Blair
Trewartha’s debut collection, Easy Fix (Palimpsest Press,
2014), was shortlisted for the Relit Award. He is the author of three
chapbooks: Break In (Cactus Press, 2010), Porcupine Burning (Baseline
Press, 2012), and Human Energy (Anstruther Press, 2022). Blair’s poems
have recently appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Prairie Fire, and
The Fiddlehead. Born and raised on a farm outside of Clinton, Ontario
(Treaty 29 Territory), Blair now lives in London, Ontario (Treaty 6 Territory)
with his partner, two children, and their hyper Beagle. Half-Earth is
his second full-length collection.
1
-How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel
different?
It’s
hard to compare them, but I think the biggest difference is the context and the
focus of the poems. My new collection, Half-Earth (Palimpsest Press, 2026),
feels broader in scope and yet much more personal than Easy Fix, which
was published way back in 2014. Easy Fix generally explored the current
culture at the time and alienation, the tension between rural and urban life,
and the poems had the restless energy of a younger narrator trying to locate
himself within a fractured culture, asking where he fits into it all (which
makes sense since I wrote a lot of that book in my late 20s).
Half-Earth
looks outward to climate change, artificial intelligence, and the pandemic
while filtering those concerns through fatherhood, illness, and family history.
It moves more deliberately between personal memory and experience, deep
history, and an uncertain future, and it is written from the perspective of a
parent wondering what kind of world his children will inherit. It’s much more
personal. Half-Earth feels like the question has changed from one of
belonging (like in Easy Fix) to one of coping; the poems acknowledge
where we are now, how we got here, and where we’re going next, but they’re
exploring how we cope with all of this. What does it mean to live, and go about
our lives and raise children in a world full of failing systems, whether
environmental, socio-political, economic, technological, a planet and species
nearing our demise?
2 -
How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I actually started writing mostly fiction in my
youth, several short stories and a never-finished novel, but once I had initial
success with publishing a few poems in literary magazines in my early 20s, I
started to focus more exclusively on poetry. Eventually, fiction fell to the
wayside. Although if I think back to high school, frantically scribbling in my
journal at night when I couldn’t sleep or sneaking back to the creek on my
parents farm to smoke cigarettes and attempt poems and song lyrics; that was
all poetry, long before I ever attempted to write a short story. Poetry was
always the initial impulse to write.
Every once in a while I make another attempt at
fiction, but I rarely get far. It feels sluggish and stalled, like I’m learning
a new language and struggling for vocabulary and structure. I’d like to get
back to it someday, but there’s something about poetry that feels more
intuitive and also more malleable, more workable, and I find it easier to
actually finish a poem or collection. The initial creation seems to come from
impulse and spur of the moment; but then I can edit and fine tune it later. I
think poetry will always be my first impulse, and more workable as a craft to
me.
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?
My writing process varies, depending on the poem, so
my answer to most of these questions would be yes and no. Sometimes, a poem
flows quickly out of an experience or moment, like it did with the poem
“Lightshow” in my new book, Half-Earth. I was putting my son to bed one night
after he had choked on a marble earlier that day, and he started asking me
questions about what dying looked like. The entire poem is almost verbatim our
conversation, and I wrote that down immediately after leaving his room once he was
asleep. It went through some editing in my workshop group and with my editor,
but 90% or more of that poem hasn’t changed from its first draft that night.
Most poems though have a much longer grinding
process, working through drafts in my workshop group and with my editor, even
if the initial draft comes out in full. It could take months to write a single
poem and have it ready for publication, while once in a while a poem comes full
force in a matter of minutes. It’s rare, but beautiful when it happens.
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?
For both my poetry collections, I was never working
on a book as a cohesive concept until at least 75% of the material was written.
It was more a matter of slowly churning out enough poems to finally justify
structuring it into a manuscript and submitting to publishers. I think the
themes and topical sections of the book came out organically based on the
things I was preoccupied with over several years.
5 -
Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the
sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Public
readings are always a mandatory after thought and never part of my creative
process. I’ve never actually thought about reading a poem in public until the
book or chapbook is published, and discussions about launches start. Like many
writers I’m sure, I’d rather be reading or writing privately than performing in
public, partially because I’m introverted, and partially due to a moderate but
consistent level of social anxiety.
With that said, I also can’t deny that magical,
extremely rewarding feeling of a book launch, the responses and feedback from
the audience, the relief afterwards when it all goes well. It’s a special
moment, to feel part of a literary community that welcomes you and wants to
hear what you have to share.
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 in Half-Earth in
particular, I’m trying to explore what it means to live in our current reality,
to progress and raise children and attempt to move forward and what impact that
has on us, knowing that as both a species and a planet, we are devolving, we’re
in decline even as we continue to innovate, expand, procreate, and live our
lives. I’m stuck on this idea of how do we continue individually and
collectively living day to day, which is always focused on progression (whether
that’s our passions, careers, children, relationships, homes, etc.) knowing
full-well that the human population and the planet are on a downward trend.
I guess I want to know what it means to survive on a
personal level knowing that it’s likely no longer possible for us to thrive or
even potentially survive long term collectively. What does it mean to cope and
live our lives with so many facets of our world (environmental, political,
social, economic) in decline? It’s a strange feeling in the back of your mind,
this backdrop that’s always in crisis, as we commute to work and buy coffee and
take our kids to soccer practice. Cognitive dissonance is used a lot, but I
think that implies it doesn’t affect us consciously or subconsciously, but I
believe it does. It’s the impact I want to explore.
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’d
love to say the writer has a specific, vital role in a culture because I
believe we do have that potential, but ultimately, I think the writer’s role is
simply to participate in a given culture, to
experience the world and cope with life by producing art. Ideally, the
work they produce helps others cope as well. Writers are often expressing joy
or sorrow, portraying social or political injustice, or deeply intimate
personal experiences. Either way, I think it’s all a form of processing and
coping with the world around them, and expressing that aloud for others to
experience as well.
8 -
Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or
essential (or both)?
I
only have experience working with two editors, Karen Schindler from Baseline Press, and Jim Johnstone from Anstruther Press and Palimpsest Press, and both
were essential. A good editor can see things you can’t, weaknesses in your
poems that you’re too close to. I’ve never actually found it difficult, but
I’ve also been lucky to work with incredibly skilled editors. With both my
first book and my second, I think I placed an immense amount of trust in Jim
Johnstone, knowing that he has the rare ability to balance deserved praise with
much needed criticism. He finds that perfect middle ground between generosity
and objective ruthlessness (and that is a compliment). He knows when to tell me
a poem is complete and impactful, and when to chop off a stanza or two or even
pull an entire poem from the manuscript because frankly, it’s not good enough
yet. That’s such an incredible gift to receive as a writer trying to improve
their craft.
9 -
What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you
directly)?
If
you’re given a space in the literary community, create two.
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 wish I had a writing routine, but I don’t. Two kids and a full time career,
and an autoimmune condition that requires me to put a lot of time and energy
into physio and exercise and self-care, makes it very hard to have a regular
writing routine. Instead, my writing is sporadic, writing a poem in my head as
it comes to me on a walk with the dog or driving or reading a book, and at
other times it’s extremely intentional, where I block off time to be alone for
a couple of days so I can be more productive. In order to finish Half-Earth, I
had to book four days of vacation and go solo to an off grid cabin with nothing
but my laptop, no internet, and a pile of books. If I could do that even just a
few times a year, I’d be far more prolific than publishing two books 12 years
apart. Hopefully the third book comes much sooner.
11 -
When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a
better word) inspiration?
I turn to nature and reading,
coffee shops and libraries. It’s very much a physical location change that’s
needed when I’m most stuck. That, and I read when I can’t write. It softens my
mind and gets the words flowing again. If I can be reading at a cabin in the
woods, or a hammock at a campsite, even better. Also, listening to music and
walking the dog at night. I don’t look for specific sources of inspiration to
initiate stalled writing; I look for specific environments and stimulation to
get my mind to the right place.
12 -
What fragrance reminds you of home?
I grew up on a farm in a drafty
farmhouse built in the late 1800s, so three distinct smells remind me of home:
dead flies, cow manure, and fresh cut hay. I haven’t lived in that house since
my early twenties, and it was sold and destroyed many years ago, but to this
day, I can still vividly conjure the exact smell of the upstairs hallway and my
old bedroom, and I think it’s a combination of those three smells. Such a
weirdly comforting combo of good and bad smells.
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?
I
tend to agree that books come from books. Reading puts me in the mindset to
write, and nature gives me the temperament needed to write a poem and open
myself up to the lines that come. Most of the time, that’s the peaceful quiet
walking down a nature trail or camping or cottaging by a lake or river, but
sometimes it’s also the chaos and energy of a busy downtown street, staring out
a coffee shop window and watching a city churn.
14 -
What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life
outside of your work?
There
are too many to name, but there were several books I was reading deeply while
writing Half-Earth, including the poetry collections I mention later in
question 18, but also the non-fiction title The Future is Analogue: How to
Create a More Human World (David Sax) and several articles about climate
change, technology, deep history, mentioned in the acknowledgements section of
my book. A few of my favourite fiction writers are Ocean Vuong, Zoe Whittall,
and David Huebert. As for poets, some favourites over the years have been LizHoward, John Wall Barger, Matthew Dickman, Ben Ladouceur, Triny Finlay, and
most recently Sabrina Spenser Smith, Zane Koss, Brandi Bird, and Jenny Berkel.
Outside
of my own writing, I edit chapbooks for Anstruther Press and on my own
independently offer manuscript edits and consultations, and this brings me so
much genuine joy. I get to see early drafts from incredibly skilled writers,
some of them on the cusp of their publishing careers and others more seasoned,
and I get to work with their poems and help mold and tweak and fine tune them
into their final published artifact. It’s so satisfying, and I’m continually
amazed at what others are doing, how truly spectacular so many emerging writers
are.
15 -
What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Skydive,
solo back country camping, become fully fluent in a second language, learn to
hunt (sustainably & respectfully), publish a novel or short story
collection.
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’m
a learning specialist and instructional designer, and formerly a teacher, so
education had always been my career plan. Writing was always my passion, but
never something I pursued as a career. I suppose if I could pick any job, I’d
love to teach creative writing at a University, something I never did in my
12-13 year teaching career. Alternatively, if I could pick any job regardless
of income, I’d work in a bookstore or a library, simply because I can’t think
of a better place to spend 5 days a week. It’s always been a fantasy of mine.
And yes, I realize what I actually want is to be a customer in a bookstore 5
days a week. Working in one, I’m sure, comes with all kinds of stress and
pressure that I’m not aware of.
17 -
What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Compulsion
and anxiety, and listening to Neil Young in high school and discovering Alden Nowlan and Patrick Lane as a teenager. Writing has been there since early high
school, when I started devouring novels and poetry books and writing
frantically in my room each night when I couldn’t sleep. It stayed with me all
of these years, but became more intentional, more steady. The compulsion to
write, to me, is more important than every other aspect of writing like editing
and publishing and promotion. Whether or not I have a publication or a public
reading, or even if I don’t write anything new for several years, the desire
and impulse to write will, I deeply hope, always be there, or always return
when it’s stalled.
18 -
What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Last
great novel was Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong. I’ve read so many
phenomenal poetry collections over the last year or so, but the few that stood
out the most were Sabrina Spenser Smith’s A Brief Relief from Hunger, Triny
Finlay’s Myself a Paperclip, and Matthew Dickman’s Wonderland and Husbandry. I rarely watch films anymore, but on a rare occasion I went to the
movie theatre and saw One Battle After Another, which was a wild ride.
19 -
What are you currently working on?
Not
allowing my writing to grind to a halt now that I’ve finally published my
second book. After my first, I developed my career, had two children, got a Masters degree, and had a spouse with a
very busy career, so it took 12 years to publish my second full length. I’d
like to make the third book happen sooner, not for any time line, just so that
writing continues to be part of my daily life even when life gets chaotic.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
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