Heidi Greco : coda

What poetry books have you been reading lately?

Michael Dennis. Curtis LeBlanc. Billeh Nickerson. Hmm. All males. But this is probably more owing to the fact that I was needing to write reviews for new books by each of them. Oddly, because I’ve been trying to clean my office space, this has meant sorting, rearranging, and giving (not enough) books away. During this process (and probably one of the reasons it’s taken me so long to accomplish) I’ve encountered some wonderful anthologies that had managed to lose themselves on a hard-to-reach shelf. As a result I’ve discovered or rediscovered a number of writers including such amazing poets as Lucille Clifton, Elizabeth McCallister, Donald Justice, Susan McMaster, and Edward Hirsch. This, of course, then leads me in turn to finding their books—often on my own shelves, where they may not have been read for a while—but sometimes sending me to the library or my local independent bookstore. 

Heidi Greco : part five

How do you know when a poem is finished?

I don’t. Though really, does anyone ever know this for sure? Isn’t that just one of the ways that words on the page take on a life of their own, leading us to places we might not have considered when we started the piece? While there certainly have been times when I’ve thought a poem was finished, going back to it later will often reveal an unintended repetition or some ultra-weak image. Even when I’m reading from my published works (in books, no less), I sometimes change or delete a word. For lack of a better way to say it, the way a poem can continue to squirm on the page long after it seems to be finished will always be one of life’s great mysteries. 

Heidi Greco : part four

Do you have a social group or writers group that you work ideas and poems with?

Yes, I am part of a poetry group, and I am immensely grateful for the intellectual and spiritual connection it has offered. Oh yes, and the all-important input on the poems, of course! We each send out two poems a week in advance of our meeting so everyone can read and consider the work before the time comes for exchanging edits and ideas. Although the group has undergone a few adjustments over the years, the core remains intact. Especially during the pandemic, these poets have provided a lifeline that feels like sanity. Although Zoom has sometimes felt like it causes a particular kind of fatigue, these sessions nearly always energize me, as they always offer new perspectives on the words with useful feedback on my work. I can think of only one time when the others have told me to leave the poem alone without suggesting changes. And even though they said this (which pleased me immensely) I’ll admit that I still found myself fiddling a bit more. 

Heidi Greco : part three

How important is music to your poetry? 

I like to think that it’s very important and always read my poems aloud when I’m working on them—or at least when I think they’re getting somewhere. Not long ago I was talking with a poet friend and she suggested a word she thought might not be clear to what it seemed I was trying to say in the poem. The problem was, the word she suggested had three syllables, and I knew the line could only bear a two-syllable word, to ensure the sound would remain true to the poem. I was very glad when she quickly agreed, acknowledging the importance of the sound/rhythm/music. But yes, I managed to find a replacement word, one with the required two syllables, and the poem was happier. 

Heidi Greco : part two

How did you first engage with poetry?

If you’re really asking when this ‘first’ occurred I’d have to respond by blaming my love of poetry on nursery rhymes. The esteemed (at least in my  mind) writer, Philip Pullman, contends that there’s no greater language experience we can offer children than to expose them to the sounds/songs/rhythms of these traditional rhymes—that they help forge syntax, vocabulary and sentences patterns onto the brain (and, I contend, onto what many might call soul). I was lucky in that I not only heard these when I was very young, I learned to read before I went to school and enjoyed reading (and re-reading) illustrated books containing such verse. To this day, I can picture illustrations that accompanied some of these, so maybe that early engagement contributed to my seeking visual imagery in poems too. 

Heidi Greco : part one

Heidi Greco writes in many genres—poetry, fiction, essays and reviews. Her most recent book is non-fiction, a non-academic semi-critical response to Harold and Maude, a film she loves. She lives on Canada's west coast on territory of the Semiahmoo Nation, and land that remembers the now-extinct Nicomekl People. More details can be found on her website, heidigreco.ca

Photo credit: Jeremy Baisch

How does a poem begin?

For me, a poem begins in its own weird way, via no particularly recognizable route. Often, it’s a line or just a phrase that presents itself. Frequently, this occurs in the middle of the night and results in my scribbling as well as I can in the dark on paper which I keep by my bedside. Sometimes I get nudged by something I see (or hear) in the world, like maybe a news story that lingers in my mind. The details might ride around in the back of my head for a while before something pops out as a way of making a comment or encapsulating it. And, of course, dreams (usually only fragments) have a funny way of opening doors to words that turn into poems. Unfortunately, I can think of only two poems in my life that have arrived nearly whole and complete.