Marc Vincenz [image
credit: Jake Quatt] is a poet, fiction writer, translator, editor, musician,
and artist. He has published over 50 books of poetry, fiction, and translation.
His recent poetry collections include The Pearl Diver of Irunmani, A Splash of Cave Paint, The King of Prussia is Drunk on Stars, Spells for the Wicked, All the Tricks of Language, and, just out, IRØNCLAD. An album of post-classical music and spoken
word, No More Animal Songs, is also forthcoming. His translation of
award-winning Swiss poet and novelist Klaus Merz’ selected poems, An Audible Blue, won the 2023 Massachusetts Book Prize for Translated Literature. His most
recent translation is In the House, Still Light, also by Klaus Merz. Marc’s own
work has also been translated into many languages. His work has appeared in The
Nation, Ploughshares, Raritan, Colorado Review, Evergreen Review, Washington
Square Review, interim, Plume, Fourteen Hills, Willow Springs, Solstice, World
Literature Today, The Notre Dame Review, The Golden Handcuffs Review, The Los
Angeles Review of Books and many other journals, periodicals, and anthologies.
Marc is publisher and editor of MadHat Press, and with Paul Hoover,
co-publisher of the essential New American Writing. Vincenz lives on a farm in
Western Massachusetts where there are more spiny-nosed voles, tufted
grey-buckle hares and Amoeba scintilla than bipedal hominids.
1 - How did your first book
change your life?
My very first published book was an illustrated chapbook entitled Benny and the Scottish Blues. Only
around 100 copies were printed, and they ended up with friends and family. The
book was a mostly biographical, narrative poetry based on a trip through
Scotland—the Hebrides islands by motorbike. Benny
and the Scottish Blues was published in 1989 or 1990. I can’t recall
exactly, as I no longer have a copy of it. I remember at the time—I had only
recently graduated from college—I had such a great feeling of accomplishment
seeing my words in book form. By that time, I’d had a few poems accepted in
journals and literary magazines, and, as you know there is always great elation
even when just a single poem gets accepted for publication; but a book, well
that’s another kettle of fish. From that
moment on, no matter what else consumed me in my life (and there were many
distractions), I was always writing—both fiction and poetry with the intention
of publishing these as books.
How does your most recent
work compare to your previous?
Well my most recent work, IRØNCLAD,
an illustrated hybrid collection, is coming out mid October with Spuyten
Duyvil. I always try and approach a new work from a fresh angle, and IRØNCLAD is my first book that was not written
on a typewriter or in word-processing software, but directly into the layout
program, InDesign. The reasoning was to try and take advantage of the actual
typography of the poem or prose piece. The book is set in the fictional world
of The Iron Plier Society, who themselves are trying to make sense of their own
archeological record. Fragments uncovered in the geological strata inform the
book and the narrative. As you move deeper into the book, you discover,
fragment by fragment, artifact by artifact, what appears to be the evolution of
a civilization—yet, you can never quite be sure that what you have discovered
in the damp earth faithfully represents your progenitors intentions (every
interpretation comes with its own set of biases also). And, it is easy to
misinterpret those too!
My previous collection,
which came out with Unlikely Books in May this year, is the poetry collection Spells for the Wicked, which certainly
informs IRØNCLAD. In fact, you might
say that IRØNCLAD is the culmination
of many years of addressing the subject of mythology and how it informs the
later narrative and structure of a given society or culture.
How does it feel different?
Although they are two entirely different books, narratively,
linguistically, typographically even, they do address some of the same
principles in their own fashion. I consider myself a writer of books rather
that a writer of individual poems or pieces of fiction. Much of my more recent
work crosses the boundaries between fiction and poetry. In my earlier work, I
may have been more concerned with presenting a given poetic form. These days I
allow the book to inform me, rather than lying down rules in advance.
Essentially though, I always try to approach each book project with a slightly
different angle: be it the method for writing it (i.e. handwritten, typewriter,
direct to computer), the environment I am writing in, or in some cases with a
collaborator, the collaborative process itself. All of these things can
significantly influence the outcome and inform the work, sometimes in
surprising ways.
2 - How did you come to
poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Actually, I have dabbled in both poetry and fiction since the
early days. Probably the first thing I actively wrote was a series of
collaborative comic strips with my Aussie friend, Brett Cameron, when I was
around 10 or 11 years old. I have been an avid reader of all genres since I
cracked open my first book. I was writing song lyrics for my high school bands
when I was in my teens; and then I took a class on contemporary American poetry
in my junior year of high school. Here I discovered ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Robert Frost, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes,
Marianne Moore, Robinson Jeffers, Wallace Stevens, and you might say, I was
hooked.
3 - How long does it take
to start any particular writing project?
That has varied significantly over the years. Fifteen years ago, I
spent much time taking notes, familiarizing myself with the world that I was
about to immerse myself in—sometimes more than a year—before placing pen to
paper. In recent years I am more likely to take notes and do research as I
write; and I generally work on several projects at the same time.
Does your writing initially
come quickly, or is it a slow process?
That varies significantly too. Generally, once I hit upon the
first fundamental line or image, the rest comes relatively quickly. The process
of refinement is a far longer process for me than the original ‘take’.
Do first drafts appear
looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious
notes?
Both. Depends on the piece / book.
4 - Where does a poem or
work of prose usually begin for you?
Often with a title, sometimes with a single line, frequently with
a visual image of the world I am about to step into.
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?
Book, from the very beginning. I occasionally write a standalone
poem, but very seldom these days.
5 - Are public readings
part of or counter to your creative process?
I should say yes, part of—but more so than public readings,
listening to audio recordings of my own works. This provides essential sonic
information: tone, dynamic, the musicality of the language, which also often
informs the written word in return.
Are you the sort of writer
who enjoys doing readings?
Yes, absolutely. I have hosted several readings out here in the
Berkshires, Boston, and New York City, but I have also read throughout the US
and UK at many venues, and will continue to do so. As you also know, together
with Australian prose poet, Cassandra Atherton, and New York poet and
puppeteer, Jeff Wright, I also run the live streaming literary reading series, Lit Balm. Since 2020, we have held
nearly 250 readings, and have featured over 1000 poets and fiction writers
across the globe.
6 - Do you have any
theoretical concerns behind your writing?
Yes, many: among others, the environment and industry, extinction
and habitat loss, autocracy and suppression of ideas, language and
protolanguage, rear view reductionism and the emergence of meaningfulness,
mythology and ritual, fallacy and superstition, the nature of consciousness and
expression, the human understanding of time and a linear narrative …
What kinds of questions are
you trying to answer with your work?
I’m not sure I would call it answering questions, but more posing
questions and / or presenting narratives in allegorical form that question
given tropes.
What do you even think the
current questions are?
Too many to list here, but if I were to boil it down to one phrase
it might be:
What is the nature of reality?
7 – What do you see the
current role of the writer being in larger culture?
This is somewhat of a loaded question.
As a writer, as an artist, I like to believe that all of us have
something to contribute to our understanding of reality, be it in the micro or
the macro, or both. Among other things, I believe it should be every artist’s
goal to spread and encourage creativity, and a wide-angled view of the world.
Every heartfelt contribution large or small should be seen as a net positive agglomeration
for future thinking.
Do they even have one?
I can’t speak for others. Of course, we all know there are always
those who seek fame and glory, form above substance. Certainly for me it is the
journey rather than any specific end goal. Deeply wrought, well-crafted, and
heartfelt work that informs as well as sings has always been my personal
preference. Just as in all the arts, there are many authors out there breaking
boundaries and helping to shape future thinking. So yes, I believe most authors
and artists have their own personal credo and their place in society. Many
things including trends, tastes and other ongoing polemics predicate how these
resonate within a specific community, how they inspire and resonate with, and
influence a culture at large. (Which is another conversation worth having.)
8 - Do you find the process
of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I have worked with many editors over the years—both with my own
work, and at MadHat Press and New
American Writing. Editors are essential in teasing works to their greatest
potential. Have I worked with difficult editors? Most certainly. Did the
processes bear fruit? In some form, always.
At the press, I’ve also had
many writers who are difficult to work with, and even those who have scorned
editorial advice. Even if it is difficult, my suggestion is to listen intently
and deeply consider every adjustment or amendment that your editor proposes.
That doesn’t mean you have to agree, but every suggestion is worthy of
consideration.
9 - What is the best piece
of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Read voraciously, live vicariously, write voluptuously.
10 - How easy has it been
for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction to translation to musical
composition)?
There is a natural flow between each of the forms, and as I get
older, even more so. I have a short attention span, so it is great for me to
have multiple projects in several forms of art going at the same time. I’ll
settle in somewhere for a while, but if I feel I’m getting stagnant, I’ll move
to another project and return later—sometimes much later. Also, working in multiple different mediums
tends to give you a broader perspective. Each of the various forms inform each
other, and help to refine each other.
There is much crossover, in
particular with my music and poetry—many of my songs incorporate poems or were
inspired by my own poems, and sometimes visa versa.
What do you see as the
appeal?
Appeal? I’m not sure that’s really relevant. It’s just the way the
creative process works for me personally.
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 write on and off throughout the day as and when inspiration
arises, however, I also assign 3-4 hours of my afternoon to writing / composing
/ translating. During that period I allow myself to be completely immersed in
the creative process. Typically, I’ll work on MadHat Press affairs in the
morning and early afternoon, take my dogs out on an extensive walk after lunch,
then hunker in and focus on my own work later in the afternoon.
12 - When your writing gets
stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word)
inspiration?
I move to whichever project seems the most inspiring in the
moment—whether that be poetry, fiction, translation, music, or something unexpected.
13 - What fragrance reminds
you of home?
What fragrance reminds me of where I come from? Probably sea air.
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?
Everything I have read, seen, experienced, tasted, or touched
influences my work. All of the above.
15 - What other writers or
writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Many. From the dawn of written record—early literature: the Epic
of Gilgamesh, the Odyssey and the Iliad, the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the
Analects, the Bible, the Vedas, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the Icelandic
Eddas; to the Renaissance and beyond: Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe … pretty much
all religious texts from the canonical to the lesser known. And then, closer to
the current age, many poets and fiction authors, including, W.B. Yeats,
Wordsworth, William Blake, George Orwell, H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Edgar Allen
Poe, Ray Bradbury, Kurt Vonnegut, Italo Calvino, Kafka, Nabokov, Borges,
Burgess, Coetzee, Atwood … the list is immense.
16 - What would you like to
do that you haven't yet done?
Glide gently over a shallow and verdant valley like a bird.
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, for quite a long period in my adult life, I ran an
industrial design company in Switzerland and Shanghai—all the while writing at
the same time. It was during my 10 years in Shanghai that I wrote my first
novel. I would wake up early around 5 am, work on my novel for a couple of
hours, have breakfast, then head to the day job. During those Shanghai years, I
would work 80-hour weeks. Weekends were not sacred, but sacrosanct for
profit-making ventures. Pure capitalism. It wasn’t until I was in my forties
that I finally managed to break free and focus on my arts.
18 - What made you write,
as opposed to doing something else?
As I’ve said, I’ve done many other things, but the impetus to
write / communicate was always there, and has been from the day I may have
first been conscious. Somehow I realized early in my life that I needed a
language and a medium to impart / present my whims and whimsies, to bring
across my unique or alternate manner of experiencing the world. Words seemed to
be the best solution. As you know, I am
also lucky to be blessed with art in other forms too. Anyone of those might
have been my primary medium, but language always seemed the most direct.
19 - What was the last
great book you read?
I read great books every week, but what I’m currently reading is
Theodore Roethke’s Straw for the Fire,
which I highly recommend.
What was the last great
film?
Good question. I recently find myself increasingly re-watching
classics from the earliest eras of cinema, such as Fritz Lang’s Metropolis; George Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon, Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator, or Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane. Recently I also dig a deep
dive in animated movies and was incredibly moved by the 2016 film, La Tortue Rouge (The Red Turtle) which
has absolutely no dialogue. I am increasingly bored with the current Hollywood
mainstream: superhero movies, CGI science fiction and fantasy offerings, and
the thousand and one reworkings of classic tales in a modern context.
20 - What are you currently
working on?
Well currently I am working on my newest poetry collection, Mythodology; a novel, The Age of Occasions; and a spoken-word and
music album to accompany my collection forthcoming with White Pine Press, No More Animal Poems. My translation of In the House, Still Light, Swiss poet
Klaus Merz’ most recent collection, is coming out in November with White Pine
Press. Several other translation projects are also in the works.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
