Margo LaPierre : part five

How does a poem begin?

With the writing of it. I don’t have a plan for the poem before I start. There may be a sense of an empty room, and the goal is to activate the space—see what happens when I spill words and images. Perhaps they hook or mirror or float or make no sense at all. Most often I write on my laptop which is light and portable, and increasingly I jot poem babies on my Notes app in-between errands, or right before I fall asleep. It’s like my ego has dislodged by that point and I’m finally just a gentle being of erratic expression. In the morning I retrieve those fragments. Here’s one: “Fall in love with someone who has allergy to scoville and farts.” I have yet to find a use for it.

Margo LaPierre : part four

What other poetry books have you been reading lately?

I’ve been reading plenty of chapbooks, thanks to rob mclennan’s above/ground press to which I absolutely recommend getting a subscription (the 2020 season is just beginning). I recently read Adam Sol’s “How a Poem Moves,” a collection of essays. Favourite collections this year: Trauma Head by Elle Kraljii Gardiner, Charm by Christine McNair.

Margo LaPierre : part three

What do you find most difficult about writing poetry?

Punctuating it! It seems to be a point of individual style and I haven’t found my punctuation voice. I change my mind often. The terminal point, the comma, the question of capitalization. Maybe I’m uptight and have a hard time letting go of prose rules. It makes me feel like I’m going to a party trying to decide which hat to wear but none of them look right. Maybe just don’t wear the hat. In my new work I barely use any punctuation or line breaks and it’s freeing.

Margo LaPierre : part two

What do you feel poetry can accomplish that other forms can’t?

Images crushed up together, hyper-awareness of breaks, white space, caesura, and line relationships seem akin to voice (formed by physical vocal cords) and body language (strength and pain expressed through/against space). There’s natural resistance in self-aware poetry. Poetry may be more mould than content. I don’t see it as an escape or distraction, though I speak for myself. Poetry recognizes you in your awkward body, your messy mind.

Margo LaPierre : part one

Margo LaPierre is a queer, neurodivergent Canadian poet and fiction editor. Her debut collection of poetry, Washing Off the Raccoon Eyes, was published by Guernica Editions. She is a poetry selector for Bywords Magazine and Membership Chair of the Editors Canada Ottawa-Gatineau branch.

What are you working on?

Two things at the moment: a new poetry collection and a novel, both works-in-progress. The poetry collection is strictly structured in form, but its content is wild and energetic. I was inspired by chaos magic and performative utterances, which change reality while describing it. I have bipolar disorder, which makes routine a challenge for me, so to write a collection with specific formulaic rules feels like growth, and it’s surprisingly fun. The novel is set in Toronto thirty years from now and follows the formation of a young family who navigate mental illness and the world of sex trafficking to create a loving home for their new daughter and for each other. Aside from writing, I’m also a full-time freelance editor.