Elaine Equi : part five

How do you know when a poem is finished?

I can usually feel it or even hear it. It’s like a click. Some people don’t like “the click” associating it with a predictable or overbearing sense of closure. But I don’t mind a good strong finish. I also like humor in poems where the last line is the punchline.  Open-ended poems give the opposite feeling – more like an “ah” – something intentionally left unfinished so the idea keeps traveling in your mind. I like those too. The only ending I don’t really like is “the sigh” – the one that announces what you’ve just been reading must be a poem. Though even that can be okay. I feel a poem should go somewhere, something should happen, shift, change. Once it does, the ending will take care of itself.

Elaine Equi : part four

When you require renewal, is there a particular poem or book that you return to?

In our ultracompetitive society, everyone tries to advertise their successes and downplay or even deny their failures. Individuals, companies, whole countries operate like this. The myth of the person who has it all, or does it all, who succeeds in every area of her life clearly causes unhappiness. We should know better than to believe it. Two poems that offer a refreshingly different perspective on the subject are “The Descent” by William Carlos Williams and “Ode to Failure” by Allen Ginsberg. We tend to think in terms of absolutes, but Williams reminds us, “No defeat is made up entirely of defeat – since/ the world it opens is always a place/ formerly/ unsuspected.” And I admire Ginsberg’s boldness in proclaiming, “O Failure I chant your terrifying name, accept me your 54 year old Prophet/ Epicking Eternal Flop!” I’m not in favor of becoming complacent or apathetic, but I do think we need to cultivate more compassion for ourselves and others instead of constantly striving to win.

Elaine Equi : part three

How important is music to your poetry?

Not as much as I would wish it to be. I’m more of a visual person. Growing up, no one in my family played an instrument or took music too seriously. I like all kinds of music, but always feel I’m missing a key part of it. I’m mystified by it much like some people say they’re mystified by poetry. That said, I spend an enormous amount of time listening to the music in and around words – the patter and patois between them. I even have a line in one of my poems that says, “I write because I can’t sing.” It’s funny, but partly true. True in that my singing voice is less than stellar, but also true that writing for me is a way to participate in music-making – at least my version of it.

Elaine Equi : part two

How does a poem begin?

Often with just a word or two. Sometimes I’ll start writing by making a short list of words that fit my mood, like a quick sketch. Even when I teach creative writing, I’ve asked students to write a poem that comes from one word. You can repeat it to create a chant or litany, or talk about the history of the word, or just explore your own personal associations with it. It’s amazing how evocative one word can turn out to be. I also really like concrete and minimalist poetry, anything that makes the word the star.

Elaine Equi : part one

Elaine Equi’s most recent book is The Intangibles from Coffee House Press. Her other books include Voice-Over, which won the San Francisco State Poetry Award; Ripple Effect: New & Selected Poems, which was a finalist for the L.A. Times Book Award and on the short list for The Griffin Poetry Prize; and Sentences and Rain. Widely published and anthologized, her work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Brooklyn Rail, Court Green, The Nation, The New Yorker, Poetry, and in many editions of the Best American Poetry. She teaches at New York University and in the MFA Program in Creative Writing at The New School.

What are you working on?

I’m always on the lookout for my next poem. I wish I could plan in advance what it will be about or what form it will take, but that usually doesn’t work for me. Instead I’m forced to rely on the inspiration or lack thereof that I find in the moment.  A friend of mine calls this method “one after another” rather than the big project. I’ve written some longer sequences, but in general, I tend toward shorter poems. I like their immediacy. I remember an interview with Robert Creeley, one of my poetry heroes, where he said, “My goal is to say as little as possible as often as possible.” That sounds like a good idea to me.