Tuesday, January 8, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Logan Ryan Smith

Logan Ryan Smith was born in Sacramento, CA in 1977. He was a c-section baby and thusly has a very nicely shaped head. He attended St. Lawrence Catholic School in Sacto until the beginning of the 7th grade when his family up and moved way up north to tiny Crescent, CA, where he attended Crescent Elk Junior High—a public school. There he began skateboarding, fighting, stealing, drinking, and smoking, as any good Catholic school escapee would do. At the beginning of his freshman year of high school he was once again pulled from his comfort zone and put into a new school, this time on the opposite end of the state, in Brawley, CA. Logan graduated from Brawley Union High School in 1995, weighing 145 pounds, and just reaching 5’7”. Because of a lack of a growth spurt during his high school years, Logan learned to be quiet. Very quiet. Since then, Logan put on 20 pounds, and sprouted to the towering height of 5’9”. Not much else has happened…

Oh, Logan now lives in San Francisco and is the publisher of small town—a poetry magazine—and TRANSMISSION PRESS, a poetry chapbook series. His first book, THE SINGERS, was published by Dusie Press Books in the summer of ’07. Later in that year The San Francisco Bay Guardian recognized him for his publishing efforts in their Best of the Bay 2007 issue. He also released, under the TRANSMISSION PRESS imprint, his own book, STUPID BIRDS—a collection of early chapbooks and long poems. Other poetry can be found in New American Writing, Hot Whiskey Magazine, Bombay Gin, string of small machines, the tiny, Sorry for Snake, Spell, Mirage #4/ Period(ical), The Boog City Reader, and in various other terrific mags, as well as in the anthologies, Bay Poetics (Faux Press) and The Meat Book (Hot Whiskey Press). He can always be found here: theredgummibear.blogspot.com.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

My first book changed my life in the same way it changes many poets lives in that it made me *feel* like people (other than my friends) were now thinking of me as a "poet". The second someone decides they like yr work and wants to glue it to a spine with a front and back cover, people start thinking of you differently—suddenly yr poetry is a topic of conversation. It’s nice, but in the end, I don’t know if that means a whole lot.

In other aspects, my first book, THE SINGERS, was the first book I'd written of that length. So it changed my life in that it's sort of set me up with the knowledge that I can work out a book of any particular length, whatever the book dictates.

2 - How long have you lived in San Francisco, and how does geography, if at all, impact your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I've lived in SF now since August of 1997. I came here to attend SFSU. It's hard for me to say how or if geography really has an impact on my writing. I've spent most of my adult life here in SF, after having grown up in the suburbs of Sacramento and the small towns of Crescent City and Brawley, CA. And since most of my adult life has been in the city, juxtaposing the small town life and thoughts of my youth, I guess it has to have had some effect. My environment does seep into my writing, so there are cityscapes, noise, and people everywhere in my poems. How specific that is to SF, I don't know. Not very, probably.

But outside of the physical geography of my place, I'd say SF has had a large impact on my overall writing. When I moved here I was very green and not very well-read, at all. It took me a while to really let go of my mostly ungrounded conservative concerns about writing and poetry, as well as my “ego”. I made friends with the poets John Sakkis and Brandon Brown around 2002, and they were more aware of the Bay Area's current poetry situation, and also the history of the place. They discussed the idea of the "book" a lot, and I didn't completely get it until I met Benjamin Hollander and Larry Kearney and saw how their books were always a complete unit, and not just a collection of singular, stand-alone poems. Then I read Stacy Doris and Norma Cole and other Bay Area poets writing "books". Then, of course, I really got into Spicer and Duncan, and I think that's cemented a lifelong love affair with the "book". Without the book, I don't think I could complete anything.

3 - Where does a poem of fiction 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?

Somehow I've conveniently answered this in the previous question! But, yeah, I am almost always writing a "book" from the very beginning. If I'm not writing a book, I have a hard time figuring out what the point of writing is. Why bother?

The whole process is very organic, so I never know the length of the book, or what it'll be about. It's always a cold start. I sit at the keyboard, I punch the keys until there needs to be a page break, and I continue until basically I get tired of it or just plain tired. Then I'll come back to it again later, sometimes looking over what I wrote previously. But on the whole, I try not to read too much of what I'd already written, and just continue. And I don't do any editing until the book hits the wall and tells me to shut the fuck up.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

Until recently I haven't had many opportunities to give public readings. So far, I can't say it's affected my creative process. I enjoy giving readings, though. I mean, who doesn't want a captive audience?

5 - 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?

As I stated before, the writing process for me is very organic. So, I'm not sure. I kind of have to look at my poetry as I would someone else's. I think I'm trying to find a kind of music in my poetry, but I don't know what questions that music poses or answers, if any. It could just be about the search. I don’t know.

As for theory, if I have one about poetry, it's still developing. Personally, though, I'm not interested in it.

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

When I first began taking poetry seriously, and when I first started writing the kind of poetry that's lead to what I'm writing today, I think I definitely found it essential. I often sent my books to Larry Kearney to read and edit as he pleased, as well as some friends, and that was enormously helpful. However, I think you get to a point after writing for a while that an editor becomes more of an obstacle and a distraction. Once you've got some kind of grasp on what yr doing, you'll see that an editor is usually trying to shape yr voice to theirs. I think having a second or third pair of eyes, or an “editor,” works for minimalist and process or form-oriented poets, but not for me. So, nowadays when I ask someone to look over something of mine, I usually only want to know if they think it works. Usually, if someone starts doing line-edits on my books I want to kick their fuckin' teeth in. Usually. But not always.

That said, I try to always keep an open mind to what people think about my poetry, critically and emotionally. But in the end, I don't believe in perfection, so...

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Well, I started publishing the poetry mag, small town, in 2001 or so, and then the Transmission Press chapbook series began in 2006. I'd say that the process gets easier, just from repetition, but the repetition begins to get more tedious. But there's always a bit of unbridled excitement, for me, when I first begin to put together someone's book, and then even more so as I finish the book and get it into the poet's and others' hands. All the stuff in between, though, quite frankly, can be a bit of an f’n drag. But, of course it's worth it.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

That reminds me, I've been doing a pretty good job lately eating vegetables regularly, but I rarely ever eat fruit. Every Saturday, though, I drink a quart of orange juice. Does that even everything out?

But, to answer yr question, I was probably 5 the last time I ate a pear. Five or 15. Maybe 25. I don't know.

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

When I was very young my dad once told me, "Don't eat the yellow snow." To this day I heed that advice, as should everyone.

The other best piece of advice I've heard is one I give myself, and that's "c'est la fuck it".

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 definitely do not have a writing routine. When I am writing I may develop a bit of a routine, though. For instance, I wrote THE SINGERS in June of '05 when I was unemployed and seriously broke and living in Boulder, CO (I lived there for a short 9 months). I made an effort to write every night, with loud music and my bottle of TAAKA vodka ($7 for 1.75 liters) by my side. And when June finished so did the book.

And then with my most recent and unpublished book, IN A STATE, I made it a point to write every Wednesday with a couple bottles of Five Oaks Cabernet ($2.50 a bottle) by my side--and loud music. I only stopped writing into that book when I realized I wasn't writing on Wednesdays anymore.

I see a pattern developing.

But, other than that, I write when I do. Once things start, then I find the groove to which me and the work will fit into.

A typical day, though, begins with me coming to my shitty office job that allows me to keep up on the blogs, emails, cnn.com, baseball news, and to answer questions like these. Which is pretty great, really.

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

My writing gets stalled a lot, as I guess I tend to write in spurts. I guess I often turn to other outlets. I'm a complete amateur in everything, but I'll maybe try painting or writing some music. I will often return to certain poets, though, too, such as Lisa Jarnot, Spicer, Kearney, etc. The classics like THE ILIAD and others get me going, too. Reading a lot is often a good idea. Listening to music is always a big part of the return.

12 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

My unpublished manuscript, IN A STATE, is quite a different book, I think, than THE SINGERS, and certainly much different than STUPID BIRDS. (By the way, THE SINGERS was published before STUPID BIRDS, but STUPID BIRDS is the older book.) Anyway, IN A STATE drifts away a bit from the dissonant music of THE SINGERS. Its theme is more uniformed throughout and its voice is more direct.

I find that, for me, things do change pretty noticeably from book to book. THE SINGERS was a rather stylistic book, in that the music of it is very loud, I think. IN A STATE, I don't know, maybe is more "content-driven”. As for STUPID BIRDS, that book is really different from the other two because it is earlier work, and is definitely more influenced and reflective of today's idea of the lyric poem.

By the way, do the S's in the titles of my books lead to confusion as to which is which? Are my titles all starting to sound the same? Hmmm.

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?

Music definitely influences my books. When I wrote THE SINGERS I often let lines from the songs I was listening to enter the poem to either be morphed or used as a springboard. Music continues to be an influence because I'll always want to achieve the feeling music gives me, that ambiance or otherworldlyness, and also that wordless, emotional connection (or communication) that's so immediate.

I'm also very intrigued by science and nature, and love reading up on new discoveries, or watching programs. I expect it to have a bigger influence on me at some point. I especially love anything about stars and space and the universe expanding or contracting. It's all so f'n mysterious and adventurous.

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

My friends are the most important.

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

I would really like to see every ballpark in America, and the one they got up there in Toronto, too. And even though I hate the Yankees, I'd like to get out to New York this year and catch a game there before they tear the place down. I've not yet gone to Yankee Stadium.

In regard to poetry, I would have to say: everything else.

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'd really like to play centerfield for the Giants, but they just signed some guy for $60 mil over 5 years; also, my friends say that because I'm only 5'9" that I'd fit in better as a second baseman. However, I think that's bullshit. I've got mad hustle and a fiery spirit. I'd be an awesome centerfielder.

In reality, though, I'm not qualified for a whole hell of a lot. To which I'd like to say: Thank you very much San Francisco State University--oh, and: FUCK YOU. I'm in debt FOREVER!

But, you know.... Um, if this was a parallel world of options, and I had a completely different brain capable of these sorts of things, I think being a scientist, studying space would be pretty neat. I had a very realistic dream the other night where I was being sent into space in a rocket, and though I'm pretty terrified of flying, I remember that in the dream I knew it was worth the risk. Ummm.

I also kind of wish I'd gotten my degree in Classics, so I could have studied them more and also learned Greek and Latin. I might not mind teaching the classics as an occupation, even though I can’t really imagine myself being a teacher at all. I’m not fond of the university system.

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

I'm not good at anything else.

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

Dorothea Lasky's AWE was a seriously beautiful book, full of the kind of breathtaking and powerful lyricism I really enjoy in poetry. That book touched on a lot of large themes that are pretty traditional in poetry, such as love and God, but the honesty to which she met them was so grand, and so full of wild imagination that AWE is a book that stands alone, with a voice that's rarely heard in poetry.

The last great film? That's a tough one as I'm mostly let down by movies these days. I really really loved STARDUST, though. That was the one with Claire Danes and her very nicely achieved English accent. It's a fantasy movie with a fairytale type of love story and it was THE SHIT. I'd put it up there with THE PRINCESS BRIDE and THE NEVERENDING STORY.

In contrast to that, I was also really struck by my recent viewing of DEAD RINGERS, a Cronenburg movie about these twin gynecologists. It was a seriously disturbing tale of narcissism and self-destruction.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I'm pretty much done with IN A STATE. I think it has a fork in it. So, I'm mostly working on a chapbook called THE NOTES, which was written by salvaging some decent lines and stanzas that were cut from THE SINGERS. Originally THE SINGERS was very, very long and I had to cut a shitload from it, and so some good stuff got left by the wayside. I'd never done anything like it—gone back to a part of a book I’d thrown away—but I decided to pick apart the pieces that were cut away already and write into and around them. THE NOTES ends up sounding a lot like THE SINGERS, but it also has a direction completely separate from it. I don't know. I'm only tinkering with it now, though I think it's done.

I feel I'm ready, though, to get it on with a new book real soon.

Monday, January 7, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Margaret Christakos

photo credit: Zephyr Christakos-Gee

Margaret Christakos is a Toronto-based writer who has published six collections of poetry and a novel. Her most recent poetry books were published by Coach House Books: Sooner (2005), nominated for the Pat Lowther Memorial Award, and Excessive Love Prostheses (2002), winner of the ReLit Award. Three other Christakos titles with excellent small presses are wipe.under.a love (Mansfield, 2000), The Moment Coming (ECW, 1998) and Other Words for Grace (Mercury, 1994). Her novel Charisma was shortlisted for the Trillium Book Award in 2001. Three recent poetry chapbooks further her experimentalism with gender: My Girlish Feast, from Belladonna, 2006, Adult Video, from Nomados, 2006, and Retreat Diary, from Book Thug, 2005. She has won the Bliss Carman Award which comes with a very nice turquoise ring. Christakos also works as a creative writing educator with a variety of organizations and institutions; in recent years she has taught at Glendon College, University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies, and Writers in Electronic Residence (WIER); as well she offered consultation to students throughout her Canada Council residency at the University of Windsor English Department in 2004-05 and taught creative writing from 1992 to 1997 at the (then-named) Ontario College of Art. As a supplement to her writing, she curates and facilitates poetry projects in the Toronto community and, as a paid coordinator in 2003-04, developed a readings program with PEN Canada in support of persecuted international writers living in exile in Canada. For a decade she worked as an editor with cultural magazines and publishers. She holds a BFA in Fine Arts from York University (Visual Arts) and an MA from OISE (History and Philosophy of Education). She and her partner have three children. Despite such domestic foolishness, Margaret has sustained a multigenre writing practice, given readings and seminars across Canada, and generally insisted upon the value of poetry to contemporary culture since her first book Not Egypt was published in 1989, a manuscript originally brought to Coach House by her primary mentor bpNichol.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

It was a disappointing experience that required me to toughen up. There was very little response. More formative was the reality that bpNichol who’d brought my book to Coach House died the year before it was published. Such a loss. He hinged diverse practitioners together, built an intergenerational community. Most of the other senior writers in Toronto were ego-driven, insecure maybe, exclusionary. I keep that in mind all the time: no matter who’s getting the “goods,” a vibrant artistic community cannot exist without engagement with emerging artists, formally inventive artists and senior artists.

2 - How long have you lived in Toronto, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I’ve been in Toronto for two decades, plus I spent 1980-84 at York University.

I grew up with hills, rock, lakes and short cuts. I like living in the west end of Toronto currently near the Humber because the terrain is not a grid. But I do love dense urban cores, and the freedom they afford to me as a pedestrian.

Race and racialization, and concepts, namings and practices of gender, are aspects of human identity and social structure I think about a lot.

3 - Where does a poem or piece of fiction 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 ingurgitate and project. I love to write and so have multiple projects gurgitating. I generally have an intense vision of structure and conceptual and formal scope for each project, and a completion fixation. It’s funny, I don’t think there’s much use in asking me questions about my work as if you haven’t read any of it. What’s that about? What kind of a conversation can we have. Is the idea that all the writers you interview are blank slates and/or that readers are? I shouldn’t have to start from square one and biographize myself into existence and relevance. Unless I’m trying to pick you up and I’m not. I don’t like to think of readers that way either, seduce them into finding me interesting. I wish the work would get read and then be the platform of discussion. That’s what this country needs, people intrigued with discussing work.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

They are part of it. I get paid a little for most readings and this becomes part of the patchwork economy on which I can say “I make a living as a writer.”

5 - 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?

That’s three vast questions (vastions!) wrapped up in a couple dozen words. I don’t find it that useful to yak on about this stuff extraneous to an actual conversation. I have a lot of theoretical concerns behind, in front of and inside my writing. I am thoughtful about why write, what write, how write, all of it.

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

Deeply depends on the editor. I really appreciate it when the editor is engaged enough to write a blurb for my book, instead of asking me to write promo text. I hate that.

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Each book is its own making.

I routinely have depressed episodes where I can’t think of one good reason to publish another book ever. Usually some person says something to me, unbeknownst to them, that encourages me to validate my own artistic seriousness and continue. Actually, I’ve realized I’m becoming less and less eligible to do any other kind of work. Maybe retail. I’m pretty good at math.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

A few days ago.

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

Calm the fuck down, Margaret.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

It’s been easy but my earlier fiction was very poetic, coyly so. I had a beef about plot, like plot was too normative. I’m still very attracted to narrative that is built of micro-events, but I am interested in how subjects experience these events, how people move through events and events move through people. I observe more closely the physical world I occupy. I’m starting to be a better fiction writer now, since I started teaching seriously. I’ve had to learn a lot of stuff I never knew or studied in the past.

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 continually. I have children who I make breakfast for, so that’s how my day begins.

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

In Northern Ontario there’s an expression: if you don’t like the weather wait five minutes. That’s me and writing. If I don’t have an idea, I wait five minutes. I have never not had things that make me curious and impelled. Although I can get overly hung up on repeating themes and gestures. I’m getting better with that, less knotted.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

It is continuous and discontinuous from my earlier work. I’ve got two books on the go. Both are better writing than earlier work, is one difference. It’s all much less controlled by romanticism. It’s better grounded in observation, and my innovations are more leaps anchored in the evolution of my peculiar body of work and less regurgitative. I’m better with complexity and much better with simplicity.

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?

Being in the company of children and understanding the way they think and feel is a major influence and passion in my life. I’m also influenced by many other art discourses.

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

Many.

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

So much. Too much. Everything.

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?

I think I would have probably been in the publishing industry as an editor or publisher. I do lament that I didn’t keep with magazine work—I think magazines are very important. I had twins in 1997 and I became quite focused on domestic labour. Endless and interesting.

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

I love visual communication and art, and/but I seem to need language in a way, like I have a thirst for it that is quite strident. I wonder why that is. Sometimes I think I was in silence too much of the time when very young, I was one of those humans who really wanted things explained in words.

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

Divisadero. A major achievement. I wonder what M.O. will do next. This book will keep teaching me for many years.

I haven’t seem too many films that have startled and shaped my thinking this year. I used to be a maniac for film.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I'm trying to figure out how to maintain a livelihood as a writer. I'm paying off taxes and trying not to faint while doing it. I'm engaging in teaching and event coordination. I'm raising my kids and the community that extends from them. I’m working on a new novel, and a new book of poetry. I'm reading and trying to learn. And designing the fourth Influency: A Toronto Poetry Salon, which runs April to June at U of T School of Continuing Studies.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Stephen Morrissey

Stephen Morrissey has published seven books of poetry: The Trees of Unknowing (Vehicule Press, Montreal, 1978); Divisions (Coach House Press, Toronto 1983); Family Album (Caitlin Press, Vancouver, 1989); The Compass (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1993); The Yoni Rocks (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1995); The Mystic Beast (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1997); Mapping the Soul: Selected Poems 1978-1998 (The Muses' Company, Winnipeg, 1998).

Morrissey has also published chapbooks of his poems: Poems of a Period (Montreal, 1971); The Divining Rod (Greensleeve Editions, Edmonton, 1993); The Beauty of Love (The Poem Factory, Vancouver, 1993); The Carolyn Poems (The Poem Factory, Vancouver, 1994); 1950 (The Poem Factory, Vancouver, 1996); Hoolahan’s Flat, Oxford Avenue (Coracle Press, Montreal, 2005), and Remembering Artie Gold (Coracle Press, Montreal, 2007).

Morrissey also published two poetry magazines, what is (1973-1975) and The Montreal Journal of Poetics (1978-1985); in 2000, he and Carolyn Zonailo began Coracle Press, he continues to publish and edit chapbooks for the press. La béte mystique, (Les Editions Tryptyque, Montreal, 2004), is a French translation by Elizabeth Robert of Morrissey’s The Mystic Beast. Morrissey’s poetry has also been translated into French by Pierre DesRuisseaux and published in bilingual anthologies. Stephen Morrissey and Tom Konyves [see his 12 or 20 here] edited the anthology, The Vehicule Poets_Now (The Muses’ Company, Winnipeg, 2004).

Morrissey wrote and published on-line a comprehensive history of his family, Patrick Morrissy and Mary Phelan: Some of their Descendants and Relatives in Canada, beginning in 1837 when the family moved to Canada from Ireland, to the present day. He is the co-author with Carolyn Joyce of The Aquarian Symbols, The 360 Degrees of the Zodiac (Vancouver, Coracle Press, 2000).

Stephen Morrissey is a member of The Writers' Union of Canada, The League of Canadian Poets, and PEN Canada.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

I was born in Montreal, a city with a long history of poets and artists. Irving Layton lived a few blocks from our home, and Louis Dudek’s book reviews were in the newspaper most weekends. F.R. Scott was well known as a poet but also as a champion of human rights. When I met the other Vehicule Poets in the early 1970s, I took for granted that I was a part of community of poets: We organized poetry readings, several of us became editors at Vehicule Press, and we respected each other. A friend from high school published a chapbook for me, Poems of a Period, in 1971 and then my first book, The Trees of Unknowing (Vehicule Press) was published in 1978. Louis Dudek wrote a short introduction to the book. I received letters, all very gracious and welcoming, from the older poets, including John Glassco and F.R. Scott. Poets in Montreal were working in a tradition of poetry; it was a part of our community, probably more so than anywhere else in Canada. My first book deepened and affirmed my work as a poet that I had begun when I was about fourteen or fifteen years old.

2 - How long have you lived in Montreal, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

Montreal is Ville Marie, the City of Mary, a city of churches and spirituality and poetry. My family has lived here since 1845. Even if I were to live in Toronto or Vancouver—both wonderful cities—my consciousness, my history, my imagination, have been formed by living in Montreal. I am referring to how an apprehension of a specific place imbues one’s work with a personal mythology; that specific place represents something larger, it represents the human consciousness and the human condition.

3 - 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 have always worked towards book length collections of poems. I used to run home for lunch when I was in high school and I’d listen to the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band. That long-play album represented what I wanted to do in a book of poetry: It was to sustain a single concept throughout the length of the book. I also remember reading Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and imagining all of my future work as a single continuum, a single vision of life.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?


A public reading is something poets do to get their work known a bit better, to promote a book, to promote themselves, or to be a part of a poetry community. The writing, the creative work, is done alone. Readings are the work you do because poets are expected to bring their work to the public.

5 - 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?

All writers, all poets, have theoretical concerns. There has always been theory in literature just as there has always been criticism, going back to Plato and Aristotle. I don’t subscribe to any current theories of literature, but I am open to ideas from different theories. My theoretical concerns are as a poet-critic, influenced by Jungian psychology, and ideas from a New Critical “formalism.”

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


Some poets can edit their own work, others need someone to edit the work for them; every book is different. Carolyn Zonailo, who founded Caitlin Press in Vancouver, is both a brilliant poet and poetry editor. CZ has edited several of my books and I appreciate the work she has done for me.
7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

There seems to be more to do as I get older and less time and energy in which to do it; a lot of things are harder as we get older because of this.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?


I remember eating pears at a cousin’s home on Railway Street in Woodstock, Ontario, where we used to visit many years ago. She had a tree with different types of pears grafted onto it behind her house. I always found that interesting, one tree but different types of pears growing on it. Amateur horticulturalists don’t do that type of thing anymore.

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

CZ gives me good advice all the time; she likes to quote the following: Regarding public events, Edward, The Prince of Wales, who later abdicated the thrown in the 1930s, said: “Never stand when you can sit. Never sit when you can lie down. Always use the facilities when you have an opportunity.”

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?

This depends on my teaching schedule. If I’m not teaching, then I usually write in the morning. I write a diary entry every day, and have done so since January 14, 1965. I steal time from other activities so that I can get the work done.

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

If you are looking for something to do when you can’t write poems there is always translation. George Johnston, who was a friend for many years, told me that when he wasn’t writing poems he could always translate Icelandic Sagas into English. If I am not writing poems, I am always busy with something: writing book reviews and critical articles, writing letters, doing research, organizing papers, publishing chapbooks for Coracle Press, taking photographs, working on web site content, reading, and so on. There is always something to do, and I haven’t included family life and teaching in this. Eventually, if you’re patient, you will return to writing poems.

12 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

I have a completed manuscript, Girouard Avenue, waiting for me to find a publisher. While I’m still concerned with themes that are in my previous books, the new work is also concerned with geography/place, history, and Spirit.

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?

Poets are fairly porous and many experiences influence them. My old friend Guy Birchard once told me that poets are always working, even when sitting looking out the window. I would add that while it is not done consciously, I am always alert for poetic material, for archetypes, associations, synchronistic experiences, and something meaningful and transformative in awareness; what ends up in a poem usually isn’t known in advance.

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

My reading is pretty much only poetry, biographies or autobiographies of poets, and books on poetics. Robert Lowell, Charles Olson, Allen Ginsberg, and W.C. Williams have all been important to me.

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

I have never really wanted to do anything in life but write poems. I was lucky to have found a teaching job back in 1976 and I’ve stayed with it and enjoyed teaching. Writing poetry is the activity that I have found most meaningful to my life.

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?

Poets have two jobs: The job that pays the bills and the job of writing their poems. Other jobs I have done or could have done: I have done the inventory and archival work for CZ’s fifty-five boxes of literary papers held at Simon Fraser University and the two accruals of my own literary papers, about thirty boxes, including writing the inventory, held at the McLennan Library at McGill University. I have written poems since I was fourteen years old and I have taught since I was twenty-six year old. I am not temperamentally suited for a nine-to-five job.

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

What made me write goes back to a dream, from when I was quite young, that I have written about elsewhere (http://stephenmorrissey.ca/articles_reviews/SM_Mapping.html). I used to think everyone had similar life-changing dreams, but then I learned that they are quite rare. However, I listened to the dream and somehow I knew that it was an important message telling me that I had to record the events in my life or I would lose an essential part of my inner being. Because of the dream, I began keeping a diary; and then the dream also lead me to write poems, which I enjoyed doing because I liked being alone and I liked writing.

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

In the last month I’ve read The Poet’s Work (edited by Reginald Gibbons), a book that had sat unread on my bookshelf for the last fifteen years; I recommend it to every poet. Also James Schuyler’s Selected Poems, he is an excellent poet, recommended to me many years ago by Artie Gold. Last night I reread some poems by David Ignatow, and was reminded how much I enjoy his work. Earlier today I read some poems by Patrick Kavanagh, what a great poet! Two films that CZ and I watch at least once or twice a year are Howard’s End and A Passage to India.

20 - What are you currently working on?

In the last ten years, since Mapping the Soul, Selected Poems 1978-1998 (The Muses’ Company) was published, I have completed a manuscript, Girouard Avenue, as well as worked on other manuscripts of poems. I have written and published, on-line, my family history. This was an enormous task, requiring years of research and study and writing, and the work has deepened and informed the poems I am now working on. I believe in honouring the ancestors and this was my way to do this. The work of assembling the content for my website is the equivalent of writing and editing a book, and I was honoured that my son designed and put both the family history site and the poetry site online. In 2000, CZ and I began Coracle Press, which publishes on-line chapbooks; I believe it is important for poets to control something of the means of publishing their own work and the work of other poets.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Rita Wong

Rita Wong's new book, forage, is now available from Nightwood Editions. Her first book of poetry Monkeypuzzle (Press Gang 1998) won the Asian Canadian Writers' Workshop Emerging Writer Award. She has published prose works and poems in Parser (2007), Shift and Switch: New Canadian Poetry (Mercury 2006), Making a Difference: Canadian Multicultural Literatures in English (Oxford, 2006), Ribsauce: a CD/Anthology of Words by Women (Véhicule 2001), The Common Sky: Canadian Writers Against the War (Three Squares 2003), and Swallowing Clouds: An Anthology of Chinese-Canadian Poetry (Arsenal Pulp 1999), and more. She teaches in the Critical + Cultural Studies program at Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design and is also a visiting instructor at the University of Miami.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

After the book was published, I went on a tour called Writers for Change with four other writers—Ashok Mathur, Tamai Kobayashi, David Odhiambo and Rajinderpal S. Pal. Organized by Larissa Lai, the tour was a great experience; we visited schools and various venues from Vancouver all the way to the Black Cultural Centre in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. It was a wonderful experience that helped me to better appreciate how writing is both fed by and gives back to many different communities. The readings and talks that have come about because of the book have balanced my introvert tendencies by reminding me of how much there is to learn and enjoy in public interactions.

2 - How long have you lived in Vancouver, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I moved to the unceded Coast Salish lands known as Vancouver to enter the Archival Studies program at UBC in 1994, and ended up staying. I feel strongly connected to both Calgary and Vancouver. When I moved here, part of Vancouver’s attraction was the existence of groups like the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop and feminist publications like Kinesis (which sadly closed down in 2001). My first book was published by Press Gang, a feminist press whose loss I mourn.
Apart from being grateful for the work of feminists, socialists, environmentalistis, and anti-racist activists (and more) who came before me and make my work possible, I am interested in thinking about the ways in which race, gender, and class continue to work in taken-for-granted or normalized ways, and how examining this can challenge power imbalances. Language, perception, and action are all intertwined; race or gender or class are lenses through which to analyse our assumptions and our desires. They are part of a larger picture that I am increasingly thinking about in terms of relationship to land, older cultures and what it might mean to decolonize in this day and age.

The artist Mike Macdonald once quoted an elder, who said the crime in this land was not just that indigenous peoples had their language and culture beaten out of them in residential schools, but that the people who came here did not adopt the culture of the land (in Revisions, Banff: Walter Phillips Gallery, 1992). I feel I will spend the rest of my life trying to learn and articulate the culture of this land. While race and gender are social mechanisms that have been used to divide and conquer (Komagata Maru, Chinese Head Tax, Japanese Canadian internment being historical examples that come readily to mind), focusing on what it means to be a steward of the land, and respectfully learning from the wealth of diverse work produced by indigenous writers and artists is a huge influence on my work.

3 - 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 can begin with a feeling, a word, a sound, an experience, an intuition. I tend to write short bits that accumulate over time. There are recurring obsessions and themes, though they are not always conscious when I begin writing.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

Public speaking did not come easily to me, but it is a way to contribute to a larger conversation, and when I’ve taken the risk to speak up, I’ve been happily surprised and grateful when people in the audience share their responses and knowledge.

5 - 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 want to understand what it means to act ethically in a globalized world. For instance, as someone who relies heavily on computers, I am implicated in the degradation and eventual destruction of ecosystems (mining for coltan, for instance), and I am also related to the labour of people whom I may never meet, but who nonetheless help make my work and my life possible. How do I reconcile my intent (to work toward peace and social justice) with my consumption patterns as a citizen in North America? Writing offers a space to explore these difficult, uncomfortable questions, and the form that such writing takes may also be uncomfortable, but I hope that the reading, research, thinking and feeling that I do will be useful to readers who struggle with these questions. This struggle is hard, but it is also hopeful. Delving into our contradictions involves both terror and courage, and a constant querying of the relations between writing and other forms of action. What shifts in consciousness and behaviour are needed for us to co-exist peacefully with each other and other life forms? We are living in the midst of a mass extinction, a rapidly degrading ecosystem and a warming planet; how we respond to this crisis is a question that pushes me to keep reading, writing and talking. While the problems are serious and daunting, the knowledge and wisdom of many thinkers, writers, and activists is also inspiring (Winona Laduke, Linda Hogan, Joy Harjo, Jeannette Armstrong, Lee Maracle, Vandana Shiva, Dionne Brand, Maude Barlow, and many more, come to mind—I can’t give up when there are so many people doing amazing, compelling work).

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

For my first book, I was very fortunate that Claire Harris agreed to act as an editor. Working with her and Barbara Kuhne (at Press Gang) was a pleasure and an honour, as I reflect back on that process.

7 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

I packed a Bosch pear in my lunch sometime back in the fall (October? The semester is a blur now), one I purchased at the Granville Island Market. When I can, I buy my fruit from the farmer’s markets. I love to eat local!

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

I’m not sure it’s the best advice, but here’s a recent piece of advice from Rob Brezsny’s horoscope site, which I occasionally turn to for fun and relaxation:

"Dear Rob: Here are my New Year's resolutions. (1) I vow to Siamese-twin together my bad-ass, no-hype, wide-eyed self with my tricky, strategic, puzzle-loving self. (2) I vow to rage on like a dancing warrior in the urban wilderness, keeping peak experiences and total slaphappy victory at the top of my priority list, while at the same time I play hide-and-seek with the dark delicious secrets that fuel my soul's lust for wicked meaning. (3) I vow to deepen the collaborative efforts of my suck-out-the-marrow-and-spit-out-the-bones craziness and my listen-carefully-to-the-flow-of-the-underground-river caginess. -Double Intense Scorpio." Dear Double Intense: Scorpios everywhere will benefit from hearing your resolutions, which is why I've made them 2008's first horoscope.

Gotta laugh and not take myself too seriously sometimes, to balance the hard, serious work. There’s hope and survival in multiple perspectives.

9 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

Both are ways of thinking out loud in a way that can integrate emotion, body, spirit, and creativity. I like to move around as a writer and reader. The appeal is to give back even a little of what I have been given as a reader. I sometimes say that reading saved my life. I mean it.

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 don’t have a predictable routine, but I admire people who do. During the school term, I don’t get much writing done because I have a heavy course load. In the summers, I would ideally have all day to read and write, but of course, all kinds of activities intervene. I snatch moments to write and scribble regardless of the season, but have more such moments in the summers.

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

I read, read, read. Language inspires. Walking, trying new activities, having time to daydream, talking with friends, watching movies, going to concerts. Meditation. Trips to special places, such as the visiting of old growth forest facilitated by the Utsam (Witness) program which ran for ten years, in which the Squamish Nation generously shared their wild spirit places with urban folks like me. Their work is helping to preserve these endangered spaces, and that is inspiring.

12 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

Both books have anger, protest, and bewilderment in them, but also joy, love, and humour at times, I hope. Forage continues the process of questioning that led me to write monkeypuzzle. In some ways forage is more experimental in form than my first book, and at times I feel caught between different kinds of readers.

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?

Yes, to all of the above: nature, art, music, science, and more.

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

See questions 5, 16, and 18; I’ve been reading a lot of nonfiction as well as poetry. I also want to acknowledge how mentors and writers like Fred Wah, SKY Lee, Roy Miki, Lee Maracle, Jam. Ismail, and Lydia Kwa, have made my writing possible. I could go on forever about writers who matter to me: Hiromi Goto, Larissa Lai, Ashok Mathur, Walter K. Lew, Marie Annharte Baker, Nalo Hopkinson, Audre Lorde, Chrystos, Wayde Compton, Roger Farr, Jeff Derksen, Ken Belford, Rob Budde, Si Transken, Louis Cabri, Weyman Chan, Juliana Spahr, David Chariandy, Richard Van Camp, Garry Gottfriedson, Anne Stone, Jacqueline Turner, Phinder Dulai, Garry Morse, and that’s just off the top of my head in no particular order, with many more still missing. The bibliography at the back of forage is also a good place to start. In terms of writing, I also want to acknowledge the importance of dialogues fostered in journals like West Coast Line (edited by Glen Lowry, Michael Barnholden, and others), XCP (edited by Mark Nowak), and more.

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

That’s a secret – I don’t want to jinx it.

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?

If I was to start all over again, I wish I could have studied botany. I want to learn more about the ecosystems around me and how they relate to other places in the world—it feels like urgent and necessary knowledge that also happens to be fascinating. Reading books like Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Linda Hogan’s Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World, Janine Benyus’s Biomimicry has me thinking this way.

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

I love reading and writing, and I followed my heart. This involves good fortune, privilege, and responsibility.

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

I just finished reading The World Without Us by Alan Weisman, which was recommended to me by Wayde Compton [see his 12 or 20 here]. I’ve been reading a lot of nonfiction (as you can see if you look at the bibliography at the back of forage), and the images he brings together in this book are going to stay with me for the rest of my life: the North Pacific Gyre, a huge and growing island of plastic garbage that I think will increasingly impact oceanic ecosystems, the Korean DMZ (demilitarized zone) that is full of landmines and empty of people so that birds and wild animals have taken shelter there, among others.

Film:

Bing Ai, a documentary of a woman who refuses to leave her village area even though it has been submerged by the Three Gorges Dam. Her love of the land and her courage is really inspiring.

19 - What are you currently working on?

One, a collaborative poem with Larissa Lai on water. I also hope to teach a course on water next year, and am doing research on that now.

Two, I’m still very involved in exploring the obsessions that forage materializes. I think Walt Whitman spent his whole life writing (and re-writing) one book; I could easily see myself doing that, writing and writing, and someday narrowing/widening it all into one book.

Friday, January 4, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Meredith Quartermain

Meredith Quartermain [Canada] 1950

Born in Toronto, Ontario, Meredith Quartermain spent her childhood in Ontario and the remote interior of British Columbia. At the University of BC she took degrees in English Literature, English Language and Law. After practicing law for three years and then teaching English for seven years at Capilano College, North Vancouver, she left the world of paid employment to write and to run, with husband Peter, Nomados Literary Publishers. Quartermain sat on the collective at the Kootenay School of Writing in 2000-2001, and her work has been loosely associated with the KSW.

Her first book Terms of Sale contains both innovative poetry exploring the non-referential music of language, and poems of place concerned with city life and neighborhoods. Abstract Relations and Spatial Relations continue her exploration of language and innovative form, these works being sections of a longer work in progress shaping itself around the six major sections of Roget's original Thesaurus. The Eye-Shift of Surface is also highly experimental in its form, being constructed in verse paragraphs from materials listed under entries for the letter I and the word eye in the Oxford English Dictionary. In Wanders, Quartermain translates or “transelates” (to use Erin Mouré's term) 19 poems by Robin Blaser – replicating Blaser's syllable count and metrics in her answering poems.

With A Thousand Mornings, Quartermain combined innovative form and language play to explore the streetscape she could see from her window. Rachel Blau Duplessis describes the book as "a serious-playful and engaging work in which she weighs and sounds what presents itself outside a real window, inside language, and through verbal-emotional associations. Written in pointillist phrases, diaristic, notational, associative, punning, funning and just following any track, the work sits down to itself: to the world, and to the self in time."

Vancouver Walking continues her exploration of city life, using what she calls "historical surrealism" to explore the power struggles engraved on the city's face. The book has brought her national attention, with the Toronto Globe and Mail commenting: "Quartermain's poetic tour . . . reads the downtown's every street sign and historical plaque to invoke not vagaries of weather or a sensitive narrator's emotional landscape, but the lived epic of how specific native soil became appropriated to a condition of contemporary real estate."

books of poetry

Terms of Sale (Buffalo: Meow, 1996); Abstract Relations (Vancouver: Keefer Street, 1998); Spatial Relations (Boca Raton, Florida: Diaeresis, 2001); [with Robin Blaser] Wanders (Vancouver: Nomados, 2002); A Thousand Mornings (Vancouver: Nomados, 2002); The Eye-Shift of Surface (Victoria: Greenboathouse, 2003); Vancouver Walking (Edmonton: NeWest, 2005)

1 - How did your first book change your life?

If we think of our lives as just one book (as Friedrich Schlegel did; and as Robin Blaser does, gathering all his poems into one work The Holy Forest), then perhaps we can never answer this question. “Isn’t it unnecessary to write more than one novel, unless the artist has become a new [person]? It’s obvious that frequently all the novels of a particular author belong together and in a sense make up only one novel” (Schlegel, Crit. Frag. 89). One’s whole life an unfolding of a gestural impulse, one’s whole life writing the first and only book.

2 - How long have you lived in Vancouver, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I’ve lived in Vancouver since 1972 and the Vancouver landscape has been a particular focus of my writing in Vancouver Walking (NeWest 2005) and also in my new book Nightmarker, forthcoming from NeWest 2008. I think it was Creeley who said love, death, and place are three of the abiding themes of poetry from time immemorial. Documenting physical, cultural, poetic geography has absorbed a lot of my attention. It’s impossible not to reflect race, gender and class in one’s work. And can we add species too into that mix, to remind us of our limited view – these coordinates that are our latitude and longitude woven into and weaving the geography of thought and perception. My poems generally are aware of this political geography.

3 - Where does a poem or piece of fiction 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?

This gets back to the gestural impulse that informs one’s whole being. It’s actually best if you don’t try to control that too much and don’t assume you can master it through rational thought. I’d rather not know where poems come from. On the other hand I rather like Jack Spicer’s notion that they are dictated through me by some sort of energy: “It’s as if a Martian comes into a room with children’s blocks with A, B, C, D, E which are in English and he tries to convey a message. This is the way the source of energy goes. But the blocks, on the other hand, are always resisting it.” He said that in his 1965 Vancouver lectures.

Discovery has always been an important part of my work, writing into what I don’t know, so that the writing takes me to unanticipated places. I have written both collections of individual pieces and book projects but the boundaries of the book project are pretty sketchy at the outset. I generally find I have to write to find out what the project is.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

I enjoy listening to and giving public readings. Sound patterns are an important part of my writing, and I consciously work to bring them out with a view to oral performance.

5 - 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 read philosophers such as Gilles Deleuze or Judith Butler, and I’m currently embarking on a Spinoza reading project. However, abstract knowledge often interferes with moving and interesting writing which emerges as a fusion of heart-felt experience, reflectiveness and wide-ranging awareness of the human condition. Fusion that takes leaps into the unknown, takes risks, gives up control. The workings of language, its possibilities and blind alleys, its illusions and dioramas, its other voicings from other times, the reverence or disgust we give to words – all these are my theoretical concern.

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

A good editor is a gift from heaven – someone who sees what’s emerging in the writing and can make useful suggestions for fine tuning or steer you away from disasters. I enjoy working with ones who see the main gesture, what the work set out to do, and then look at details within that context. In workshop settings, people often focus too much on details like word-choice before looking at the larger gesture in the work and considering how this stands in relation to other contemporary writing, or the goals of the writer.

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Each book is its own journey.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

A pair of what?

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

Advice in the abstract, let alone best advice is a nonsensical concept. When you are looking for advice, some will emerge that’s right for that situation.

Over the years, I’ve taped various things to my computer, could be best, could be worst. Here’s one of them:

“The poet is the only teller of news, for he was present and privy to the appearance which he describes.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Here’s another: “To write, therefore, is the way of someone who uses the word as bait: the word fishes for something that is not a word. When that non-word takes the bait, something has been written. Once the space between the lines has been fished, the word can be discarded with relief. But here the analogy ends: the non-word upon taking the bait, has assimilated it. Salvation, then, is to read ‘absent-mindedly.’” (Clarice Lispector).

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

Conventional fiction requires things like plot, unity of view-point, place and time, the building of intrigue or crisis. I don’t write conventional fiction. I’m generally inclined towards ironic juxtaposition rather than the ready-made heroic narrative. My intrigues involve unfolding patterns of words, ideas, characters or inventions in prose poetry. Some call them microfictions.

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’m a morning writer. I go straight from sleeping dreams to waking ones if possible and avoid telephone, email, etc, until mid afternoon. I try to work on creative projects every weekday at least. Later in the day I work on my publishing projects for Nomados.

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

I do research – look things up in dictionaries, encyclopedias, science books, histories. Try to connect to my curiosity which is a form of love. Or I might walk around outside, or do some tai chi. I often find that really good ideas come to me when I stop trying to hunt them down.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

My most recent book Nightmarker, coming out in the fall from NeWest, is in some ways an extension of the “Vancouver Walking” poems in my last book, involving walks and researches around the city. But Nightmarker occurs in two voices, unlike the fairly consistent voicing of the last book. One voice continues the notebook approach to poems. The other voice comes from an imaginary earth-geist called Geo who writes letters back to the human race.

A second book called “Matter” is coming out from Bookthug and this is quite different from Vancouver Walking. Matter is shaped by the third major division of Roget’s Thesaurus, which is a taxonomy of all the words to do with matter. I have two chapbooks – Abstract Relations and Spatial Relations – which are based on the first two sections of the thesaurus. I was interested in the fact that Roget had created the same kind of taxonomy for words that as a zoologist he used for animals. I was curious about what this means for our sense of matter as distinct from mind. I used Darwin’s Origin of Species as a source book as well.

Poems from both of these books are available on line:

Golden Handcuffs Review 1:7 Winter/Spring 2005-6:
http://www.goldenhandcuffsreview.com/gh7content/84.html

Green Integer Review 2: http://www.greeninteger.com/green_integer_review/issue_2/index.cfm

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?

Biology, zoology, botany and ecology were part of my undergraduate education and are long-standing interests in my poems. Visual art has been important, too, most recently in West Coast Line 54 where my series “Apprehensions” appears with photographs by Rhoda Rosenfeld.

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

One of my all-time favorites is the Swiss writer Robert Walser – The Assistant, Jakob von Gunten and The Robber are three of his novels available in English. His short pieces in Masquerade and Speaking to the Rose will knock your socks off. His hilarious and heart-rending irony is unbeatable.

I am also very fond of Gertrude Stein, Nicole Brossard, Daphne Marlatt, Gail Scott and Erin Mouré.

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

Go to the Acropolis.

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?

A painter.

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

The funny thing is I had no idea until I was in my mid-30s that I would write. Looking back, though, I recall writing poems when I was in highschool. My father constantly wrote letters, diatribes and Ginsbergish poems. Not for publication, though I think he may have wanted to be a novelist. Maybe that’s why I started writing. Or maybe it was the fact that I ended up studying the work of Creeley, Olson, and Duncan in my undergraduate years. I was very drawn to Robert Creeley’s work, and was lucky enough to meet him a few times.

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

The Shovel by Colin Browne, just out from Talonbooks.

It’s been so long since I saw a really really good film! The History Boys was pretty good.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I am currently just finishing another manuscript of prose-poems or microfictions called Recipes from the Red Planet. These pieces definitely enter new territory for me, working with narrative, and a lot of invention rather than factual material. I’ve had a lot of fun doing them, and had a good time working on them with Nicole Brossard at the Sage Hill Writing Experience.

12 or 20 questions archive