Monday, September 30, 2019

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Erin Emily Ann Vance

Erin Emily Ann Vance holds a Masters Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Calgary and is pursuing a Masters Degree in Irish Folklore and Ethnology at University College Dublin. Vance attended the Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry summer course at Queen's University Belfast in July 2018, and was a fellow of Summer Literary Seminars in Nairobi in December 2018. She attended the Writers Guild of Alberta Banff Centre Residency in February 2019 and worked with author Kimmy Beach as part of the 2019 WGA Mentorship Program. Vance was a recipient of the Alberta Foundation for the Arts Young Artist Prize in 2017 (nominated by Aritha van Herk) and a finalist for the 2018 Alberta Magazine Awards for her short story “All the Pretty Bones.” Her debut novel, Advice for Taxidermists and Amateur Beekeepers will be released November 1, 2019 by Stonehouse Publishing, and her most recent chapbook of poetry, The Sorceress who Left Too Soon, was published by Coven Editions in June 2019.

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 chapbook was published by Loft on Eighth press in 2016 with their Long Lunch, Quick Reads Program, which occurs nearly every month with a new chapbook and lunchtime launch. The Night Will Be Long But Beautiful was an adaptation of my undergraduate honours thesis, which was a hybrid poetry memoir about the life and death of my uncle, Jeff Lakes, how his death had a ripple effect on our family, and an investigation of mountaineering and writing about mountaineers. It was unique because it utilized my uncle's photography and ephemera from his expeditions, particularly the 1995 expedition to K2 that led to his death. This chapbook absolutely had a profound effect on me and my my career, because it was later anthologized in a year-end collection of Loft on Eighth's chapbooks and then became part of the Print(ed) Word Project with Loft 112 (a Calgary arts organization) and Alberta Printmakers. I was paired with artist Tim van Wijk, who turned the chap into an exquisite art book. For Print(ed) Word, twelve artists and writers were paired with the intention to create limited edition art books. Copies of these art books are now on permanent display outside of the TD Great Reading Room in the Calgary Central Library, and a catalogue with all of the artwork and writing is available as well. The books have also been on exhibition in several galleries along the way. Not only did my first chapbook lead to amazing things (a speaker series, an upcoming salon series, and now a documentary!), it was a hugely important book for me to write. It allowed me to process parts of my family life that I didn't understand, and connect with my living family on a deeper level, as they were by my side every step of the way. I participated in this project alongside writers such as Aritha van Herk, Jani Krulc, Lee Kvern, and Barb Howard, and being considered in the same league as writers I have admired for years gave me the confidence to pursue more publishing opportunities.

Recently, I've published two more chapbooks, Someday I Will No Longer Write About You: Poems for My Family (Loft on Eighth), and The Sorceress Who Left Too Soon: Poems After Remedios Varo (Coven Editions). My chapbook with Coven was illustrated by Manahil Bandukwala. This was my first experience of having a book illustrated and the finished product is absolutely exquisite. The Coven team, (Stephanie Meloche and Mia Morgan) was a dream to work with, and I am over the moon with how it turned out. The Sorceress Who Left Too Soon feels very different to my two previous chapbooks because it was a longer journey from acceptance to publication, and there was the added element of illustration and design. Each Coven publication is completely different and I believe this is their first full-length chap! An immense amount of thought goes into every element, from paper to ink to incredible attention to editing.

Loft on Eighth produces multiple chapbooks a month, so their process is very different. Editor Igpy Kin is incredible to work with and one of my favourite artists, Stacey Walyuchow recently joined the team as designer. I love working with Loft on Eighth and hope to do more with them in the future!

My first novel, Advice for Taxidermists and Amateur Beekeepers, will be out on November 1st with Stonehouse Publishing. It's sort of surreal to go from chapbooks to a novel! Most people go from chapbooks to full length poetry collections, rather than poetry chapbooks to novels. I always thought I would, too, but I can't for the life of me stick to one genre and when I finished my first novel, I was still only about 1/4 done my first full-length collection. The editing process for a novel is more involved- there are more people at a publishing house than a small or micro press!

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

I've always written poetry and fiction, and I honestly can't recall a time when I only wrote one or the other. Being a poet makes my fiction infinitely better, and being a fiction writer gives me the liberty to take an image or a line and turn it into a book. I love writing in both genres because I never get bored this way, and an image or a story will appear to me and I have the freedom to find the right genre for it.

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 an obsessive self-editor, so the first draft feels like I am running on a very slow treadmill. I write in slow bursts. I also research constantly, so from idea to pen on the page may be weeks. A first draft for a chapbook can take two weeks to two months. I will spend hours writing a poem and then put it aside and edit at a later time. I approach fiction in the same way. It’s usually a slow but steady process all they way through.

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose 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 never used to work from the place of "is this a book?" but now I do. I think that after a few bigger projects your brain just starts to organize poems and scenes and stories into larger projects. It's subconscious, really. I took part in this year's Writers Guild of Alberta Mentorship Program, with Kimmy Beach as my mentor, and she showed me how amongst the pages and pages of poetry I gave her, were common threads tying all of the poems together into what I hadn't yet realized was a book.

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

I enjoy doing readings and have been doing them for over a decade now. As a teenager I competed in poetry slams and did spoken word. I worked with Sheri D Wilson who taught me so much about performance that my readings are infinitely better because of her, even though I no longer write spoken word.

Readings are part of my process, because they are a way to stay involved in my community and meet and interact with other writers. I am quite shy so I don't go to as many as I should, but whenever I do they are always a lovely experience. I love hearing other writers read their work, and then carrying their voice in my head when I return to their books.

On a more selfish level, readings are a great way to gauge how people react to your work, and an avenue through which people can discover your writing.

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 think the current questions have a lot to do with who is telling which stories. We are finally, as a literary world, understanding that this idea of ‘giving voice to the voiceless’ is absolute fallacy and thus I think that the biggest and most important concern is that you are not telling someone else’s story for them, for your own gain. I think that whenever we decide to write a new book or story we have to ask ourselves if we are taking space away from others. It is important that we are not co-opting the experiences of others for our own gain.

More specifically, my writing often addresses fear and grief relating to the bodily experiences of women. I often find myself grounding my work in the female gothic and Kristeva’s work on abjection.

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?

The writer always has a role, especially in a culture that is continuously devaluing the arts and upholding an unsustainable gig economy. It is an act of resistance to dedicate your life to something that capitalism deems unworthy. In a continually plugged-in world, it is also the writer’s job to provide a reprieve from screens and notifications; as a fully-engaged with the internet millennial, one of the most powerful things is a book that makes me ignore my phone and computer until I have finished it. I want my books to be the sort of books that people leave their phones in the other room for.

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

It is essential AND enjoyable. All good writing needs to be in collaboration with a good editor at some point, and so far I’ve had amazing editors.

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

Stay curious and question everything.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?

It’s really easy for me, though I do occasionally favour one over the other. Writing in multiple genres helps me to stay limber in my writing and to not lose sight of the joy in writing. Whether you write multiple genres or not, it is vital to move between genres while reading.

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’m moving to Dublin in a month, so with all of that preparation I don’t have a routine at the moment! I write whenever possible, whether it’s dictating to an app on my hour long commute to work, or scribbling something down half awake in the middle of the night. I do try to take a half-day off of work to go to the library and write every week. With my most recent chapbook just having been released and with a novel coming out, my work is mostly follow-up and admin at the moment, however!

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

History and folklore. When I am stuck, I read history books and folklore. Without a doubt, something always piques my interest.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Wet dogs, coffee, pipe-smoke, chickens, whiskey, cigarettes, grass, sawdust, wood smoke, English breakfast tea, and lavender

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?

I write ekphrastic poetry so art is a huge influence on my work, especially surrealism and dadaism. I dabble in mixed media collage art. My father and brother are both musicians, so music is also important to my practice; I use it to get into the tone of a particular piece, or to help transport myself to a time or place in history. I mentioned before the importance of history and folklore to my work, so I spend as much time as possible steeped in that; I’m even beginning a second masters degree in folklore in September!

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

The writers most important to my work right now are Shirley Jackson, Barbara Comyns, Sandy Pool, Sandra Kasturi, Doireann Ni Ghriofa, Annemarie Ni Churreain, Seamus Heaney, Miriam Toews, Anna Burns, Joy Williams, Carmen Maria Machado, Amber Tamblyn, Camilla Grudova, Gaetan Soucy, Marie-Claire Blais, Toni Morrison, Helen Oyeyemi, Christine Dwyer Hickey, and Emma Donoghue.

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


I’m very interested in non-fiction, particularly investigative journalism. I would love to branch into True Crime writing one day. I’d also love to start a podcast.

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?


Funeral director, criminologist, or forensic anthropologist. I wanted to be an FBI agent and catch serial killers when I was growing up, probably because of all of the X Files, Six Feet Under, and Criminal Minds I watched. I don’t really believe in only ever having one job or occupation, and I am still in school with hopes to work as an archivist in the future, in addition to writing.

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

I always loved writing, and other things that interested me (like the aforementioned serial killer catching) involved a lot of science and math, which I did not excel at in school. I toyed with being a teacher for a long time and was even accepted to an education program, but I decided to do my MA instead, which I am very thankful for, because although I do enjoy teaching, teaching grade school just isn’t in the cards for me! I worked in the Archives and Special Collections at the University of Calgary during my undergrad and first masters and found that environment to suit me much better. Turns out this introvert likes the quiet- who knew?

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

Can I go by genre? It’s been a good year for books!

I just finished Maryse Meijer's new short story collection Rag, and was blown away by it. I couldn't put it down. The stories are disturbing and fascinating and deeply, deeply human.

I think my favourite novel of the year so far was Milkman by Anna Burns. I read it at the beginning of February and haven't stopped thinking about it. It’s lead to what may be a bordering on unhealthy obsession with The Troubles. Milkman is quirky, nuanced, and nothing short of brilliant; it’s a great companion novel to my favourite nonfiction book of the year, Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland by Patrick Radden Keefe. At its core, this book explores archival practices during and after conflict, something I am absolutely fascinated with and on the surface is concerned with the disappearance and murder of Jean McConville in 1972.

I'm reading Robin Richardson's poetry collection Sit How You Want right now, and it's highly addictive: intelligent, sharp, and exciting.

I don’t watch many films (that’s my partner’s territory) but I recently watched the documentary I, Dolours written by Ed Moloney and directed by Maurice Sweeney. It uses archival footage of IRA activist Dolours Price to tell her side of the Jean McConville story.

20 - What are you currently working on?

Right now, my second novel is with beta readers and my first full-length poetry collection is out on submission. I am in the idea stage of a third novel, which will be a slight shift in genre (diving into a bit of historical fiction), and 2/3 of the way through a short fiction collection. I am also working on two follow-up chapbooks to The Sorceress Who Left Too Soon, each one responding to the work of another female surrealist painter. I’m also working on a true crime essay about a murder that occurred in my hometown

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Sunday, September 29, 2019

Fucking Poetry : guest edited by rob mclennan,

The British e-newsletter Fucking Poetry solicited me as a guest-editor recently, and I thought it would be interesting to include, as my issue, poems from five recent above/ground press titles: Natalie Lyalin's Short Cloud (2019), Alice Burdick's A Holiday for Molecules (2019), Jane Virginia Rohrer's Fake Floating (2019), Stuart Ross' 10 TINY POEMS (2019) and John Newlove's THE TASMANIAN DEVIL and other poems: Twentieth Anniversary Edition (2019). You can find a web version of the issue here, with the five poems, as well as an excerpt of my needlessly-long introduction, which I include in full, below (why would you include that? ugh):
Given my chapbook press, above/ground press, recently celebrated twenty-six years, I thought it would be interesting to select five poems from titles that have appeared with the press throughout this year. This was tricky, given I’ve already produced some three dozen titles or more since January. For the length and breadth of the press, it has run entirely around my enthusiasms as a reader, with new titles appearing as often as my energies and cash-flow might allow. I produce works that excite me, so I can then distribute them to others, in the hopes that they, too, will become excited.

2018, the press’ twenty-fifth year, saw the publication of sixty-seven chapbooks, as well as four issues of the quarterly Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], an issue of The Peter F. Yacht Club, and the debut issue of G U E S T [a journal of guest editors] (a new issue of which appears every two months), as well as further bits of ephemera. With the press some three dozen titles away from an accumulated one thousand titles, I would offer that my enthusiasms are more than most, and I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to produce numerous first chapbooks by now well-known writers, as well as new publications by an array of established poets, with half the titles any given year by Canadian authors, and the remaining by American authors (with the occasional further-flung poet appearing as well).

In 2019, alone, I’ve felt incredibly fortunate to be able to produce chapbooks by poets such as Natalie Lyalin, Zane Koss, Michael Dennis, Jane Virginia Rohrer, Pearl Pirie, Stuart Ross, Marilyn Irwin, Conyer Clayton, Michael Sikkema, Julia Polyck-O'Neill, Gary Barwin, Kate Siklosi, Mairéad Byrne, Kimberly Campanello, Stephen Cain, Kyle Kinaschuk, Paul Perry, Gregory Betts, Gil McElroy, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Stephanie Gray, Billy Mavreas, Alice Burdick, Heather Sweeney, Franco Cortese, Dale Smith, Virginia Konchan and Laura Farina, with forthcoming titles soon by John Newlove, Jessica Smith, Ben Robinson, N.W. Lea, Lydia Unsworth, Allyson Paty, Guy Birchard, Simina Banu, Hawad (trans. Jake Syersak), Susanne Dyckman, Dennis Cooley, Ben Meyerson, Isabel Sobral Campos, Mary Kasimor, Amanda Earl and Andrew K Peterson.

There is an incredible amount of great writing that exists out there in the world. Is it any wonder I’m enthused?

Saturday, September 28, 2019

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Susan Buis


Susan Buis completed her MFA in Creative Writing at California State University, Long Beach.  Her poems and nonfiction stories have been published in many literary journals, most recently Poetry is Dead, and have won several awards. Her writing has also been longlisted for CBC Canada Writes. A chapbook Sugar for Shock, winner of the John Lent Prize, is available from Kalamalka Press, and the collection Gatecrasher from Invisible Publishing. She teaches communications at Thompson Rivers University and lives near Kamloops / Tk’emlúps BC.

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?

There’s a special gratification that comes from holding a physical book, this concrete thing that has weight and presence, when for so long you’ve been holding your book as an abstraction.

My chapbook sugar for shock won the John Lent Poetry /Prose Award with the best part of that being associated with the venerable John Lent, who I met recently at a reading of his new collection A Matins Flywheel. A wonderful poet, mentor and human.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?  
I was studying at Cal State University Long Beach where my husband was on faculty, with the thought of working towards an English Literature or Art History degree. I got into a 4th year creative writing poetry class, somehow, because I couldn’t get into the non-fiction one. But turned out I just loved poetry and started writing a lot in my backyard under the avocado tree, overlooking the concrete LA River. I applied to that university’s Creative Writing MFA in Poetry, and was accepted with just that one class. I was unprepared for the MFA program though, with so little background in poetry’s practice or theory, and knew nothing about American poetry. I had to work very hard. 

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?

Oh it’s a slow, slow process. Early mornings I encourage intuitive drafts and hypnogogic ramblings to get me started, but then I usually have to leave it to go to my job. Later I will dig into those notes to pick out phrases of interest and then use them to outline a sketch or an underpainting that I will fill in with research and craft. It’s an enjoyable process really, though every stage gets more painstaking. I can relate to stories about Elizabeth Bishop who sometimes took decades to finish a poem. 

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose 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?  

So much is at work unconsciously, but a poem often begins with the title, a phrase or word that runs through my mind for a day or so, and later developed. My poems are loosely connected through themes and preoccupations, but I don’t set out to write a book with a pre-determined narrative.

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

In a strange way I enjoy public readings, strange for an introvert.  As a university instructor, I have to face and speak to a crowd of people with varying levels of interest in what I have to say, and it’s quite draining to do so. It’s refreshing to read to an audience that wants to be present and listen, and to receive energy from their attention.  

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 love to read about the perceiving body, phenomenology, which leads to thing theory and how bodies relate to the material things in our lives. This shows up in my writing; I don’t consciously set out to write about theory in poetry, though it does flavour the work.

The questions that concern me are how to live ethically in this world, how to be a good steward and minimize my impact, and how to confront my privilege and to better listen.

The current questions are very troubling. So troubling I can barely consider them…the loss of life forms and the vitality of the world, and this is where intolerance and violence rushes in…to fill this loss. I hold a constant ache about it.  

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? 

With so many dishonest and manipulative voices in the political sphere and in social media content, it is crucial for writers of fiction and non-fiction to be fearless and honest.  I’m thinking about authors I most recently read: Alicia Elliott, Vivek Shraya and Gwen Benaway, among others. I learn much from them and admire their integrity.

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

Outside editors rescue me from the whirlpools of my own head and tell me what the text is like for them. They are essential for me, and I honestly love working with them.  I find it’s best to edit with a cold, cold heart, not that editors have those…. but they lack the sentimental attachment to a piece that can get me into trouble.

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

Anne Carson’s interviews about writing are really inspiring and funny; I love listening to her speak.  And I always experience Carson with pencil in hand as I scribble quotes on my notebook covers. My current favorite is: “Edit ferociously and with joy; it is very fun to delete stuff”.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?  

As a poet, I work on finding the right visual form for the content, trying out different shapes and sequences. Usually it’s quite easy for me to take text and move it around in a plastic way. I take this visual and tactile quality of the text and apply it to genre as well. Can this poem run across the page and live as prose? Can this essay be cut up with line breaks and work as poetry?  A text may go back and forth between genres before settling. I have to try things out, can’t preconceive them. When I write non-fiction it tends to have a lot of poetry within it.

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?

Anything significant will happen in early morning. That’s why I show up at the table then with coffee.  First drafts and content creation happen in morning, but the work of research and editing can happen at any time of day.

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

Reading poetry. When I read others, it renews my fortitude, and I resolve that yes! it is possible to do this…. I get much joy and vigor from other poets.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

I come from generations of people who lived by the sea: fishers, sailors and merchants, from Yorkshire, to New England, to Nova Scotia, so the Atlantic Ocean is the smell of home: a little funky, minerals and ozone. In Nova Scotia where I stay in summer, the ocean also carries the sweet smell of hay and roses on it. The Pacific Ocean smells much different.  

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?

Music, especially in live performance is the juice; recently, Philip Glass’s Violin Concerto No. 2 the Four Seasons, soloist Yolanda Bruno was so astonishing. I was charged for days. That’s a creative state for me to be in.

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

There are so many! To name just a few: Ocean Vuong is thrilling. And Emily Dickinson’s strangely brilliant. Sue Goyette’s Ocean is a frequent source of fascination for me. The poets I’ve read most often for more than twenty years are Federico Garcia Lorca and Dionne Brand.

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

Artistically, I’d like to work on a collection of essays or perhaps long form poems. But I’ve no interest in writing prose fiction though I love to read it.  A dream is to buy a small house in rural Italy, with no internet connection, where I can retreat to just read books and write. Romantic, I know.

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?  

Well, before I was a writer I was an artist and gallery administrator in the artist run system, which I loved, but left that behind to move to California with my husband who was faculty at Long Beach State. I didn’t have a green card though, so studied instead and ended up with an MFA in creative writing. My green card arrived the same day the moving truck did to bring us back to Canada. If I stayed there though I thought I’d be a barista / poet. 

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

I was a painter for some years, but space to work was sometimes a problem. Writing is an activity beautiful in its economy of means: no materials no supplies, you can compose while walking or washing dishes and make this thing, this story, out of nothing become physical on the page.  I find the activity of poetry very similar to that of painting, with their common use of abstractions, illusions and layers of meaning.

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

Go, Went, Gone by Jenny Erpenbeck, helped me understand the current situations of African migrants in Germany; I learned so much from that novel about contemporary events, conflict and empathy. A novel can teach me so much more than reading the news can.  Closer to home, Son of a Trickster by Eden Robinson was one of those great reads that I finished in a couple of glorious sessions— generally I’m a slow reader. As for film, The Great Beauty (La grande bellezza) by Paola Sorrentino, about a writer in Rome, tackles the big topics like beauty, banality, art and desire.

20 - What are you currently working on?  

Poems: animatronics— abject ones.


Friday, September 27, 2019

Mary Ruefle, Dunce



DUNCE

I am always up for a bog, said Mary.
I, too, am always up for one, said I.
And so we put on our rubber boots.
I love being in rubber boots, said Mary,
and I said the same. The ground sprang
as we bogged, the bog wavered as we sprang,
orchids & mushrooms, mushrooms & orchids,
slender & pink, squat & brown.
And as the light fell the eyes of the fireflies
were all around, like Tinkerghosts.
There is in my house, she said, a stovelight
that never goes off. And in my car, I said,
there’s a dashlight that never goes off.
What warning has no end and ends without warning?
She thought I didn’t know!

A new Mary Ruefle title is always worth celebrating [see my review of her prior collection], and her latest poetry collection, Dunce (Seattle WA/New York NY: Wave Books, 2019), is an assemblage of short lyric narratives composed in fresh and unexpected turns. Through a dozen or so poetry titles, as well as a collection of essays, Bennington, Vermont poet Mary Ruefle is known for composing poems that utilize meditative precision amid abstract reflection, striking hard facts into the ether, even as she writes in the striking poem “LITTLE STREAM”: “I couldn’t be born again, ever, / so I sat by a little stream / with my eyes closed.” There is always something wistful in tone in Ruefle’s poems, even as she speaks to mortality, sadness, grief and death, an underlying current of hard pessimism (or realism, depending on your perspective) that runs throughout her work, and this book as well, no matter what her subject matter in each individual poem. It is almost the effect of watching a leaf twirl through the air before it lands in the mud, knowing that the leaf, there, is still beautiful. One might point to the poem “LORRAINE,” a short piece that twists and twirls before the final third, that reads:

Like a wild swan
with a blue shadow,
I no longer care what I say.
You no longer exist.
I try to remember my dream
but as soon as I turn on the shower
it’s gone.

An interview with Ruefle that Cecilia Tricker conducted for The White Review earlier this year references the time she referred to herself as “eight years old at heart,” and asking about metaphors and a sense of wonder. As Ruefle responds: “No, making metaphors doesn’t create a sense of wonder, what creates a sense of wonder is the human brain, in which metaphors arise spontaneously and unexpectedly (as they don’t ‘exist’ in nature); for me, it’s the brain behind the act that now astonishes me, the mysteriousness of our brains, and, of course, life itself in all its forms, plant, mineral, and animal.” There is a sense of wonder to this collection, one that does, at times, seem child-like in its openness, connecting the body and the heart to the natural world, but that sense could just as much come from the array of references to childhood throughout (that suggest, but do not presume, reminiscences from her own childhood), such as the poem “BATH TIME,” that ends: “for even a small child / knows the affliction / of language.”

Apart from being one of the few contemporary poets able to properly use exclamation marks (and so many!), there is something about Ruefle’s poems that switches from the mundane to the fantastic to the moment within the moment (concurrently managing both dark and delightful), intertwining and interconnecting in such a way as to suggest that the mundane and the fantastic are simply two sides of the same moment. The difference might be only one of perspective, approach or through the connections that she, herself, makes. Through such an array of information, Ruefle makes the impossible connect, and her connections seem comforting, and all-encompassing. “You loved and were loved,” she writes, in the poem “A NEW DAWN,” “said the bee to the lily / before buzzing off.” How does she manage such complexity and grief with lightness and ease? Or the opening of the poem “THE HEART OF PRINCESS OSRA,” that reads:

I want to slow down and reflect,
like the top waters of a lake
or the heart of Pincess Osra
who had nine suitors at one tie.
I want to thank my clothes for
protecting my body. I want to
fold them properly—I want
the energy that flows from my hands
to engulf the world.