Kathryn MacDonald’s poetry has
been published in Room, FreeFall and other Canadian literary
journals and anthologies, as well as internationally in the U.K., U.S., and
other countries. She is the author of the chapbook, Wayside: asmall boat, a vacant lot, a man (March 2026, BPR Press) and the chapbooks Liminal
Spaces (2025) and Far Side of the
Shadow Moon (2024) – both Glentula Press. A Breeze You Whisper: Poems (2010) and Calla & Édourd (novel, 2009) were published by HBP. For more
information https://kathrynmacdonald.com.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?
My first creative work was a short novel, Calla
& Édourd. It provided the confidence to return to my great love,
poetry. Since Calla & Édourd, I’ve published a full poetry collection
and three chapbooks. Now, The Blue Gate is being released by Frontenac
House this spring. It’s been more challenging than the other works, more
personal, and feels more risky. The
Blue Gate is essentially one long poem written in series with a long
titular poem at its core – not dissimilar to the novel.
2 - Where does
a poem or work of fiction 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 begin as attempts to articulate the
emotion that hovers around situations. In The Blue Gate, they witness:
the surprise of love, the surreality of grief. One thing is constant, true to
the lyrical form, my writing ravels and unravels in natural settings, and it
tends toward lament. In this way, writing toward understanding, I focus on a
collection as I write. However, I am also constantly scribbling pieces that
become independent, stand-alone poems that coalesce around subjects and themes.
It’s the writing, in the first instance, the book follows when I reach a
certain place and the fire catches.
3 - 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 enjoy the reactions of
listeners and the discussions that follow. That doesn’t mean that I don’t stew
about what to read and what to wear, worry about which poems to read, about whether
my voice will modulate, be soft and strong, be engaging.
4 - 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’m fascinated with the way mythology and
folklore repeat and repeat in life and in writing. For example, the ‘call’ or
invitation that comes when we’re perched uncomfortably on the threshold between
what is known and the unknown. Accept the call and you’ll step into a quest
(think Joseph Campbell; think Phil Cousineau; think Rebecca Solnit). It happens
all the time. In The Blue Gate, after Jim’s death, I was bereft, a mess,
when a surprising invitation came to travel to Kenya where I confronted questions
around love and death and what follows bereavement. With respect to the current
questions, they swirl around destruction the natural world, the political world
of oligarchies and capital, the apparent blindness (helplessness?) about
genocide in Palestine, and the economic isolation of Cuba to name just a few.
While I collect volumes of ‘witness’ poetry and read it on the web, I write
only occasionally in that genre.
5 - Do you
find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or
both)?
Both a pre-publication editor, who can
identify strengths and weaknesses in individual poems and the overall structure,
and an editor to work with during the publication process are both
essential. I love the challenge of working with an editor, love discovering what
s/he finds in my writing. Of course, I fluff my feathers with positive feedback,
but knowing what editors (and other readers) read into or miss in my work is a
growth experience. I welcome it.
6 - 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 have the luxury of being able to write
daily, but reading others’ poetry books is important to my writing process and
a part of my writing day. A few years ago, I began writing reviews for my
website, trying to figure out what makes a book work; more recently, I’ve been
publishing reviews. My reading also includes books that discuss poetry. For
example, How a Poem Works by Adam Sol, The Elephant of Silence:
Essays on Poetics and Cinema by John Wall Barger, Ten Windows by
Jane Hirschfield, books by Mark Doty, Robyn Sarah, and so on that discuss writing
and reading poetry are inspirational.
7 - What
fragrance reminds you of home?
What a fascinating and unexpected
question. Lilacs. Lilacs bloomed outside our bedroom window in the first home
that Jim and I shared together here in Amherstburg. And when we moved north of
Kingston, lilacs were wild and rampant on the limestone rise on which our home stood.
Lilacs always remind me of nights with the window open, the scent of love.
8 - What other
writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of
your work?
Long-poem books have a special attraction
for me. A few on my bookshelves draw me back again and again, as both
inspiration and insight into the form. Each in its own way demonstrates how to
maintain movement and interest over pages. Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf
is an all-time favourite, as is Derek Walcott’s Omeros, they
articulate a myth or are written over the skeleton of a myth. I’ve been a
sailor and have a particular fascination with rivers and seas, so Dart
by Alice Oswald, which is written in the voice of “the river’s muttering,” is
often pulled off the shelf. Magnetic North by Jenna Butler describes a
sea voyage and environmental damage to the Svalbard archipelago, a beautifully
crafted collection about a desperate situation for place and people. Another
long-poetic narrative is Karen Clavelle’s Iolaire, which captures
people, place, an historic tragedy, and I respond to its political undercurrent.
For similar reasons, I return time and again to The Caiplie Caves by
Karen Solie – the surface story and the theme written between the lines.
9 - What would
you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Dreaming big: I would love a long retreat
in the Hebrides and/or Highlands of Scotland to concentrate on figuring out
that shadow identity – to explore generational memory that lingers and why does
it matters – a universal question. While I research, I learn most through my
body, hence, I’d love to sail through the Northwest Passage and experience
something akin to Jenna Butler’s discoveries during her time aboard the Antigua
and the exploration to the Svalbard archipelago. I’d love to see the world at
peace, to see equality, the end of genocide, and a valuing of nature on this
fragile earth and wish I was the kind of poet who writes timely and engaging
witness poetry.
10 - What made
you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Most
of my work has included writing – anonymous reports and speeches, editorial
work on magazines and books, teaching literature and writing at the college
level. I cannot imagine not writing.
11 - What was
the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The last great book shifts like the wind.
I’m presently rereading Leaf Counter by D.A. Lockhart. He brings
Indigenous questions to Al Purdy country and the Loyalist county in which the Purdy A-Frame stands. Lockhart’s craft is impeccable; his voice passionate; his
point of view fresh and timely. I am haunted by The Dialogues: The Song of
Francis Pegahmagabow by Armand Garnet Ruffo. In a completely different
vein, I read and reread Hunger: The Poetry of Susan Musgrave. It reminds
me of her early influence on my writing, and it reminds me that as writers we
grow, even when our themes remain similar.
12 - What are
you currently working on?
Currently, I have three or four chapbook
collections. As for a work-in-progress, I’m also trying to understand what my
pull toward travel means, what draws me to the way we build beliefs and
conversations upon mythic and folkloric structures, the pull toward the
complexity of identity, the repetition of patterns. I write on the Canadian
canvas where the majority of us have come from elsewhere, across generations,
where we build on land that has a pre-colonial history and reality today. I
feel as if there are answers hidden in places, answers I want to uncover and
understand.
12
or 20 (second series) questions;
