How does a poem begin?
Pretty much like so.
What other poetry books have you been reading lately?
For this answer, I’d like to share what I have been teaching lately and what I will be teaching. There is nothing quite as sustaining as seeing how emerging writers learn from and are inspired by contemporary poetry. This term I taught Kirby’s This Is Where I Get Off and What Do You Want to Be Called?, El Jones’s Live from the Afrikan Resistance!, and The Next Wave: An Anthology of 21st Century Canadian Poetry, edited by Jim Johnstone. Next semester, I will be teaching Jones again along with Randy Lundy’s Field Notes for the Self, Natasha Ramoutar’s Bittersweet, Rasiqra Revula’s Cephalopography 2.0, and Dani Spinosa’s OO: Typewriter Poems. Happily, all the poets who’s work I teach also visit our classes, so there are endless rewards and highlights each term.
Has your consideration of poetry changed since you began?
I used to believe in some combo of “great poetry above all else” and “writing/reading poetry makes people better people.” Oops. I don’t know. I still really do believe deeply in the process. I really do believe there is something inherently valuable about the practices of attention, expression, imagination, and openness nurtured by reading and writing poetry. I guess it’s when we move from process to product, from practice to profession, that things go awry.
How do you know when a poem is finished?
When I’m finished—done, toast, kaput. When I can’t bring myself to hardly even look at the thing, though usually, obsessively, I do read the poem over, and tweak, again.
Photo Credit: Katie Fewster-Yan
What are you working on?
I recently published a chapbook with Frog Hollow Press, Mad Fold-In Poems, and now I’m working on finishing a full-length collection of fold-in poems. I’m also working on a short sort of documentary/film poem about the chickadees I befriended in early autumn. Sadly, I no longer live where those chickadees live, and I miss them.