Wednesday, January 14, 2026

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Asha Futterman

Asha Futterman is a poet and actor from Chicago. Her chapbook empathy was published by The Song Cave and her first book of poems Song of Gray won the Colorado Prize for Poetry and appeared in November 2025. She teaches children at Saint Ann’s in Brooklyn. 

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?
I think my first chapbook, Empathy, changed my life because it gave me something concrete to share. It felt packaged and beautiful, and I was so proud to hand it to people. It also helped me realize that I write so I can communicate with people — and if I want people to read my work, I have to do the work of getting the chapbook into their hands. It was amazing to have, but it also added the responsibility of distribution.

Song of Gray is a more complete picture of my poetry. Empathy mostly focused on acting, and Song of Gray is everything.

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

I think I was attracted to short forms. I naturally don’t write very much, and I love feeling like something is complete. I want to have a complete, totally full thing, to hold and share, and with poems you could do that in a day, in a minute! I’m also interested in presence and moments and I think poetry is a great form for that—it is the closest written language can get to physicality and embodiment. 

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?
First drafts usually come quickly and randomly. Once I have a solid first draft of a poem it gets to it’s final form by sitting around for at least 2 weeks and then I come back to it and if I still like it. If I do, I change the things that need to be changed that I couldn’t see 2 weeks ago and add the things that need to be added. Then I send it to my friends and change a few things based on what they say. And if I still like it after that, it is done. The first drafts are often relatively close to their final shape. 

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 usually begins a little randomly. I will write in a certain mood or when I feel kind of dissatisfied. I sometimes feel like I’m not getting much out of my day and I want to have something that makes me feel like something happened and a poem helps with that. Sometimes I write because I read something that frustrated me or excited me and I want to see if I can do something like that or correct what felt wrong in the frustrating piece. 

I don’t have a book or larger project in mind from the beginning, but when I look back at individual poems, I sometimes get disappointed in their lack of ambition, and I soothe myself by thinking it might make more sense and be meaningful in a context. 

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I think public readings are really important and complicated. I am still working towards finding the right way to read my poetry out loud, but I think it is really essential for the audience to be able to hear you and understand you in the moment of the reading. 

I think communicating a poem with voice and body is essential to me even if the voice and body aren’t doing much. I haven’t done many readings where I read for more than 5 minutes, but I usually enjoy them, and I often feel like I haven’t done a good job, so I want to figure out how to do them better. 

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 do. I think about Blackness my biggest question is how do you be Black and engage with the lyric “I”? I see Blackness as existing somewhat separately from humanity, from body, and from “I.” Black gender is also a major question for me.

Performance, seeing, and being seen guide a lot of my work. The chapter of Black Skin, White Masks where Fanon is on the train being seen in three ways—historically, stereotypically, and in the present—is the most important theoretical text for me. It shapes how I think about performance and being seen.

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’ve recently been spending time with musicians who feel more in tune with culture than writers, and I can see that they think of writers as very smart but maybe not essential to everyday life. Music is part of daily life for most people, and it’s easier to admire painters because museums and gallery shows are visible, social events.

Writers are a quieter part of culture. People may not read as much, and there aren’t many famous, living, relatable writers. The “famous” ones often feel disconnected. Still, I think writers can be mirrors and witnesses. The writer’s role should be to reflect a moment and a person as honestly as possible and that’s essential to culture.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I don’t really know something is done until I’ve shown it to someone else and I really trust people. So I like it!

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

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 do not have a writing routine. I wake up around 6:45 to get to work, and I can usually be out of the door in 15 minutes, but I try to do one ritual in the morning which is usually spinning around.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
When I can’t write I try to read more, and to take the pressure off I tell myself I’m not allowed to write and not being allowed to write usually makes me want to write a lot. Dancing and performance often inspire me also.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Tuberose

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?

Acting and children influence my work. I work with kids ages 7–9, and the things they say and the way they act is so interesting. Each one feels like a poem, honest and distilled. I have also been an actor since I was a kid and embodiment and physical language and the dynamics of being on a stage affects the way I write. One of my closest friends is a painter and the way she talks about painting visual art inspires me maybe more than the art itself. 

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I think writers from the Black Arts Movement are important to my work, theory is important to my work especially Franz Fanon’s Black Skin White Masks and Selamawit Terrefe’s article “Speaking the Hieroglyph.” Self Portrait in Green by Marie NDiaye is a very important book to me as well. Adrienne Kennedy’s plays, especially The Owl Answers. I am influenced by the novelists and fiction writers Marie Redonet, Barbara Comyns, and Amina Cain. And I am influenced by the poets Robyn Schiff, Margaret Ross, Lucille Clifton, Jorie Graham, Gwendolyn Brooks, Emily Hunt, Catherine Barnett, and Mary Jo Bang.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to go on a world tour with me and my two friends' band, The Test.

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 think I would want to be a painter. 

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I want to see myself and the world and I think I might be best at communicating those things through written language. The satisfaction of seeing myself in writing might keep me a poet. 

I also found my best friends in high school through poetry and my favorite people and professors in college were poets. So I think I was following my heart, but I also think I’m lured by poets. I think they are geniuses and I want to be like them. Every time I read a good poem I learn something new, I genuinely learn a new thing, and that doesn’t happen with much else I encounter. Poetry feels like an endless well of amazing people and knowledge and I want to stay in the well.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I just watched Pasolini’s Medusa which was amazing. And the last great book I read was A Severed Head by Iris Murdoch and Creature by Amina Cain. The last amazing book of poetry I read was Information Desk by Robyn Schiff and Saturday by Margaret Ross

19 - What are you currently working on?
A Study of Children! And more songs for The Test.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Tuesday, January 13, 2026

Wry Press: Noah Ross’ The Holy Grail + Sandy Berrigan’s light oh light

 

Longer than any bed sheet called tugging but it happens here too
All the snow on the mountain
As if the hero feared the question nobody could answer (how we’ve seen that before)
Said
“As for we who ‘love to be astonished’”
Forged when the world was young breath and flower, when Arizona, “sweetie,” when melts in your mouth
To float on cliff and sea you ride sniffer and trout
Lance, he came to me last night – like good freak folk to my bed
To kill and be king – (is that all F is for?) (For ‘Twenty, that first sip feeling) searched or
Scale in the back of the tree – lightning –
To be the land and the land in your dream (“The Book of Lancelot”)

I’m intrigued by these recent full-size chapbook publications by Colorado publisher Wry Press [see their write-up at periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics], each produced in an edition of one hundred copies: Noah Ross’ The Holy Grail (No. 19, 2025) and Sandy Berrigan’s light oh light (No. 16, 2024). Sleek and uncomplicated, each title produced sans author biography or anything extraneous, each a small by the front denoting publisher, date, number. Otherwise, the poems simply begin, and then end, and that is enough. I’ve encountered the work of Berkeley, California-based poet, editor and bookseller Noah Ross before, having gone through his second full-length title, Active Reception (New York NY: Nightboat Books, 2021) [see my review of such here], and I’ve even heard tell he’s a new full-length, either out or forthcoming, with Krupskaya, which is exciting. He also wrote the preface to Nice: Collected Poems, eds. Alison Fraser, Benjamin Friedlander, Jeffrey Jullich & Ron Silliman, by the late San Francisco poet David Melnick (1938-2022) (Nightboat Books, 2023) [see my review of such here]. Ross’ chapbook-sequence The Holy Grail seems a play, or at least an echo or throwback, to Jack Spicer’s The Holy Grail (San Francisco CA: White Rabbit, 1964), seven poems on the Arthurian legend, offering a similar poem-per-character, two pages per: “The Book of Gawain,” “The Book of Percival,” “The Book of Lancelot,” “The Book of Guinevere,” “The Book of Merlin,” “The Book of Galahad” and “The Book of The Death of Arthur.” Published sixty-one years after Spicer’s legendary sequence, Ross’ pattern echoes Spicer’s, offering long lines clustered and sectioned, not rewriting or even updating but offering his own flavour to even Spicer’s take on the legend, furthering a Queer underlay to the text as a whole. This is an expansive, ambitious project, an ambitious poem, to dare to translate a work by Jack Spicer, one well known, but perhaps fading from view, as the years roll along (oh, to be able to compare, but of course I have two separate editions of Spicer’s Collected my library, neither of which I can find). I like Ross’ long lyric sentences, his long lyric thought-stretches, stretching the mythology by stitching in other elements, other patterns, across this chapbook-length quilt. Or, as “The Book of Percival” ends: “The difference between two forms and the backside bring it: / A statue won’t lift your stiff member, no voice / Not today, not ever is it yours [.]”

Kandinsky 

I entered a dream world
of color and fire
Day and night
garden and field
egg and dragonfly
Flag and football
This form a science fiction.

Sandy Berrigan is a name I’d heard there and here over the years, but been otherwise unaware of. The web page for the title offers that this title is “the first publication of a series of fragments written during the 1980s; mental refractions of a W.S. Merwin reading in Hawaii, or abstracted, glancing impressions of both artworks & visitors on a trip to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Light and thought both solid & fleeting, chiseled into words which dissolve in ‘light clear air’.” Known as the first wife of American New York School poet Ted Berrigan (1934-1983), the publisher’s site also offers that she “recently moved to the Bay Area after many years in Albion, Ca. Author of Daily Rites (Telephone Books, 1974), and Summer Sleeper (Telephone Books, 1981), she has also over the years self-published a number of other rare & fugitive works, occasionally featuring artwork by painter George Schneeman.” As stated, the poems here that hold dates hold in the mid-1980s, and offer the suggestion that this manuscript sits as a kind of lost classic, something Ottawa chapbook publisher Cameron Anstee was doing as well, through publishing (and re-publishing) some items by the since-late Ottawa poet William Hawkins through his Apt. 9 Press, or even my own publication of a 1970s-era Neil Flowers title through above/ground press. Referencing artwork by Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944), New York-based poet, choreographer and dancer Kenneth King and American poet M.S. Merwin (1927-2019) (“At the Merwin Reading,” dated November 14, 1985, Maui), the poems here speak to conversation, to community; they delight in their precise small moments, crafted with enormous care and casual ease. “My kisses have the taste of fruit / That would melt in your heart / So then you would disdain me / Farewell.” The publication of this particular title suggests that Berrigan’s work deserves more attention, whether the publication of a new full-length title of previously uncollected work, or even a selected or collected poems; something to gather and acknowledge the work she has done across her writing life. Or, as the poem “From A Letter To Kenneth King,” a piece dated “June 22, 1987,” ends:

We also just said goodbye.
Let us continue to talk.


Monday, January 12, 2026

Touch the Donkey : new interviews with Sarah Rosenthal, Susan Gevirtz + Aidan Chafe,

Anticipating the release on Thursday of the forty-eighth issue of Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], why not check out the interviews that have appeared over the past few weeks with contributors to the forty-seventh issue: Sarah Rosenthal, Susan Gevirtz and Aidan Chafe.

Interviews with contributors to the first forty-six issues (nearly three hundred interviews to date) remain online, including:
Kirstin Allio, Joseph Donato, Beatriz Hausner, Nicole Markotić, Lisa Pasold, Lina Ramona Vitkauskas, Dag T. StraumsvÃ¥g, brandy ryan, Misha Solomon, D. A. Lockhart, Dominic Dulin, Jordan Davis, Larkin Maureen Higgins, J-T Kelly, Jennifer Firestone, Austin Miles, Alice Burdick, Henry Gould, Leesa Dean, Tom Jenks, Sandra Doller, Scott Inniss, John Levy, Taylor Brown, Grant Wilkins, Lori Anderson Moseman, russell carisse, Ariana Nadia Nash, Wanda Praamsma, Michael Harman, Terri Witek, Laynie Browne, Noah Berlatsky, Robyn Schelenz, Andy Weaver, Dessa Bayrock, Anselm Berrigan, Alana Solin, Michael Betancourt, Monty Reid, Heather Cadsby, R Kolewe, Samuel Amadon, Meghan Kemp-Gee, Miranda Mellis, kevin mcpherson eckhoff and Kimberley Dyck, Junie Désil, Micah Ballard, Devon Rae, Barbara Tomash, Ben Meyerson, Pam Brown, Shane Kowalski, Kathy Lou Schultz, Hilary Clark, Ted Byrne, Garrett Caples, Brenda Coultas, Sheila Murphy, Chris Turnbull and Elee Kraljii Gardiner, Stuart Ross, Leah Sandals, Tamara Best, Nathan Austin, Jade Wallace, Monica Mody, Barry McKinnon, Katie Naughton, Cecilia Stuart, Benjamin Niespodziany, Jérôme Melançon, Margo LaPierre, Sarah Pinder, Genevieve Kaplan, Maw Shein Win, Carrie Hunter, Lillian Nećakov, Nate Logan, Hugh Thomas, Emily Brandt, David Buuck, Jessi MacEachern, Sue Bracken, Melissa Eleftherion, Valerie Witte, Brandon Brown, Yoyo Comay, Stephen Brockwell, Jack Jung, Amanda Auerbach, IAN MARTIN, Paige Carabello, Emma Tilley, Dana Teen Lomax, Cat Tyc, Michael Turner, Sarah Alcaide-Escue, Colby Clair Stolson, Tom Prime, Bill Carty, Christina Vega-Westhoff, Robert Hogg, Simina Banu, MLA Chernoff, Geoffrey Olsen, Douglas Barbour, Hamish Ballantyne, JoAnna Novak, Allyson Paty, Lisa Fishman, Kate Feld, Isabel Sobral Campos, Jay MillAr, Lisa Samuels, Prathna Lor, George Bowering, natalie hanna, Jill Magi, Amelia Does, Orchid Tierney, katie o’brien, Lily Brown, Tessa Bolsover, émilie kneifel, Hasan Namir, Khashayar Mohammadi, Naomi Cohn, Tom Snarsky, Guy Birchard, Mark Cunningham, Lydia Unsworth, Zane Koss, Nicole Raziya Fong, Ben Robinson, Asher Ghaffar, Clara Daneri, Ava Hofmann, Robert R. Thurman, Alyse Knorr, Denise Newman, Shelly Harder, Franco Cortese, Dale Tracy, Biswamit Dwibedy, Emily Izsak, Aja Couchois Duncan, José Felipe Alvergue, Conyer Clayton, Roxanna Bennett, Julia Drescher, Michael Cavuto, Michael Sikkema, Bronwen Tate, Emilia Nielsen, Hailey Higdon, Trish Salah, Adam Strauss, Katy Lederer, Taryn Hubbard, Michael Boughn, David Dowker, Marie Larson, Lauren Haldeman, Kate Siklosi, robert majzels, Michael Robins, Rae Armantrout, Stephanie Strickland, Ken Hunt, Rob Manery, Ryan Eckes, Stephen Cain, Dani Spinosa, Samuel Ace, Howie Good, Rusty Morrison, Allison Cardon, Jon Boisvert, Laura Theobald, Suzanne Wise, Sean Braune, Dale Smith, Valerie Coulton, Phil Hall, Sarah MacDonell, Janet Kaplan, Kyle Flemmer, Julia Polyck-O’Neill, A.M. O’Malley, Catriona Strang, Anthony Etherin, Claire Lacey, Sacha Archer, Michael e. Casteels, Harold Abramowitz, Cindy Savett, Tessy Ward, Christine Stewart, David James Miller, Jonathan Ball, Cody-Rose Clevidence, mwpm, Andrew McEwan, Brynne Rebele-Henry, Joseph Mosconi, Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy, Oliver Cusimano, Sue Landers, Marthe Reed, Colin Smith, Nathaniel G. Moore, David Buuck, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Hargreaves, Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Erín Moure, Sarah Swan, Buck Downs, Kemeny Babineau, Ryan Murphy, Norma Cole, Lea Graham, kevin mcpherson eckhoff, Oana Avasilichioaei, Meredith Quartermain, Amanda Earl, Luke Kennard, Shane Rhodes, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Sarah Cook, François Turcot, Gregory Betts, Eric Schmaltz, Paul Zits, Laura Sims, Stephen Collis, Mary Kasimor, Billy Mavreas, damian lopes, Pete Smith, Sonnet L’Abbé, Katie L. Price, a rawlings, Suzanne Zelazo, Helen Hajnoczky, Kathryn MacLeod, Shannon Maguire, Sarah Mangold, Amish Trivedi, Lola Lemire Tostevin, Aaron Tucker, Kayla Czaga, Jason Christie, Jennifer Kronovet, Jordan Abel, Deborah Poe, Edward Smallfield, ryan fitzpatrick, Elizabeth Robinson, nathan dueck, Paige Taggart, Christine McNair, Stan Rogal, Jessica Smith, Nikki Sheppy, Kirsten Kaschock, Lise Downe, Lisa Jarnot, Chris Turnbull, Gary Barwin, Susan Briante, derek beaulieu, Megan Kaminski, Roland Prevost, Emily Ursuliak, j/j hastain, Catherine Wagner, Susanne Dyckman, Susan Holbrook, Julie Carr, David Peter Clark, Pearl Pirie, Eric Baus, Pattie McCarthy, Camille Martin and Gil McElroy.

The forthcoming forty-eighth issue features new writing by: Sunnylyn Thibodeaux, David Hadbawnik, Adam Haiun, Laressa Dickey, Tanis MacDonald, Monroe Lawrence, Jessie Jones and Frances Cannon!


And of course, copies of the first forty-six issues are still very much available. Why not subscribe?

Included, as well, as part of the above/ground press annual subscription! 2026 now available!

We even have our own Facebook group, and a growing above/ground press substack. It’s remarkably easy.

Sunday, January 11, 2026

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Aaron Fagan

Aaron Fagan [photo credit: Camilla Ha] is the author of five poetry collections, including Atom and Void published in October 2025 by Princeton University Press. His poems have appeared in Harper’s, Granta, The New Republic, and other publications.

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 by showing me that culmination is less about arrival and more about departure. In that sense, the new work mirrors the old; it revisits the same enduring questions but through a shifting lens, say, the way Powers of Ten by Charles and Ray Eames moves closer and farther from a single point of view.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I came to poetry thumbing around in an English textbook in the 6th grade. Our class almost entirely ignored the poetry section, but I stumbled across an Edgar Allan Poe poem, “A Dream Within a Dream,” and that made me a true believer in the magic trick of poetry that happens by virtue of breaking short of the margins.

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?
At this point, I write consistently, not in a set way; it’s become a recognizable feeling, a physiological pang no activity will satisfy but writing itself. It comes in stops and starts, and I don’t fight the rhythm it takes. Up to now, I have not been a project-based writer with a clear thematic subject in mind. The sonnets were an exercise in constraint that interested me, but they are tied together by an informal exploration of that form, not by any explicit unified vision.

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?

Poems can begin in a few ways. They can arrive in a flash, and I race to write them down before I forget them. I can misunderstand something in a way that feels interesting and write down a line or grab a group of abandoned poems, and then I dump what I have collected into something new and play musical chairs until it feels satisfying. Books come together the way poems come together, critical mass is reached, and some intangibly emergent quality arises, but no book I have published resembles its first manuscript in any way.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love reading; I rarely have the opportunity. I do think a poem working in its own way, read aloud, is part of its completion, even if it’s a challenging piece that would be hard for a reader to absorb on the spot.

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 some personal philosophical preoccupations that come out sideways in the work, but I do not write about things directly, and philosophies are always provisional, always doomed to fail. If anything, I write to shed my philosophies rather than reinforce them. Answers don’t interest me, but refining questions in the open-ended theater of awareness does.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in the larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
There may have been a time when the writer played some kind of role in culture, but that seems utterly anachronistic at this point. And the notion of the sage, the shaman, the canary in the coal mine, and the prophet all seem to have become suspicious enterprises. I wholeheartedly reject the Shelleyan assertion that poets are “the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I can’t say as though I have ever had the experience of an actual, extensive discussion of my work with an editor or anyone, where poems or books are engaged with any degree of depth and consideration. That absence has probably shaped my independence of mind, for better or worse.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Yusef Lateef, an advisor of mine when I was a student at Hampshire College, once corrected me for using the word “jazz” in his presence. He said, “I have never heard of this jazz that you speak of,” then wrote on a piece of paper, “Autophysiopsychic Music Definition: Music from one’s physical, mental, and spiritual self.” That has probably taught me more about poetry than I am even aware of. He was a paragon of artistic integrity.

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 when I feel the need to write, which is not to say I have something to say. My day begins with coffee, walking the dogs, and enjoying time with my wife before I drive her to work and then come home to do what I need to do for the gear engineering magazine I edit.

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

I don’t think in terms of my writing ever getting stalled. I trust the ebb and flow. Inspiration has never been a part of the equation for me. I do not wait for it; it only comes through making. Inspiration is a byproduct of action. If I have ever felt inspired to write something, it almost always ends in a disaster.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
My wife loves to burn Palo Santo. And she has a ranging perfume collection, so every day there is a rotating sillage to experience.

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?
Too many visual artists to name, but lately I feel the closest kinship with Richard Prince and Paul McCarthy. Music in rotation lately is The Moon Lay Hidden Beneath a Cloud, Magic Is Küntmaster, Amanaz, Broadcast, and Solid Space. Quanta magazine to stay up on physics. Too many movies to name, but I did watch Synecdoche, New York and Dead Poets Society again recently.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Eliot and Ashbery are poets I found impenetrable, and now I can’t imagine my life without them. Osip Mandelstam, Yehuda Amichai, and Alan Dugan were once indispensable to me. But not any longer, which saddens me. Albert Camus. Joseph Campbell. Gaston Bachelard. Haruki Murakami. Rene Ricard. John Berryman. Chögyam Trungpa. Denis Johnson. Mark Ford. Carl Jung.

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

Read for more than ten minutes at a literary event.

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?
My dream has always been to teach creative writing or return to editing a literary journal. I was the Assistant Editor of Poetry from 1998–2002 and that experience was the joy and education of a lifetime.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
The low cost. I loved painting, film, and photography, but those are expensive media.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The Cool School, edited by Glenn O’Brien, and rewatched The American Astronaut and Moments Like This Never Last.

19 - What are you currently working on?
I am writing a nonfiction book about DNA as the Dynamic Narrative Archetype.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Saturday, January 10, 2026

Stacy Szymaszek, Essay

 

            The sunshine hit in such a way
            meticulously tracked since the 1600’s
                       on that May day recovering from food poisoning it was brighter
than my own flame and ushered in an awareness of eternity the
            light on my face within the Victorian house now in our care
touched in its duller burning days the faces of poets philosophers farmers actors
                                     I tried for weeks to say even this much
                                                 to find a tone to live in for a while.

The latest from Hudson Valley, New York poet Stacy Szymaszek is Essay (Krupskaya, 2025), a book-length sequence of twenty-five extended observational lyrics—twenty-four numbered journal-poems, each titled “ESSAY,” along with “EPILOGUE: COW PARADE”—that ebb and flow across daily rural musings and other activity. “I drove through valleys of fog day after day,” begins “ESSAY 13,” “in the El Niño winter Catskill Creek overspilled its western bank / by over 200 feet swept away an elderly woman in her car / who drove around the road flooded sign / people are surprised by how easily water can overpower us / this is what my dad said followed by advice the trick / is to roll down your window before submersion / otherwise you’ll never get the door open [.]” Composed in a style familiar to regular readers of Szymaszek’s work, Essay records the details and nuance of daily activity, thinking and movement, composing a book-length poems on and around cows, as the author spends time in a Victorian house on a working farm. As the first poem offers: “A former student thought I was a farm / hand but mine is an office job on a small fairy farm right next to the milking / barn I visit the cows to stretch my legs and rotate my neck / to address conditions brought on by decades / of sitting at a desk.”

The publication of Essay follows numerous trade collections and chapbooks by Szymaszek, including austerity measures (Fewer & Further Press, 2012) [see my review of such here], JOURNAL STARTED IN AUGUST (Projective Industries, 2015) [see my review of such here], Journal of Ugly Sites & Other Journals (Albany NY: Fence Books, 2016) [see my review of such here], The Pasolini Book (NC/NY: Golias Books, 2022) and Famous Hermits (Brooklyn NY: Archway Editions, 2022) [see my review of such here]. Szymaszek’s book-length poem flows and moves intricately, slowly, casually and meticulously across meditation and first-person interaction, including relationships the author maintains, from their partner to extended family, farm-hands and various of the animals (mostly cows). The focus is reminiscent of Lydia Davis’ own chapbook-length short story, The Cows (Louisville KY: Sarabande Books, 2011) [see my review of such here], or even Michael Ondaatje’s early poem, “As Thurber would say – C*ws” from his debut collection, The Dainty Monsters (Toronto ON: Coach House Press, 1967), a poem previously seen in Raymond Souster’s infamous anthology New Wave Canada: The New Explosion in Canadian Poetry (Toronto ON: Contact Press, 1966). The former farm-lad in me might wonder, what is it about cows that attracts the attention of these urban writers?

There is such beauty in the movement, in the pacing, of these lines, providing echoes of New York School poetics, the “I did this, I did that” of Frank O’Hara or experimental journal-lyrics of Bernadette Mayer, but one with the added factor of ethos, writing of the relationships, and the inherent responsibilities, between human and livestock. Within these documented, journaled lines, it is precisely the relationships and their significances that become highlighted, not simply a document of the day or the movement or the thinking. “Two cows were in labor they carry for nine months,” Szymaszek writes, as part of “ESSAY 10,” “‘just like us’ she said ‘yes’ / and then disappeared into a task / with no parting words. I was aware my own womb/ had been up to some crazy shit all week messing up my / menopause dreams the brain dissolves as the body smarts / in all of this bio harmony with the wombs of old culled cows / in quiescence in estrus which is not menopause / the philosopher’s words like naked slats of wood / the height of the roof in constant flux / the thing is ‘the human form is as unknown / to us as the nonhuman’ (said Bruno Latour) my body is as unknown / to me as the cow’s body as Donna’s body / which I did not eat.”

There was something that caught my eye that Szymaszek wrote as part of their essay “VIVA PASOLINI!” in the anthology Other Influences: An Untold History of Feminist Avant-Garde Poetry, edited by Marcella Durand and Jennifer Firestone (London UK/Cambridge MA: The MIT Press, 2024) [see my review of such here]: a sense of the poem and poet connected to civic responsibility: “[Pier Paolo] Pasolini is the first poet who teaches me to turn existing poetry spaces into spaces for poets to be possessed by civic poetry, a poetry that is imbued with reciprocity between the individual poet and society.” There is something fundamental, perhaps, in that kind of thinking, that kind of approach, and the poems in Essay do seem simultaneously lighter, and deeper, than their prior work; attempting to articulate not simply of dailyness, but of something more weighty, more ongoing. Or, as the first poem in Szymaszek’s Essay closes, with an opening as wide as any kind of possibility:

            I don’t really know how to do the job but I survive
            by showing up everyday as a poet. Sometimes I can’t
believe how silly I am but then I remember I am very young
                        and have so much to learn.