founding and guest editors over the years, and are thrilled to now have t’ai freedom ford on board as an editor. For chapbooks, we collaborate with Jen Hyde from Small Anchor. I always learn so much from working with a team of editors -- it’s important to hear other perspectives and have your own perspectives challenged. I’ve definitely become a sharper and more engaged reader over the last decade. The only setback is time -- the editing conversations we have are amazing and for me, the most valuable, fascinating part of the process. However, the more voices at the table, the more time spent discussing the poems. That’s a good thing! But also, time is sometimes hard for humans. As for production, most of layout and production falls on the editorial team, but we collaborate with artists for cover images, and welcome help from production volunteers. (Call me!)

How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
It’s great reading so much emerging/new work, to balance all the published (new and old) work that I read in books and journals. Seeing everything that comes through makes me even more aware of content and style trends and the ways in which different writers handle those things. I get a clearer sense for myself of what works and doesn’t in a poem, and in what ways what I’m writing may be in conversation with something larger.

How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
Do what feels right to you. I have poems in early No, Dears, at a time when our goal was just to publish writing from our workshop and surrounding community. That made sense at the time. I haven’t self-published anything in a long time now, and don’t know that I would again. But I don’t think much of that matters.

What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
We’ve been doing this for ten years, and it still feels exciting! That longevity is something I’m really proud of. We’ve published so many amazing writers over the last decade, and for some were among their first publications. There’s so many different steps to the process and not all of it is fun or easy, so sometimes I get frustrated with how much time and unpaid labor is necessary to make this all happen.

Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
In 2008, I remember looking at Birdsong, edited by a collective including Tommy Pico, and that gave me hope for making a worthwhile DIY print publication. In the early days, some folks at Ugly Ducking Presse gave me invaluable production advice - at a time when I had no idea how to do anything besides make a scissors-and-glue-and-photocopy zine.

Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
We do! And we are really interested in good poems that have something to say. Pretty simple. One tip to writers looking to submit: we publish very slim issues, and as such, only print one or a few long poems in any given issue. So unless a long (more than a page) poem is really a perfect fit for the issue, we’re probably not going to take it. We used to limit submissions to 40 lines each poem, but we do like to print the occasional long piece. That said, 40 lines is a good limit to keep in mind.

Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
Our REPUBLIC (#19) issue: our first post-Trump publication.

Our BLACK POETS SPEAK OUT (#18) issue: the brilliant Mahogany L. Browne used this issue to showcase work from #BlackPoetsSpeakOut, even including a few non-NYC writers.

Chia-Lun Chang’s One Day We Become Whites: after a dozen reads, I still can’t keep up with this chapbook.

12 or 20 (small press) questions;