Jeffrey Skinner has published eight full
collections of poetry, and a number of chapbooks.
His most recent collection,
Sober Ghost, appeared in 2024.
His Selected Poems won the Sexton Prize
(England), and will be published in 2027.
In 2014 he was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship in Poetry, and in 2015
was given an American Academy of Arts & Letters Award for literature.
His books have been winners of The National
Poetry Series, The Crab Orchard Prize for Poetry, The Field Prize, and the
Sexton Poetry Prize.
Over the years his
work has appeared in
The New Yorker, The Atlantic, The Nation, The Paris
Review, and
Bomb, among many other journals.
His recent work has appeared in
Volt, Fence, The North American Review, and Poetry Ireland.
1 - How did your first book or
chapbook change your life?
My first book was with Wesleyan, and it did change my life—it gave me the courage to quit my job and look for a
teaching job, which is what I really wanted to do.
How does your most recent work
compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Because I’m at a different place in
life, the surface concerns (which also have deep roots) are different, though
it seems I’m obsessed still by the same questions.
2 - How did you come to poetry first,
as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Poetry excited me—I recognized
something familiar in it—myself, probably.
I couldn’t read enough of it.
Then I started writing, in recognition.
It was like coming home, to a place I’d never been. I loved novels too, but was oddly untempted
to emulate them. Later I tried writing stories
but, as Creeley said, I couldn’t think of anything for the characters to
do. Dreamboat is a kind of
in-between place—halfway between poetry and fiction. That’s also the place my plays seem to come
from.
3 - How long does it take to start
any particular writing project?
Sometimes it seems to happen right
away, sometimes it takes years to percolate.
Does your writing initially come
quickly, or is it a slow process?
When I’m writing it’s easy and fast,
when I’m not writing it’s slow and impossible.
Do first drafts appear looking close
to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
I love revision, but it depends on
the project. Some things seem to come
out whole, ready to be published. Others
take tons of revision, repurposing, collaging, etc.
4 - Where does a poem or work of
fiction usually begin for you?
Usually with a line, or the rhythm
for a line. Sometimes after three or
four similar pieces, I’ll see the larger shape ahead and “aim” subsequent
pieces toward that whole.
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 generally “just write poems” for a
while, until it occurs to me what the pieces have in common. Then, it usually turns into a book of poems,
or, in the case of Dreamboat, prose poems.
5 - Are public readings part of or
counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing
readings?
Frankly, I enjoy them less as I get
older, though I still do them with some pleasure. I don’t find they have much to do with the
actual writing process.
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?
“Theory” doesn’t interest me,
philosophy does. The current questions
are the old questions, which we still can’t answer—“Why is there something
rather than nothing?” “Why are we here?” “What is meaning?” Only the emphasis changes; these days the
obsessive old question is “What is consciousness?” Which is especially
worrisome because of AI. But all the old
questions lurk behind every work of art, every book of poems.
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?
The “writer,” if he has a role in the
larger culture, has to do generally with how many books he sells. Thus, “writers” when they are mentioned at
all, are generally of the James Patterson variety. The “literary writer” has no role in larger
culture at all. I’m not unhappy with
this state of affairs. I like working
alone, in the dark.
8 - Do you find the process of
working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I’m lucky in that I’ve had largely
positive experiences working with editors.
With books of poems one generally finds the process of editing boils
down to which poems to cut, sequencing, and titles. I imagine it’s different with prose.
9 - What is the best piece of advice
you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
“A writer is a reader who is moved to
emulation.”
10 - How easy has it been for you to
move between genres (poetry to prose to plays)? What do you see as the appeal?
It’s nice that I have some knack to
move between genres, because I generally switch when I’m not in a poetry
writing mode. I can move from poetry to
plays, and, when I’m dry in either of these preferred genres, non-fiction
prose.
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 try to write every day. Generally, I begin by reading prose—a novel
or a science nonfiction book. Then I
read poetry. Then I try to write. When not writing, I wake up and worry, and
try to distract myself from distraction by distraction.
12 - When your writing gets stalled,
where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I return to a book of poetry that was
formative for me in my twenties: Ariel, say, or The Lice.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of
home?
Cut grass.
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?
Yes—science, music, and visual art
have always influenced me, and continue to do so. I was the 2014 Artist in Residence at the
CERN collider, for example, and I am still mining the inspiration of that
stint. But observation of my own
life—its people and events, is still the main source of my “material.”
15 - What other writers or writings
are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I’m currently reading Lydia Davis,
who I love; she gets me going. But I
can’t separate the work of writers and friends and family I know from their
influence on me, which is immense.
16 - What would you like to do that
you haven't yet done?
I’d like to skydive. No I wouldn’t.
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?
Probably a courtroom defense
lawyer. But I hate to think about
it.
18 - What made you write, as opposed
to doing something else?
As John Ashbery says, “I tried each thing, only some were immortal and free.”
19 - What was the last great book you
read? What was the last great film?
Serotonin, by Michel Houellebecq; movie: The Quiet Girl
20 - What are you currently working
on?
A new book of poems.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
Tuesday, August 18, 2026: First thing in the morning (well, eventually), we managed our 11am rental car and noon check-out (grudgingly, achingly, slow) and began heading out, catching two different locations for Guy's Frenchys, an infamous clothing thrift store chain [we'd been through prior, but I seem not to have mentioned it]. I mean, we had to make the trip bearable for our young ladies, didn't we? Rose loves her thrifting. Bins upon bins upon bins of second-hand clothes, as our young ladies took turns clogging the stores' dressing rooms. 
