12 or 20 (second series) questions with Kristina Marie Darling

Kristina Marie Darling is the author of twenty books, which include The Arctic Circle (BlazeVOX Books, 2014), Fortress (Sundress Publications, 2014), and Scorched Altar:  Selected Poems and Stories (BlazeVOX Books, 2014).  Her awards include fellowships from Yaddo, the Ucross Foundation, and the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation, as well as grants from the Kittredge Fund and the Elizabeth George Foundation.  She was recently selected as a Visiting Artist at the American Academy in Rome.

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?
I feel like my first book opened up everything for me.  In the process of giving readings, doing interviews, and reaching out to critics and reviewers, I really started to feel like I was part of a community.  I'll always be grateful to Jared Michael Wahlgren of Gold Wake Press for taking a chance on my first book, Night Songs.  But my recent work is definitely more experimental than that first poetry collection.  Night Songs was a thematically linked poetry collection, containing many prose poems that addressed classical music in some way.  Lately I've become much more interested in fragmented forms, since I feel like they leave more room for the reader's imagination. 

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I came to poetry after a short career as a failed fiction writer.  I tried to write short stories, but the problem was, I approached them with a poet's mindset.  I didn't really care about plot, but spent all of my time crafting evocative images.  It was after several terrible short stories that I realized that poetry was a better match for 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?
A book-length project takes me about a month.  This is because when I have a manuscript in progress, it literally takes over my life.  It consumes all my energy until I've finally finished it.  For me, revision is easiest when I'm in this mindset, so I mostly revise the book as I go along, changing certain passages after I've written the next one.

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?
I mostly work with long poems and book-length projects.  But I usually find the larger project, or the overarching theme, as I write.  I usually start out with a short piece or two, and from that, a structure emerges.  It's almost impossible, for me at least, to feel like I'm working on a book from the very beginning, since the book never turns out the way I think it will. 

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love doing readings.  I look at them as an opportunity for dialogue.  You not only get feedback on your work-in-progress, but you make valuable connections with other poets.  I enjoy meeting poets whose work is much different from my own, since these are the poets who challenge me most, and who I learn the most from.  For me, readings present the perfect opportunity to make these kinds of connections. 

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 mostly write in appropriated academic forms (footnotes, glossaries, appendices, etc.) with the goal of rendering scholarly discourse more inclusive.  More often than not, academic conversations are predicated on acts of exclusion.  Most of us could probably name many things that supposedly don't belong in an academic paper.  These rules serve mostly to keep certain groups of people from participating in scholarly conversations.  With that in mind, my writing blends these received academic forms with types of language that would never appear in an academic paper - autobiography, aestheticized diction, etc.  I'm trying to figure out what scholarly inquiry would look like if it's language, and its forms, were more democratic.  I definitely think that one of the most pressing questions currently has to do with where we draw the line between "creative" and "critical" discourses. 

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?
It seems like most writers position themselves as cultural critics, but this is problematic, because the poetry community especially is so insular.   I think that writers should still hold a mirror to culture, but they should also look beyond their own communities to effect change.  

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I love working with editors, particularly when publishing book-length works.  I say this because I've had editors make suggestions that surprised me in the best possible way.  Even when I have a clear vision for what a given book will be, I really value feedback from someone who's been through the process many more times than I have. 

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Poetry is 20% art and 80% business. 

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
I love working in other genres, particularly reviewing.  When writing reviews, I do close readings of other writer's work, and this teaches me a great deal that I can apply to my own craft.  It's also nice because when I'm at a standstill with a poetry manuscript or a larger creative project, I can turn to my work in another genre and hopefully find some inspiration there. 

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 definitely pride myself on not having a set routine.  I write when I can, and when I feel that I have something I'd like to say.  But much of my poetry wouldn't exist without artist residencies.  For me, it's crucial to have time set aside that's just for writing, and to be free of other obligations.  This is what enables me to sink deep into myself and begin writing. 

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
When my writing is stalled, I read everything I can get my hands on.  This includes poetry, of course, but also many texts that would never be on a poetry workshop syllabus.  By this I mean Victorian novels, astronomy books, the work of visual artists, and even mathematical books.  More often than not, it's strange non-poetry related texts that provide the best inspiration and direction for my work. 

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Yankee Candle's plug-in air fresheners. 

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?
That's a great question.  The time I've spent at artist colonies (Yaddo, the Vermont Studio Center, the Wurlitzer Foundation, etc.) has been a really important influence on my poetry.  What's great about artist colonies is that you're exposed to work in so many different mediums - music, visual arts, writing, and everything in between.  I immediately became interested in work that crosses disciplinary boundaries, and have since done many collaborations with artists.  My recent book, Music for another life, was co-written with photographer and costumer Max Avi Kaplan.  He would take beautiful Polaroids and I'd write poems in response to his work.  I've also collaborated with installation artist Naoko Ito and composer Dale Trumbore, both of whom are very talented.  I feel lucky to have had the opportunity to participate in these artist residency programs at such an early stage in my career, and to be exposed to such compelling work in other disciplines. 

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
One of the first contemporary poets whose work I read was Eric Baus.  I was in college at the time, and picked up a copy of his magnificent book, The To Sound.  His work showed me that meaning in poetry doesn't always have to be clear cut, and that the reader can assume a more active role, participating actively in the process of creating meaning from the text.  More recently, I've found the work of Kim Gek Lin Short, Lucie Brock Broido, Leah Umansky, and Emily Toder to be particularly inspiring. 

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I've always wanted travel Europe by train.  I had a friend who claimed to have done it, and he said that the views were spectacular.  I've also thought about writing a novel, but all of my attempts at fiction usually become a prose poems, flash fictions, or something else entirely. 

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?
If I could pick another occupation, I'd probably choose to become a visual artist of some kind.  I've always wondered what it would be like to be liberated from my laptop, and to work with materials that are more tangible.  If I hadn't become a writer, I would have probably done something in this vein, perhaps working on text-based installations, paintings, etc.  This makes sense to me because my poetry is so visual, and frequently manipulates the space of the printed page.   

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I've always said that you don't choose to be a poet, but rather, it's something you're called to do.  I chose to write because, really, I had no choice.  It was something I was compelled to pursue, whether I liked it or not.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The last great book I read was Shelly Taylor's Black-Eyed Heifer.  I've always admired poetry collections that create their own rules, their own syntax, and their own worlds.  Shelly Taylor has done all that and more.  It's a beautiful book, and one that I'd definitely recommend. 

And I'd have to say the last great film I saw was Nebraska.  It combines deadpan humor, interesting visual choices (the film is shot in black and white), and dysfunctional families.  It doesn't get any better than that.   

20 - What are you currently working on?
I'm working on a new collection of prose poems called "The Sun & the Moon."  The book will be a love story, a ghost story, and an astronomy guide all in one.  Stay tuned for details!

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Kristina Marie Darling, Vow

What does a white dress not resemble? Shattered glass. A burning house.

I had always imagined the day would look like: velvet backdrop onto which the landscape is projected like a sad film. Somewhere in that picture, a declaration.

But long before we’ll enter the house. You’ll notice a man with dark hair looking out the window. Tell me what you see in him.

A locked room, but what else—?

From Buffalo, New York poet Kristina Marie Darling (publisher of Noctuary Press) comes the new trade poetry collection, Vow (BlazeVOX, 2014). Composed as a single, extended sequence, Darling composes her poem using fragment and footnote, constructing her poem as part essay, part gothic romance and part abstract, painting a portrait of a scene in five parts—“Vow,” “Appendix A: Marginalia,” “Endnotes to a History of Brides,” “Appendix B: The Letters” and “Appendix C: Misc. Fragments.” Darling’s Vow is reminiscent of Laura Mullen’s Enduring Freedom (Los Angeles CA: Seismicity Editions, 2012) [see my review of such here], a collection of prose poems exploring ideas of the bride and the wedding. Less an exploration of ideas surrounding such, Darling deconstructs a single narrative of a domestic space, one akin to a prison sentence, writing “Once the bride enters, there’s no way out.” Given the position of Victorian women, the sentence she describes was an impossible one: it was either marry or remain abandoned, and some situations allowed for no good choices. Darling writes: “A small fortress. I can no longer remember/ the weight of a bouquet in my hand.” A lovely lyric constructed around a rather pessimistic scene (and indeed, a promise), the short, dense collection Vow intrigues, in part for the density of the work; stitched and stretched and torn apart. The scene she describes, nearly a boiled-down core of a number of Victorian-era novels, is explored, but not as critically in-depth as it could have; with description and dessication but little commentary, context or explanation, leaving the lyric to hold more of the poem together than it should. Still, Darling’s bio at the end of the collection writes that she is the author of a dozen trade poetry collections. I am curious to see more.

What does a white dress actually resemble? Fallen branches. A dead hummingbird. You watch as it hesitates on the cusp of otherworldly.

Before, I had sewn the dress together as: pure threshold, a bridge between myself and the rest of him.

Tonight I’ll dream of housefires, everything I burned for warmth. Smoke rising from a silk hemline. Tell me if this changes anything—?

I wanted to wear the dress, but neither of us knew how—

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Kristina Marie Darling on Noctuary Press

Noctuary Press is a small press based in Buffalo, NY. We focus on female writers working with cross-genre prose forms (such as flash fiction, prose poetry, footnoted texts, etc.). All too often, writing that is easily classifiable as “poetry,” “prose,” or “nonfiction” is privileged over exciting literary work that is not so easily categorized. Noctuary Press seeks to create a public space for women writers working across literary genres. We publish writing that does not simply challenge the notion of genre, but engages it in a meaningful way, assessing both the artistic possibilities and the dangers inherent in maintaining genre categories.

With that in mind, Noctuary Press strives to open up a dialogue among writers, reviewers, and readers about what constitutes a literary genre, the purpose of genre categories, and, perhaps most importantly, the politics of genre categories in the literary community. We focus on female writers because these efforts to define, label, and categorize literary texts often reflect larger power structures in the literary community and in the academy.

Our 2013 series includes titles by Carol Guess, Kristy Bowen, and Eva Heisler.

1 – When did Noctuary Press first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
Noctuary Press began in the fall of 2012, although almost a year of planning had taken place beforehand.  When I initially started the press, I was very interested in publishing cross-genre prose work.  I thought I'd mostly be publishing flash fiction and prose poetry.  One thing that's really surprised me (in a good way) is the infinite variety inherent in cross-genre writing.  I began to see that writing that engages questions about genre doesn't necessarily have to take the shape of a prose poem.  We've published erasures, lyric essay, and even a book-length meditation on the line.  I've really enjoyed seeing the variety of the submissions, and the many different ways writers approach these questions of genre. 

2 – What first brought you to publishing?
I've been fortunate enough to publish several books while still a graduate student.  For me, publishing a book was a really transformative experience, since it allowed me to be part of a literary community.  When I started the press, I really wanted to give something back to the literary community, and to make these opportunities available to other writers. 

3 – What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
In my opinion, small press publishing serves to democratize public literary spaces.  When there were fewer publishers, fewer voices were heard, since only privileged individuals had access to the means of production and dissemination.  The revolution in technology, and proliferation of small presses and little magazines, has given social groups outside of the mainstream a voice.  Because anyone can become a publisher, and at a very low cost, we've seen a greater diversity of people represented in public literary spaces, including women, experimental writers, writers of color, and the list goes on.

4 – What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
Many publishers working today are interested in cross-genre writing.  But so much of the work that's published is merely rebellious, and rejects the notion of genre without interrogating it in a meaningful way.  Noctuary Press does just this.  We are interested in work that examines the sociopolitics of genre formation, and our books are intended to start a conversation about genre among readers, reviewers, and other small press publishers. 

5 – What do you see as the most effective way to get new chapbooks out into the world?
I see social media technology as an extremely useful tool for promoting new books.  In my opinion, sites like Facebook, Twitter, etc. make it possible to reach infinitely more people than at a literary reading or author event.  In my experience, it's usually friends who come to readings, and most of them already have copies of my books.  Promoting books online makes it easy to reach people who might not already know about the press, and who would likely be interested in getting copies of our books. 

6 – How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
Although I'm very involved in book design, I'm not too involved in editing the work itself.  I definitely trust the authors who's work I select, and allow them to make edits to their own text up to the point it goes to the designer. 

7 – How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
We publish books with an initial print run of 50-100, but will print more books if these sell out.  We distribute them through Amazon.com, as well as through author readings and events. 

8 – How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
I'm the sole editor of Noctuary Press, so I'm responsible for choosing the work that gets published.  I work with David McNamara of Sunnyoutside Press in order to provide books of a professional quality.  Usually, I'll do most of the interior layout for the book, and make suggestions about cover design.  David then designs the cover and sends the book to the printer.  I'd definitely recommend his services to anyone looking to start a small press. 

With that said, I think of myself as collaborating more with the authors themselves than other editors.  I actively seek input from them about cover art, review outlets, promotions, etc.  The benefit of being the sole editor is that I'm able to work much more closely with the authors than I would otherwise. 

9– How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
I started the press because these questions about the sociopolitics of genre formation were important to me, and to my work as a poet.  Starting the press has shown me myriad possible approaches to this same question.  It's made the concerns about gender, genre, and power that I engage in my own work richer and more multifaceted than they seemed before.  It's been a privilege to be exposed to new forms of writing, new possibilities, and writers with different backgrounds than my own.

10– How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
It depends on the goals you have for publishing your work.  If you want to get your work out into the world, than publishing your own book may be the most expeditious option available.  But some writers seek a sense of legitimacy by being able to say that they've made it past a cultural gatekeeper other than themselves.  I think both perspectives are perfectly legitimate.  With that said, I prefer to be published by other presses, since this process has helped form valuable connections with other writers and editors.  Being published by another press also helps bring your work to a new audience, which is something that's also very important to me. 

11– How do you see Noctuary Press evolving?
I'm hoping to publish more books in the future, and to represent greater diversity in our catalogue.  I see the press continuing to publish women writers working across genres, but representing greater variety within the categories of "women writers" and "cross-genre writing."

12– What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
We've had a very encouraging critical response to the works we've published. I've been delighted by the intelligent reviews, positive features about us in magazines, and the incisive analyses I've seen of our titles.  In the future I'd like to work on improving sales.  I look forward to getting more books into people's hands, since this will benefit the press and the authors.  I feel that the authors we've published deserve a wider readership, and I hope to accomplish that for them. 

13– Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
Kristy Bowen's Dancing Girl Press was definitely an inspiration.  I marvel at how many books she's able to publish as the sole editor, designer, and distributor.  And the quality of her editions is something I aspire to.  The same goes for Gina Abelkop of Birds of Lace Press.  I'm grateful that there are other women before me, who have shown others what's possible within the realm of small press publishing. 

14– How does Noctuary Press work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Noctuary Press in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations?
Since most of our authors reside outside of the greater Buffalo area, we haven't engaged with the local literary community to a great extent.  For this reason I'm very excited about our first publication launch in Buffalo later this month.  I see the press as being in dialogue with presses that publish experimental writing—like Tarpaulin Sky Press, Apostrophe Books, Sidebrow Books, Dusie Books, and many others—although surely I flatter myself here.  With that said, I also see the press as making up for something that other presses aren't doing, so Noctuary is filling a gap in this conversation.   

15– Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events?
Noctuary Press offers to set up readings for authors, and I wish more people would take us up on that offer.  I think readings are important for aesthetic reasons.  The audience is able to see how the poet envisions her work existing as performance.  I think that more readings are performances than we realize.  Every poet has a persona, and this is often an extension of the work itself.  With that in mind, it's important to get to know how the poet represents her work out in the world. 

16– How do you utilize the internet, if at all, to further your goals?
I use the internet for almost all the press's promotions, marketing, etc.  I don't think that Noctuary could exist without it.  While it's important for Noctuary to build and audience in Buffalo, the internet is what allows us to reach people beyond our immediate community.  The internet is also useful for finding out about author's we'd like to publish.  It adds to the diversity of our catalogue, and the richness of the conversation surrounding our books. 

17– Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
We operate mostly by solicitation, but hope to have an open reading period in the near future.  With that in mind, we aren't looking for traditional poetry, work that doesn't take risks, or writing that doesn't question the literary tradition that the writer has inherited.

18– Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
Our most recent title is Kristy Bowen's the shared properties of water and stars.  It's a remarkable book.  Kristy presents us with poems in the guise of algebra word problems.  Never have I seen mathematics and logic rendered so beautifully. 

Carol Guess's F IN offers a provocative engagement with the tropes of genre fiction.  She has erased her own YA novel, leaving only shards of a story that once was whole.  I love that she invites the reader to assume a more active role, rather than passively glossing over the literary tropes they already know to expect. 

Lastly, Eva Heisler's Drawing Water offers readers a beautiful matching of form and content, in which the author's smallest technical decisions illuminate and complicate the text itself.

12 or 20 (small press) questions;

Handsome journal, volume 5, no 1

THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL BUT YOU ARE

NOT IN IT

Let me refer to myself in glorious ways:

colors seem brighter, the sky is a shocking blue.

I carry my stomach in this bowl

and earth is planted in my blood.

From your last letter, I gather hills.

I’m trying to keep my tenderness in check.

Trying to see what kind of grill the neighbors have

is everything I couldn’t do before.

Now brown eggs shift heavy in my palms, this bowl.

Words make their way up my thigh.

I swear very nice boy and I refer to myself.

No. The hills are holding you and I refer to myself.

Let’s be honest: I need a real man, I say out loud.

Every weakness I have settles into a tree trunk,

stays all winter. I don’t know if I mean it.

Winter has lasted five years already.

This morning I press into the edges of my stomach.

My mother makes coffee in California.

Ladies will say we are expert with machines

but they will be two bottles under sangria.

I said you could make music out of this.

Ingesting artificial palm trees, exploding.

Your letters are getting shorter. I am getting close

enough to the sun to touch the tip of its cigar.

We carry what is shocking and heavy in blood.

Music seems brighter: the sky the sky. (Morgan Parker)

After a short wait, I finally received my contributor copy of the fifth annual HANDSOME journal, produced by Black Ocean. Launched recently at AWP in Boston, this issue contains one hundred and twenty pages of strong writing, most by writers I haven’t previously heard of. I’m slowly and still working my way through learning the names and writing of contemporary American poets, but there are still only two that haunt the pages of this new issue, being Deborah Poe [author of a recent chapbook through above/ground press] and Brian Henry. A graceful journal of new poetry, HANDSOME is edited by Paige Ackerson-Kiely and Allison Titus, and published by Janaka Stucky. Another of a series of journals who publish work sans author biography, I’m left with the work itself, immediately struck by the work of Morgan Parker, Kristina Marie Darling and Sarah Goldstein. There is something of Jenny Boully’s The Body: An Essay (Slope Editions, 2002) to Kristina Marie Darling’s poem, in that the footnote quickly overtakes the body of the poem. Sarah Goldstein’s pieces in this issue are a small handful of “untitled” prose-poems, wrapping a rather straightforward lyric story with just a hint of something more, something surreal, akin to Miranda July or Lydia Davis. She says just enough in each piece, but there is so much more beneath the surface; suggested, but still hidden.

UNTITLED (PROPERTY)

The woman in the house down the road, whose phone bill you accidentally received and ripped open, fills her doorway, out of which wafts the dark smell of potpourri. You’ve seen her in the branches of the furious thickets between your houses calling her dog, thrashing like a shark in a net. You talk about the neighborhood squirrels: the big one with deep cuts on its shoulder, and the other one that made it through the winter without any fur. Large white cat in the window, large yellow dog pushing and whining behind her. “Oh, you’re so bad, you’re so bad,” she says to him. The dog always runs to you when he sees you, snapping the leash out of her hand, shoving his desperate head into your belly.

Some other pieces that struck include Jenny Drai’s poem “DER ABFLUG,” as well as Audrey Walls’ striking poem “Aquaphobia,” which ends with the lines: “You could drown in two inches // of water, my mother once warned. All you need / is someone to hold you under.” Kerri Webster has four poems in the new issue, each with the title “DIADEM,” and I wonder if these are a stand-alone quartet, or, like Noah Eli Gordon’s The Source (New York NY: Futurepoem Books, 2011), part of something much larger? I would like to see more.

DIADEM

Jupiter is fucking with me. What I know

of cruelty: a world is made

we did not ask for. In the dark, boys

set the dog on fire, let it loose

in the field. What

do you believe? Chanting what

as you go to sleep? I

see: same trees. Same locust

blossoms. I walk and walk. Smoke

from the burning scrapwood

shuts my eyes.