Molly Cross-Blanchard : part one

Molly Cross-Blanchard is a Metis  writer from the prairies currently living as a guest on unceded Musqueam territory. She has an English BA from The University of Winnipeg and is now a Creative Writing MFA candidate at the University of British Columbia. Her work has appeared in Contemporary Verse 2, The Malahat Review, and In/Words. This Spring, she will take on the role of Circulation Editor at PRISM international.

Photo Credit: Rachel Scramstad

How did you first engage with poetry?

First, very briefly, when I was sixteen and considering breaking up with my boyfriend (there was a lot of onomatopoeia... “SPLAT goes his heart”). And again, five years later, when said boyfriend and I finally (dramatically) called it quits. The time in between these catalytic heartbreaks was a lot of short fiction, playwriting, and trying to be an actor.

Domenico Capilongo : part five

How important is music to your poetry?

Music is central to my poetic process. My first book, I thought elvis was italian was inspired by Elvis. My second book, hold the note was inspired by jazz. My third book started with a lyric from the band, Arcade Fire. I find that music can get the brain to feel language in an interesting way. It somehow matches how the words sometimes form in my head and allows them to start coming out. I can sometimes even visualize lines of poetry while listening to music. This can be dangerous, however, while driving!

Sennah Yee : part four

What poets changed the way you thought about writing?

Off the top of my head, and in alphabetical order because I cannot possibly rank them: Franny Choi, Canisia Lubrin, Morgan Parker, Claudia Rankine, Ocean Vuong, A. Zachary, Jenny Zhang. They have each, in their own way, challenged both the medium and the reader. I had only ever known traditional forms of poetry shown to us in grade school; while I liked some of it, I mostly appreciated them on a technical level – emotionally, I had trouble connecting to them and/or seeing facets of myself. These writers have all shown me the potential of the personal, and of the critical.

Kristin Garth : part three

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

The dense, terse nature of poetry – the details of it, full of pulp and flesh and strained of the filler and water, it is life at its most condensed, shocking level.  There’s no politeness in poetry or development – it’s nitty-gritty all the way through.  It’s all icing, tart, cream, orgasm, nightmare.  To me, it’s always the richest parts of every experience, so reading poetry is like living the best and worst of life in a tiny little box.  I think that’s why knowing a lot of poets, it’s an interesting experience because what we have in common is a very microscopic engagement with the world.  We are not hanging back in the shallow end.  We are in deep, experiencing, swallowing the chlorine water that reminds of us the water fountain in second grade and that boy who watched you drink and you realized you were  physically desired.  We are always in the present and the past, in the details and the imagination.

Cameron Anstee : part three

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

As I said in an earlier answer, I’m a hoarder these days, I don’t share work readily in many places. There are a few little mags I love and trust, and otherwise the work stays with me. I do have some close, trusted friends that will generously read works-in-progress and manuscripts, and with whom I talk shop. These friends date to my university days working at a campus lit mag and spending free hours in the student pub talking/arguing poetry, and are the formative social influences on my work and processes. My end of these conversations has been quiet over the past year and half or so as the full length book has gone through editing. I didn’t write much that was new while editing the book, so I’ll have to start sharing again soon as I begin to write new things.

Joelle Barron : part two

How did you first engage with poetry?

My grandfather had a book called, The Top 500 Poems (ed. William Harmon). It’s a tome with a watercolour painting on the cover in blues and greens. My grandpa used to read to me from it, mostly Lewis Carroll. I eventually ended up with the book, and would read, “The Lady of Shalott” every night before going to sleep. I later learned that these 500 poems were actually a very narrow view of what poetry could be, and that was a relief, because I thought most of these so-called “top” poems were spectacularly boring.

Martha Silano : part two

Has your consideration of poetry changed since you began?

Oh, yes! I didn’t know how important the sounds of words were – the cadences and rhythms, the use of things like assonance and slant rhyme to keep a poem’s engine chugging along. I also didn’t know how much of writing is revising. Finally, I used to look for something I could ‘relate to’ in a poem. If I couldn’t find ME, I usually didn’t ‘like’ the poem. I’m not looking for mirrors anymore –I’m actively seeking out lives I haven’t lived, stories and situations that aren’t mine at all.