Matthew Gwathmey, Family Band

 

FAMILY BAND

What was there to do but to play music?
Me on guitar and my sister on fiddle.
Father came out after tuning to blow
The porch top off with his harmonica.
Then a second cousin, on seeing shingles
falling sure on embouchure, would bring
his five-string banjo, mumbling about picket
fences, Double Dutch and potluck suppers.

Singers, we always had lots of singers.
Back in the house, next door, up in the hollow.
Singers we couldn’t hear. Singers we didn’t want to.
Our songs turned out grief lessons:
“The Little Lost Child,” “O Molly My Dear,”
“How Can We Stand Such Sorrow,” “Bury Me
Under The Willow Weeping.”

Nothing in return but quick toe taps
and off-beat claps, next tune chosen
by the fastest caller. That is,
until a few of our aunts came,
right hands flicking with rulers,
and made us all sing gospel hymns,
about life after life after.

The third full-length collection by Fredericton poet Matthew Gwathmey, following Our Latest in Folktales (London ON: Brick Books, 2019) [see my review of such here] and Tumbling for Amateurs (Toronto ON: Coach House Books, 2023) [see my review of such here], is Family Band (Guelph ON: The Porcupines’ Quill, 2024). There’s long been a playfully-askance approach Gwathmey has taken blending formal elements of lyric and narrative, and this collection is no different, offering sharp lines across a folksy, familial and detailed backdrop. “2022 is the year of the lilac,” he writes, to open the poem “LILACS,” according to the almanac. // So tonight let’s walk the trail behind our house. // To the bushes growing in very great plenty and already divided. // Find an offshoot. Plant it in our side yard where it scent can flourish / in the full sun. // Water and wait. We’ll alternate scions with random grafts, // until its flowers appear at eye level, appearing just before summer / comes into season, // blooms lasting only a couple weeks.” Through short, sharp lyrics, Gwathmey swirls together a mixtape’s-worth of earworms and experience, documenting road trips, birdwatching, visual art, nature walks and playing music, a broadband of all that circles the domestic of family life, rippling quietly outwards. “Savannah sparrows gather ten times / their weight in detail to orchestrate / the ratio of land to water,” he writes, as part of the lyric “BIRD CARTOGRAPHERS,” “call a light tsu. Caroline / chickadees, cleaner edge of cheek patch, / mark dots of cities and dashes / of contours using a broad palette.” I particularly enjoyed the triptych prose-poem sequence “PHOTOGRAPHS OF BUILDINGS / BY DIANE ARBUS,” the first of which begins: “Chimneys can’t push out but so much steam, even the outline’s unfocused in blurry vapour. A quiet loosening of rigid matter. And how far they jut into the postsecular project of this guy, the sky. Just imagine such alternatives.”

Matthew Gwathmey, Tumbling for Amateurs

 

A DIVE

Look to Sparta
or Athens
or Rome
for examples
of how to
reduce risk.
Jump for height
and distance,
alighting on praxis.
Bend arms,
duck head,
and forward
body over.
Never strike
the middle
of your back first.
Gradually
increase the height
and distance
until you can
dive across
the whole court
without jolting
or bumping
yourself in the least.

The second full-length collection by Fredericton, New Brunswick poet Matthew Gwathmey, following the full-length debut, Our Latest in Folktales (London ON: Brick Books, 2019) [see my review of such here] and the chapbook looping climate (above/ground press, 2022), is Tumbling for Amateurs (Toronto ON: Coach House Books, 2023). “We have no other way to touch each other.” he writes, to open the poem “NO OTHER WAY.” “Really no other way to touch each other. / We seek this particular exercise because / we have no other way to touch each other.” Compiled as a collection of collaged and reassembled text and image, Tumbling for Amateurs is a book of lyric translation, response, poetic structure, play and verve, riffing off an athletic manual of the same name, described on this collection’s back cover as “a 1910 manual from the Spalding Athletic Company.” As Gwathmey writes as part of his “NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS” at the end of the collection:

Tumbling for Amateurs is a modern reimagining of an old sporting manual written by a distant relative. The original text literally fell into my lap, and I was immediately taken by the descriptions of various feats of tumbling as well as accompanying illustrations and associated metaphors. I tried to peel back these layers to find the possibility of a hidden subculture of desire, both homosocial and homoerotic. This collection aims to give voice to a suppressed existence of the early twentieth century. James Tayloe Gwathmey’s original text of the same name was published in 1910 as part of Spalding’s Athletic Library and was gifted to me by someone who recognized the last name and thought that it must be poetry. JTG really is my distant relative: my second cousin, four times removed. I wanted to write the book that my friend thought Tumbling for Amateurs was.

There’s a twirling and tumbling to his lines, many of which might need to be heard or spoken to be properly appreciated. “All in a queue & start & start & we start & we / start & we crotch front & we straddle over & / we crotch back & we straddle under & we / crotch front,” the poem “CROTCH & STRADDLE” begins. Sharp and studied, the poems that accumulate, and even collage, into this book-length collection display a myriad of forms, offering overt play and visual displays of language, sound and, dare I say it, gymnastic fervor. “Reclining at meat,” the poem “THE JOUSTING TOURNAMENT” begins, “three guys clench each other’s hopes / and roll into chivalrous accolades. / To aid and succour at the sound of a bugle or herald’s cry – / Arthur squats, / Bennie planting charity / on Arthur’s strength.” The images included by Gwathmey, acrobatically collaged from the source volume, illustrate the poems, but just as much interact, and even counterpoint, allowing a visual thread that intermingles with the poems in its own simultaneous direction through the collection. Leaning into male movement, attention and desire, the poems open from the perspective of a subject matter that, at least from the source material, both suggests and deflects, all of which is on full display in Matthew Gwathmey’s playful blend of translation and reimagining.

Spotlight series #51 : Matthew Gwathmey

The fifty-first in my monthly "spotlight" series, each featuring a different poet with a short statement and a new poem or two, is now online, featuring Fredericton poet Matthew Gwathmey.

The first eleven in the series were attached to the Drunken Boat blog, and the series has so far featured poets including Seattle, Washington poet Sarah Mangold, Colborne, Ontario poet Gil McElroy, Vancouver poet Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Ottawa poet Jason Christie, Montreal poet and performer Kaie Kellough, Ottawa poet Amanda Earl, American poet Elizabeth Robinson, American poet Jennifer Kronovet, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis, Vancouver poet Sonnet L’Abbé, Montreal writer Sarah Burgoyne, Fredericton poet Joe Blades, American poet Genève Chao, Northampton MA poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn, Oji-Cree, Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer from Peguis First Nation (Treaty 1 territory) poet, critic and editor Joshua Whitehead, American expat/Barcelona poet, editor and publisher Edward Smallfield, Kentucky poet Amelia Martens, Ottawa poet Pearl Pirie, Burlington, Ontario poet Sacha Archer, Washington DC poet Buck Downs, Toronto poet Shannon Bramer, Vancouver poet and editor Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Vancouver poet Geoffrey Nilson, Oakland, California poets and editors Rusty Morrison and Jamie Townsend, Ottawa poet and editor Manahil Bandukwala, Toronto poet and editor Dani Spinosa, Kingston writer and editor Trish Salah, Calgary poet, editor and publisher Kyle Flemmer, Vancouver poet Adrienne Gruber, California poet and editor Susanne Dyckman, Brooklyn poet-filmmaker Stephanie Gray, Vernon, BC poet Kerry Gilbert, South Carolina poet and translator Lindsay Turner, Vancouver poet and editor Adèle Barclay, Thorold, Ontario poet Franco Cortese, Ottawa poet Conyer Clayton, Lawrence, Kansas poet Megan Kaminski, Ottawa poet and fiction writer Frances Boyle, Ithica, NY poet, editor and publisher Marty Cain, New York City poet Amanda Deutch, Iranian-born and Toronto-based writer/translator Khashayar Mohammadi, Mendocino County writer, librarian, and a visual artist Melissa Eleftherion, Ottawa poet and editor Sarah MacDonell, Montreal poet Simina Banu, Canadian-born UK-based artist, writer, and practice-led researcher J. R. Carpenter, Toronto poet MLA Chernoff, Boise, Idaho poet and critic Martin Corless-Smith, Canadian poet and fiction writer Erin Emily Ann Vance and Toronto poet, editor and publisher Kate Siklosi.

The whole series can be found online here.

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Matthew Gwathmey

Matthew Gwathmey was born in Richmond, Virginia and studied creative writing at the University of Virginia. He became a Canadian citizen in 2013 and lives with his wife and children in Fredericton, New Brunswick, where he is a PhD student at UNB. 

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book just came out, so my life is in its germination stage of change. I don’t expect that it will change all that much, except that I am becoming more connected to other poets through the avenues of social media, readings, memberships, and other in-roads. I will admit, it does feel good to hold something in your hands, and for the first time in my life, I’m actually content with where these poems are in their current states. I hope this feeling lasts a while, before I can’t bear to look at them again. 

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

When I figured out that my first name could be found in my last name (gWATHMEy), I began a lifelong obsession with words and wordplay. Naturally, this led to poetry, particularly after discovering e e cummings. It was round about early high school when I first started writing my own poems.

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’m a slow starter and a slow processor. Heavy revision and endless tinkering are definitely parts of the procedure. First drafts look nothing like final products, though once I worked on a poem that started out as a prose poem, then became rhyming couplets, then a sonnet, then unrhymed hexameter, then back to a prose poem. So maybe the lesson here is I should go with more first drafts… 

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?

A poem for me begins with a snippet of something, usually an image. I’m definitely a collector and arranger, definitely without some overall scheme or concept. 

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

Though I haven’t had much of an opportunity to participate in that many public readings, I would say that I am the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings. Poetry’s meant to be read out loud, even the avant-garde stuff, so a venue for that sort of encounter is a must.

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’m interested in form, the lyric, meaning, image, metaphor, reference points, and affect, though I don’t think these are really theoretical concerns. And they’re not a list that I check off for each poem I write either. At least I hope not…

A couple one-word questions that I try to answer, and are definitely two of the current issues:

Environment?

Technology?

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?

Unfortunately, it’s hard not to be a little discouraged given the current landscape, the writer making a small splash in the background ocean that no one sees. In all seriousness though, poetry is out there, in public, making itself known, rather than just living in the comforts of academia and presses. The role/challenge is to get out more. 

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

I’ve taken quite a few workshops over the years, so I would definitely be in the camp that sings the praises of the importance of editing from the outside. But I guess that’s not exactly the same as an outside editor. For this book, I had two editors, Nick Thran and Alayna Munce, and I feel that I definitely lucked out, because these two were incredible. The process of working with an outside editor must be difficult and is essential. Difficult in that there’s always work to do. Essential in that it’s necessary work. 

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

“There are only two types of luggage: carry-on and lost.” (Charles Wright)

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?

Have to keep a pretty strict daily routine:

Mornings: work work.

Afternoons: university work.

4 PM - 8 PM: family time, dinner, chauffeur work.

Nights: writing work.

Repeat.

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

For inspiration, I turn to the poets around me. Fredericton has moved past Poet’s Corner to become a veritable Poet’s Hub. We have the profs like Sue Sinclair; the established gurus like Ian LeTourneau; the young guns like Emily Skov-Nielsen; our presiding spirit: M. Travis Lane; fellow PhD’ers like Rebecca X. Salazar. Plus, there’s a whole swath of up-and-comers, not to mention all the brilliance that has come through here. I’d venture to say that Fredericton has more poets per capita than anywhere else in Canada. So yeah, you don’t have to go far for some inspiration, or at least a good conversation about poetry.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

We recently had some very impressive pine trees cut down in our front yard, so we now have all this sawdust in our front yard, and our dog Luna likes to roll around in it like a giant hamster, and bring whatever’s attached to her fur back inside. So right now, the smell of sawdust reminds me of home.

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’ll take influences anywhere and everywhere I can. The back copy of OLiF is very generous, and it lists a lot of influences/references: comic books, Radiohead, Madness and Civilization, coding, Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie, Pavement. I just realized that three out of the six here are of the written form… Other forms? Other forms? Architecture for sure.

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

So there’s the poetry profs at UVA and UNB. Other poets (and their books), in no particular order: John Ashbery (Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror), Tracy K. Smith (Life on Mars), Dean Young (Elegy on Toy Piano), Kay Ryan (Elephant Rocks), Kevin Young (Jelly Roll), Julie Bruck (Monkey Ranch), Michael Robbins (Alien vs. Predator), Linda Besner (Feel Happier in 9 Seconds), Bob Hicok (Elegy Owed), Elizabeth Bishop (Geography III)… I should probably stop now. 

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

Write a poem about my grandmother’s tragic death. She was hit by a tree while driving her car home from church. The trees hug the byways in Virginia, but you still have to wonder about the chances. Anyway, a fairly local poet of some renown wrote a poem about it. Everyone loved it, the poem. Of course I always felt it was too detached from the person she was. So my goal’s to write a better one. Haven’t yet. 

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?

In a former life, I was a high school English and mythology teacher. This job was great for close reading and discussion, as I got to teach some major works. It was not, however, great for writing, as time seemed to disappear. Which is why I eventually made my way back to the university, I guess. In a former life before that, I was a jazz drummer.

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

I keep coming back to thoughts around writing and having kids. I’m not saying that books are like children, though they are in a way. I finally kicked that teenager out of my house. No, if we imagine a silent room without distraction and a few quiet hours as essential to writing, then kids are the antithesis of what’s needed in creating a conducive atmosphere. So I’m wondering how kids help writing, for I would say that they make me write, in a way. Certainly not for the money, or to put food in their stomachs, as if that were the case, we would all starve. But there’s a sense of urgency present, a sense of forming or modelling, that’s compounded with a sense of mortality and perspective given by the simple fact that Lily and I have two “sick” kids. A lot of senses mixing around here for sure! Well-being makes me write. 

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

Last great book: Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide by Kay Redfield Jamison.

Last great film: My movie-viewing these days is reduced to animated fare (not that I’m necessarily complaining), as they have to be kid-friendly. I’m going to go with Isle of Dogs.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I’m working on a novel called The Fictional Autobiography of a Day’s Inane Thoughts. The five-second summary: The FADIT starts with the knowledge that the narrator tried to kill himself near the end of his last day of high school. The story works its way through that day up to the attempt and is broken into sessions between the narrator and his therapist. I’m also working on a musical about a family with a sick kid. Very light, upbeat stuff, perfect for Broadway. And yes, slowly, very slowly, plodding along on a second poetry collection. Be on the look out for it in 2035! 

12 or 20 (second series) questions;