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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 Good Night Nurse (2001) changed my life because I was called upon to design it with a friend of mine, Noel Black. We had to settle on an arresting cover and figure out the dimensions of the paper and get it printed, and we didn't trim the edges so then it also became an example of what not to do. A reminder to trim down the edges from then on. Most importantly it taught me that I could make books with friends that looked way better than the books that you were offered in a library for instance or books that placed a premium on having a spine.
My most recent book Siren of Atlantis relates to my earlier work because it's still my pile of poems asking to be collected and printed but I had a stroke almost 3 years ago and so a lot of the poetry is reflective of getting back up onto the horse and learning to organize my existence into poetry once again.
It feels different because now I seem to write long notebook poems of individual numbered parts, and they can be fairly different stylistically from section to section but all still contained under one open air roof. I think Philip Whalen's longer poems like Minor Moralia and Monday in the Evening space made this space possible for my voice. A poem that 'covers' the space of several days as opposed to the expected sort of tightly fitted box of poetry.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I was always more taken with the stories of the poets’ lives. When I was younger, I thought of writing prose as having a financial advantage certainly and it was obviously a more popular form of writing. It felt similar to being jealous of friends that were in bands, and they could express themselves in an atmosphere that was fun. Nonfiction is something every poet should try in order to pass down their own highly specific takes on which writers will last and why and how invested they can get you in tracking the particulars of composition. I also think engaging in essay writing helps open the possibility of writing a poem with material others might designate for expository prose. So maybe we learn these different forms of address in order to mix them all up in the end or to use them differently.
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?
Books of poems tend to take 3 to 4 years. I just let them pile up and then I'm very ruthless in terms of what actually goes into the manuscript. After the first draft of a poem, I tend to savor it and write a few more drafts in long hand in my notebook. I tend to allow myself to enjoy this initial period as I am more familiar with the way material becomes dictated, escaping my body. I do keep one notebook, so drafts of poems sit next to failed blurbs and new short stories and lists and fragmented outlines for classes.
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?
They usually begin by chuckling to myself for hearing someone say something that I admire or could even make sharper. Their thought then leads into the innermost chamber, and I fashion my own edition of what they're saying.
Once I set out on a poem I am scribing beyond immediate knowing but then the mortars of syntax come lumbering in along to make the whole thing solid. I like to take things out to see how much I can cut the machine down and still allow it to run.
My books mark definitive periods of my life. I don't have old manuscripts laying around gathering dust.
If a poem arrives in fragments over time and somewhat consistently then I tend to draw it up as a numbered serial poem.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I don't know that I look forward to it but I'm often excited about it on the day of the actual reading. I think because I don't necessarily need to read my work out loud that when I do read it feels like I'm somewhat pent-up emotionally. That energy can come off as revelatory sometimes. I think the public likes a poet who is not dying to read. It puts them at ease.
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 have a lot of theoretical concerns, but these are played out more often in the manner of an essay, sometimes in a single poem but not often as that's not something I can make happen.
Guard the Mysteries is a book full of theoretical concerns. But I hid this fact well by making it extremely readable.
"It's not what you say as a poet, it's how you live as a poet."
I keep mulling over that statement lately. It is attributed to the poet Tom Clark and was shared with me by Joanne Kyger. Who had seemingly borne these words out over time
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 think poetry is helpful for its scope of vision and its innately conceptual nature. I do think it helps to become adept in the syntax of prose. I am definitely attracted to the concept of having a large armory of voices and to be able to speak about politics from an almost untenable position.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I think of it as an absolute privilege and usually end up taking their advice, having already subjected my voice to the settings of several arrangers. It helps when the editor is a poet as well. I always love farming out the arrangement of my work. Each separate piece having already been overly considered. I feel somewhat open about order of the individual poems at that point. It feels like surrendering your paintings to a gallerist/dealer. Some may end up getting cut from the show or some get held in the back room for the absolute addicts when everything else has been sold.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
"Just write what's going on around you. Outside and inside."
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 usually head upstairs to my office around 930 and read something or listen to a reading or watch a short piece of a video or interview that sparks some level of speculation that then moves outward to music and I'm always trying to track or think back to when that impulse turns from listening to making the poem or story or blurb or that ever the form or raft may be.
I usually try and rid myself of the poem or the story or personal essay before I embark on the business of writing poetry meaning the blurbs, the contracts, the invoices and the true maintenance and drudgery of having a career.
I am usually done for the day around 4 pm
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Sometimes I turn to artists that seem to naturally contain a spiritual dimension. Anne Waldman, Margaret Randall, dg okpik. Or I turn to glamourous visual artists until I am sufficiently jealous and ready to lash out in verse
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
The scent of ripe blackberries in August
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?
All of the above actually. I feel like moving into curation is (in part) the next step for me.
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Recently Sid Ghosh, Terrence Arjoon, Laura Da', Mohammed Zenia, Will Fesperman and Anelise Chen
Always Eileen Myles, Simone White, Prageeta Sharma, CAConrad and Barbara Guest
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to be a guest on a good podcast
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?
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
The fact that I didn't need any special equipment beyond a notebook and pen to write. Once I read the poetry of Allen Ginsberg, I realized you could write about things that other people considered dark, and these poets just considered part of consciousness and that you could publish with smaller presses and were well designed. Blurring that line between editor and poet. I wanted to get involved with writing specifically at that level. The fact of having to self-publish the first chapbook was attractive. Finding the right cover artist is still a pleasure for me as is securing the right lettering. Secretly I'm a book collector and sometimes printer who lives to write poetry and now sometimes stories. Lately, I've been reserving the writing of stories for when I am away on a residency.
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Book: Emily Dickinson Face to Face by Martha Dickinson Bianchi
Film: American Promise by Michele Stephenson and Joe Brewster
19 - What are you currently working on?
Fiddling with a memoirish essay titled Early History of a Writer. Pulling together a book of collaborations with a variety of writers and artists. Preparing for a talk about Joanne Kyger's house. Gathering up all of my fledgling essays and art writing to make a book. Continuing work on my ever-expanding scroll of poetry.
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