Grady Chambers : part two

What other poetry books have you been reading lately? 

The last handful of months I've been sort of intensively working on putting together a second book of poems, and as has happened before when absorbed in my own work, have found myself spending more time with fiction than with poetry lately. I'm reading War and Peace at the moment, and making my very, very slow way through the New Testament. I read the latter only during my commute to work, so I only get through a few pages each day. It's been wonderful to experience it like that. I didn't grow up attending synagogue or church, so the bible is something I've never studied in any kind of formal way, and I've never felt forced to accept any of its teachings. That's allowed me to approach the New Testament purely out of curiosity and with more of an attention to language and phrasing than anything else, and I've found much to marvel at and enjoy in those aspects.

J.R. Solonche : part five

How does a poem begin?

I’m with Frost who said a poem begins in delight. But I also believe a poem should continue in delight and end in delight. Fuck the wisdom.

Jay Besemer : part three

What other poetry books have you been reading lately?

This is such an important question. I have to answer with names rather than titles because I read in bulk & re-read often. Lately I have been having a hard time keeping up with all my fellow trans & gender non-conforming poets' books & other publications--what a wonderful problem to have! But I'm reading Jayy Dodd, Cyree Janelle Johnson, Oliver Baez Bendorf, Sam Ace, Trace Peterson, Adrian Silbernagel, Zoe Tuck, Joanna C. Valente, others I'm likely forgetting.

I'm also reading Mathias Svalina, Brandon Shimoda, Stacy Szymaszek, Olivia Cronk, Philip Sorenson, Daniel Borzutzky, Toby Altman, Nicholas Alexander Hayes, Julia Cohen, Keith S. Wilson, Douglas Kearney, Joyelle McSweeney, Johannes Görannson, Kim Hyesoon, Bhanu Kapil, Nikki Wallschlager, Fred Moten, W.S. Merwin, Robert Duncan & Tristan Tzara. Again, probably forgetting people.

I've been subscribing to a lot of presses lately; it's a great way to support poetry publishing & the presses where the books by my favorites originate--plus it's cheaper than buying each individually. I subcribe to Ugly Duckling Presse's translation series & Kenning Editions; in the past I've done Omnidawn subscriptions. I also often order in batches from presses--I do this frequently with ActionBooks, Nightboat, The Song Cave, & The Operating System.

Alex Manley : part one

Alex Manley is a writer who's lived in Montreal/Tiohtià:ke their whole life. A graduate of Concordia University's extremely cursed creative writing program, their work has appeared in Maisonneuve magazine, The Puritan, Carte Blanche and Vallum, among others. Their debut poetry collection, We Are All Just Animals & Plants, was published by Metatron Press in 2016.

Photo credit: Blair Elliott.

What are you working on?

Improbably, I’m currently working on two different, full-length themed poetry manuscripts. The way I seem to work is that I’m deeply uncomfortable unless I have a project on the go. In 2016, with the editing process for We Are All Just Animals & Plants—my debut poetry collection with Metatron Press—winding down, I started work on something new: a poetry collection that would combine my passion—for lack of a better term—for romantic love and my history of devout Christianity, which lasted up until I was 18 or so and then quickly died. Despite now being a staunch atheist, I wanted to write something that paid homage to the role religion had played in my life as I grew up, as well as an ode of sorts to the beauty and power of certain aspects of faith: the ‘religious experience’ and/or ‘holy moment,’ the beauty of cathedrals, classical sculpture, Michelangelo’s “Pièta,” and so forth. In my head, it was a very gray book—solemn, sombre, tall and skinny and mournful. Meanwhile,  nearing the end of the first draft of that manuscript, I began work on another, different manuscript: a collection of poems written to and in and around the concept of Canada. I wanted to investigate something about this country—its vast expanses, its milquetoast reputation, its ‘old stock’ Canadians and immigrants, its hockey games, its racism. And I wanted to write a collection of poems that spoke to the Canadianness that my father instilled in me, one that was straightforward yet wry, serious yet winking. I wanted a Beaver Tail, a stubby Molson, and a wheat field. Right now, I’m trying to get both published… tell your editor friends.

Daniela Naomi Molnar : part four

How does your work first enter the world? Do you have a social group or writers group that you work ideas and poems with?

My cat, Stir Fry, aka LKP (Lord Kitty Potato) is the first to hear my poems, because he sticks nearby (often on) me as I work and I read my work aloud as I write.

In addition to his insightful feedback, I am extremely grateful to currently be working with Solmaz Sharif, who is my mentor for my final semester in Warren Wilson’s MFA in Poetry. I’ve also had the immense privilege to get support and feedback on early drafts over the past two years from from Airea D. Matthews, Connie Voisine, and Sally Keith. After cats, poets are my favorite people.

And I feel so lucky have a few poet and writer friends who I often share early drafts with, including Jay Ponteri, Sebastian Merrill, Dane Slutzky, Aaron Hauptman, and others. They’re all so incredibly smart and kind! For several years, I was a regular member of poetry workshops with my friend, the poet, novelist, and visual artist Zachary Schomburg. These workshops profoundly shaped my understanding of poetry and Zach’s voice is still present with me as I work.

True to my extremely introverted nature, for many years, I didn’t share my poems with anyone (other than LKP). I had a wakeup call via my closest friend, a person I’ve known for 20+ years and with whom I speak regularly. I mentioned in a conversation that I was working on a poem. She responded, “You write poetry?” So… I realized that I needed to be a bit more public with my work. I am so grateful to now have what feels like a wealth of diverse voices with and from whom I can learn. Because poetry is meant to be shared. In the words of Miłosz: “The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person.”

Adam W. Burgess : part one

Adam W. Burgess is a southern Nevada writer whose work has appeared in Towers, Brave Voices, America’s Emerging Writers, and Watermark. Adam names as inspirations writers such as Dennis Cooper, Sylvia Plath, Ocean Vuong, and Audre Lorde. Currently, he lives with his husband in Las Vegas, where he is an English professor and a frequent explorer of the desert’s fabulous trails, mountains, and wetlands. You can find out more about Adam by visiting his website, www.roofbeamreader.com.

What are you working on?

Right now, I’m working on a collection of confessional poems about masculinity in the queer (specifically the gay male) community; it started as a mini-chapbook but has progressed into a longer set of works, made up of much longer poems. I’ve also been thinking through ideas for a novel in verse. I have beautiful and terrible dreams about the resurgence of epic poetry as a favorite literary form. Can you imagine?

Madeleine Barnes : part three

What do you find most difficult about writing poetry?

Holding space for creating is hard especially in a world that wants you to focus on producing things of monetary value. People will question what you’re doing and why you’re not making different choices, and they’ll pressure you to live a more prescribed life. Continuing on your path despite this pressure is tough, but I think the right people will celebrate your pursuit of an authentic life. From the outside, it’s difficult to understand the pressure that writers face or to fully empathize with how complicated and emotionally tumultuous the writing and publication processes are. It takes sheer resilience to continue. You must surround yourself with supportive, uplifting people who remind you of your purpose and your strengths. A great teacher once insisted that students block off time to write the same way they would make time for a dentist appointment. She was an outstanding teacher—if you’re a writer, making time to write is a matter of health. Finally, I live with chronic pain, which can provoke feelings of frustration. There’s so much I want to create, but sometimes my body and mind cannot be pushed further. I’m not a machine.