ADD

Thursday, 30 May 2013

Prompt: Torn from the Headlines

Newspaper headlines writers often have a flair for puns and other wordplay. Jay Leno made a regular crowd-sourced segment on The Tonight Show from reading headlines and ads that were sent in by viewers.

Sometimes it's intentional, as in a story about creating unique holiday sweatsuits called "Fleece Navidad." Sometimes the writers are having fun with innuendo as in "Summit ski area gets first decent dump." Sometimes you wonder what they were thinking, or if they were thinking: "Home sales up, despite fewer homes sold" and "Abe Lincoln played key role in 'Lincoln.'"

But headlines as poem titles can serve the same purposes as most titles for poems; they offer a way into a poem and they can offer more than one way to view the poem.

Headline poems are frequently quite serious. They use an actual headline as the title. The poem may address directly the topic of the headline, or it may offer another perspective where the headline seems more ironic.

This month, for the first time, I am using one of my own poems as a model for a prompt. This is a poem that did come from an actual newspaper headline, but the story I chose to tell did not appear in the article. I was more taken in my thoughts with trying to put myself into the event that no one witnessed that occurred in a wooded area I knew as a place that deer often emerged from onto the road in front of my car.


Woman Found In Wooded Area

She ran through the woods
to escape him.
He followed the path
knowing he would reach
the same place.

She wore stockings.
The thorns tore at them
and she bled.

When she came out,
her breath was visible
and he could smell her.

Like a deer, she stilled,
hoping he could not see her.
But he could.


Another example of a headline poem is one in the current issue of Crazyhorse by Amaud Jamaul Johnson titled “L.A. Police Chief Daryl Gates Dead at 83."

One of your two prompt options for June is to write a headline poem. Use the headline as your title. Grab a newspaper or click over to a newspaper site and start reading.

This month, since we have two possible prompts for your June writing, you may choose either or both and submit one or two poems. As a new submission requirement, we ask that you include in your email submission subject line both the word "submission" (which sorts it automatically to the proper mail folder) AND also the short title of the prompt - this month it will be "traveling" or "headlines." We always get poems submitted that don't have the correct subject line and also don't have anything to do with the current prompt, so perhaps this will help with the sorting process. 

Submissions due by June 30, 2013.


Prompt: Traveling

I know of several new books out this spring and summer that offer prompts and inspiration for poets. One of those is Writing Poetry To Save Your Life: How To Find The Courage To Tell Your Stories by my friend and mentor, Maria Mazziotti Gillan.

Maria's book is all about how she writes and on some of her beliefs about poetry. First off, she says we all have stories to tell. Our stories. And those stories are best told and most universal when they are rich with the details and truth of the actual experiences.

Whether she is working with her graduate students as director of the creative writing program at Binghamton University-SUNY, or running a weekend retreat with old and new poets, she has her ways of helping writers get into that dark and frightening cave that holds our stories, and ways to get past that crow that sits above us and frightens us from saying what we know is the truth.

The book offers a series of short, readable chapters on ways to find those stories, make your writing stronger and get past the many fears that poets (including herself) encounter.

The chapters include model poems, generally her own writing with background on the situation, and exercises.

The final section is more than a hundred pages of short prompts in groups of five. They are often a phrase and rarely more than a sentence. In workshops, Maria will often call out a half dozen suggestions to a group and just ask you to choose one that resonates, or combine several.

I have chosen a group of Maria's prompts that share the theme of traveling.

Write about:
a train, bus or plane that you missed
riding on a school bus
leaving Penn Station, Canal Street or any specific location
a cab ride
running away from home
Start with "I have driven highways..." or
"on the street where we lived..."

For a sample traveling poem to consider, look on the main site's prompt page for "The Bus Through Jonesboro, Arkansas" by Matthew Henriksen.

This month, since we have two possible prompts for your June writing, you may choose either or both and submit one or two poems. As a new submission requirement, we ask that you include in your email submission subject line both the word "submission" (which sorts it automatically to the proper mail folder) AND also the short title of the prompt - this month it will be "traveling" or "headlines." We always get poems submitted that don't have the correct subject line and also don't have anything to do with the current prompt, so perhaps this will help with the sorting process. 

Submissions due by June 30, 2013. 


Bob Dylan, Poet



Bob Dylan grew up in Hibbing, Minnesota, and every year, this small town on the Iron Range holds a festival called Dylan Days to advance the arts and celebrate Bob Dylan. Last Friday night, Zimmy's Restaurant hosted the singer/songwriter event.  Because I was invited to keynote the awards for the writing competition and to teach a creative writing workshop, I did some research on his lyrics he wrote to discuss his techniques and find inspiration.  

In 1991, “The Song Talk Interview,” Paul Zollo said: “There's an unmistakable elegance in Dylan's words, an almost biblical beauty that he has sustained in his songs throughout the years. He refers to it as a "gallantry" in the following, and pointed to it as the single thing that sets his songs apart from others. Though he's maybe more famous for the freedom and expansiveness of his lyrics, all of his songs possess this exquisite care and love for the language. As Shakespeare and Byron did in their times, Dylan has taken English, perhaps the world's plainest language, and instilled it with a timeless, mythic grace.”  

From this interview, I've excerpted Dylan's responses about song-writing that reflect good poetic technique:  

1.  As an artist, Dylan said it was his job to "sing out against darkness wherever he sees it -- to 'tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it' until his lungs burst."


2.  About his own songwriting, Dylan said,"for me, it’s always been more con-fessional than pro-fessional.” 

3.  “...write about what's true, what's been proven to you, write about dreams but not fantasies.”


4.  “Just talking to somebody that ain't there. That's the best way. That's the truest way. Then it just becomes a question of how heroic your speech is. To me, it's something to strive after.”


5.  “Well, to me, when you need [songs], they appear. Your life doesn't have to be in turmoil to write a song like that but you need to be outside of it. That's why a lot of people, me myself included, write songs when one form or another of society has rejected you. So that you can truly write about it from the outside. Someone who's never been out there can only imagine it as anything, really.”  

6.  “There's just something about my lyrics that just have a gallantry to them.”

As a poet, I prize his narratives. They are spare and full of exact detail.  Singing against darkness is clear when he wrote songs of protest, but the singing against darkness can also be seen songs like Mr Tambourine Man, Visions of Johanna and All Along the Watchtower.  He conveys a desire or a longing that makes the lyrics work so well as poems.  

As an artist, Dylan was "present" or "awake" in the moment.  He did not wander into abstractions or tell the listener what to think or how to feel.  He used figurative language (metaphor, synecdoche, metonymy) and carefully crafted the words' sound, rhythm, and meter.  He revised a lot, even after a song was recorded on an album.     

Here are the writing prompts I suggested for timed in-class exercises (about 8 minutes of flow writing with no erasing).  I invite you to try these exercises, and see what happens. Each one yielded some excellent first drafts at the workshop, and I hope those writers finish those poems. 

Prompts: 

Write about a person who you don't know but who caught your eye.  Describe this place and focus on a detail about that person.  Use vivid images. 

Write about a place:  This is a frequently used writing exercise that workshops often employ.  Richard Hugo, writer and author of The Triggering Town, said he always began writing about a town. When he did, it didn't take long before the real subject of the poem showed up. 

Choose an experience in your own life when you have felt lonely. Write about the time and the place using exact details.  You cannot use the word lonely in your writing, but you must convey the feeling the images, objects, or description.  

Write about an object well worn by your hands.  Take the persona of that object and write as if it could speak.  (This exercise provides good practice with staying in metaphor).  

After the free write exercises, I would mention the source:  Mr Tambourine Man, Visions of Johanna, etc.  

We talked about "voice."  Each writer has a unique voice.  Don't try to sound like Bob Dylan or anybody else!  Value your own combination of observations, obsessions, and phrasings. Your landscape, experience, and world view will be revealed in your voice. Strive to be authentic.  Be honest and true to your experience.  

The term "wordsmith" is archaic, but it carry the image of metal-working and blacksmiths.  Language is like ore; it must be mined.  It must be made into iron, and then it must be heated and shaped and welded and polished.   

Present your work out loud to others after you finish a poem. It will enable you to assess your final revision. There is no better way to "hear" the work. Even without direct feedback from listeners, you will be able to observe the sound, rhythm, and words as if from a stranger's eyes and ears.    

Walt Whitman, in the 1855 Preface to Leaves of Grass wrote: 
This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem.

Like Bob Dylan and Walt Whitman, live your poems.  Write against darkness.  Speak your truth.  Bring all of your attention to the moment you are living, and then to the poem you are writing.   

________

Work Cited

Bollier, Thomas, Chris Kirk and Richard Kreitner. Slate Magazine "Bob Dylan Song Map." May 24, 2013.  Web. Retrieved 30 May 2013. 
Dylan Days.  Sponsored by Dylan Days, a nonprofit organization to advancing the arts in Bob Dylan's hometown.  Web. Retrieved 30 May 2013.  http://www.dylandays.org/a/j/

Hugo, Richard. The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing.  Copyright 1979.  W.W.Norton and Company.


Whitman, Walt. "Preface to Leaves of Grass."  1855.  Bartleby.com.  Web.  Retrieved 30 May 2013.  http://www.bartleby.com/109/15.html

Zollo, Paul. "The Song Talk Interview." Web. Retrieved 30 May 2013. 



Monday, 27 May 2013

Four paintings by Kiri Piahana-Wong

In the morning
the light touches the walls
like a painting
the morning sun falling in thin brushstrokes
her hair a dark tangle
his face blurred with sleep


Painting #1: How She Fell In Love With Him

In this painting, she is wearing
the red dress she likes to sleep in
and it has fallen to her waist

He is naked
his arm curves around her
his mouth pressing against her neck
in the place she most

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Where Is the Line of Energy?

Muriel Rukeyser said, "The work that a poem does is a transfer of human energy." In the article "Gesture Writing," Rachel Howard suggests that writers can learn from drawing techniques.  Poetry is even closer to visual art than other genres; the economy and compression of language, the image and metaphor make it so.

Life drawing requires the visual artist to look for the energy of the work using strong gesture and line before doing fine details. Howard says:
Realizing that writing is a lot like drawing gives us a deeper approach. Because really, before we put a word or a mark on the page, both writers and artists must first step back and see. And seeing is not simple...Ellen Collett said:
As fiction writers know, every story is told by a narrative voice, and voice reveals itself by what it sees. Voice is a synthesis of seeing and speaking, of sight and syntax. While syntax — the mechanics of diction — can be made to toe the line and conform to a particular “style,” seeing is trickier to control. Seeing is choice. It’s inherently personal.
To see in the way that Collett is describing, to see deeply enough to capture the vibrancy of life on the page, a writer must move her consciousness out of information organizing mode into an intuitive way of seeing subtle organic connections and capturing them in bold strokes.
When Howard used the technique of gesture drawing, "There was the whole. It made leaps. It had perspective. It had emphasis and connection. It had life."

Poetry has a lot of energy: opposing forces, resistances, enjambments, and tension between the lines. Drawing can lend its gesture, but there is also an element of sculpture in poetry.  An excellent poem has been described as a "perceptual object" or "tensile being."  Poetry is physical; by this I mean it must be in the body and engaged with all of the senses.  Christopher Allen said of sculpture: "The material must undergo transformation; and it must have its own distinct and even stubborn character, so that the transformation is a kind of metamorphosis."  The language, the image, the metaphor, the patterns are the materials in poetry; the line of energy initiates the transformation or metamorphosis in a poem, creating new meaning at each reading.

Where is the line of energy in a poem?  Throughout the poem, and then, if it's a good poem, into the reader, the place of its transformation.

 ________________________

To read "Gesture Writing" in the NYTimes:

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/05/25/gesture-writing/?emc=tnt&tntemail0=y

Friday, 24 May 2013

Memorial Day Weekend

On Monday, I'll go my first Nationals game since back in town--Washington vs. Baltimore, kicking off a series--in the company of a poet-friend who is longtime Orioles fan, and who will wear the jersey and all. Eeek. Besmirching our section with orange and black! (Luckily even sworn enemies can come together over beer and french fries; besides, back in the family Ripken days, my father and I would trek to Camden Yards.) 

As we file into the ballpark they will hand us little American flags, a reminder that it is Memorial Day. It was May 5, 1868, when a General who headed a veteran's organization called for a "Decoration Day"--decreeing that all the graves of the Union dead should be adorned--and officials chose May 30, because that was thought to be when flowers would be at the height of bloom. For 100 years it was celebrated on a fixed date. Now we celebrate it on the last-May Monday because of the "Uniform Monday Holiday Act" (yes, really) which Congress passed in 1968 to give us more three-day weekends. As Lyndon B. Johnson declared when he signed it (as the Uniform Holiday Bill), "The Monday holiday will stimulate greater industrial and commercial production, sparing business and labor the penalty of midweek shutdowns."

In an email earlier today, I was describing to a friend this strange and somewhat painful tipping point in which we fully commit to living in this year--and just as suddenly, the year's end is in sight. In two weeks I'll be in Charleston for the Piccolo Spoleto festival, a reading combined with the indulgence of getting an oceanfront room on Folly Beach for a night. Last night, over a Moscow Mule, I worked out a summer schedule to assist a mentor and old boss by returning to her office three days a week. September book travels to Nashville and Lexington are set. In November I'll be in Iowa for a Distinguished Writer gig. But that'll be with a new apartment waiting back home, to be shared with my love. By December I'll probably have to admit I have a wedding ceremony coming up, and should do some planning. For now, my thoughts on the value of weddings are captured perfectly by this excerpt from this weekend's Augusten Burroughs edition of "Modern Love":

For me, saying “I am married now” is like saying “I am lucky now.” I stumbled and crashed my way into the literal arms of something I never quite believed in before: my soul mate. A man who frequently smells like cheeseburgers and makes me laugh hard every day and makes me want to be worthy of being his husband.
That trumps the loss of “boyfriend” and having to withstand the silent judgment of: “Huh, so you’re the wife. I wondered how that worked.”
Getting married felt as if the city clerk was looking at us and saying, “Admit it, just admit it.” And we were smiling and laughing because it was true and we both knew it. So we each said, “Yeah, I do.”

Life never pauses. Another email I wrote today was to a friend asking for advice on freelance. What I always answer: assess your skills, network, don't be afraid to ask. What I always think: Bluff! The opportunities you get are directly proportional to the opportunities you project being accustomed to getting.

In the South, where Confederate dead might be buried miles away from home, Memorial Day was historically celebrated with a trek, perhaps a religious service, and a picnic graveside. You put a tablecloth down on the grass and you visit with your dead. In a perfect world I would take my little red, white & blue flag and, after the baseball game, drive to National Memorial Park Cemetery out on Lee Highway in Arlington. I would plant the flag by my Grandpa Marvin's grave and the sit down to chat with my Grandma Beasley. She died not that long after I had the news of my second and third books, right as I was deciding to quit my editing job and try to support myself as a writer.

It's going all right, I would start by saying, because she worries. I'd talk about my fiancé, this sweet lanky Florida-born painter, and I'd ask to hear the story about meeting my grandfather on the steps of Rice University, then reuniting with a high school sweetheart many years after being widowed. Did you actually like keeping parakeets, or was that for Joe's sake? What was the fanciest event you ever attended in DC? I'd get around to asking if she ever had eaten an avocado, if she liked them, or if that shade of green was just an abstract concept in her house. I would tell her I miss playing Scrabble. I'd ask her forgiveness for not bringing flowers the last time I saw her. I would admit that I worry, too. I would ask what songs she knew by heart. 

I thought I wanted to write a book about traveling. But perhaps I already did that, in poems. Maybe now I want to write a book about staying right here. 

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Advice to Poets from Wislawa Szymborska

"How to (and How Not to) Write Poetry"
Real letters to real questions from poets:

Excerpt:

To T.W., Krakow: “In school no time is spent, alas, on the aesthetic analysis of literary works. Central themes are stressed along with their historical context. Such knowledge is of course crucial, but it will not suffice for anyone wishing to become a good, independent reader, let alone for someone with creative ambitions. Our young correspondents are often shocked that their poem about rebuilding postwar Warsaw or the tragedy of Vietnam might not be good. They’re convinced that honorable intentions preempt form. But if you want to become a decent cobbler, it’s not enough to enthuse over human feet. You have to know your leather, your tools, pick the right pattern, and so forth. . . . It holds true for artistic creation too.” 

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/178592

Why People Don't Like Poetry & What To Do About It


Poets have an obligation to consider why poetry is the least marketable of all genres. What do we do wrong?  In a poem, Rosario Castellanos wrote: 

Silence alone is wise.
But with my words, as with a hundred bees,
I am building a small hive.

Silence might very well be best, yet we are given the language and must use it for beauty's sake as well as practicality.  Poetry is a form that repels some people; perhaps they are afraid of being swarmed or stung.

Bad poetry gives poetry a bad name.  Bad poetry is pedantic.  It might be ostentatious, overwrought, or even unctuous.  It tells the reader what to feel.  It does not evoke an emotional response, and it can be too superficial or sentimental.  It lacks focus.  Metaphors are mixed. It relies on cliches. The mind wanders, the language is stilted or overly sing-song. The poet has arranged the lines in ways that are distracting and don't contribute to the meaning of the whole. Exposure to poetry like this is painful.

According to Mirriam Webster, solipsism is the philosophy that the self cannot know anything behind the self, and secondarily, "extreme egocentrisim." Solipsism might be one of job hazards for writers. Individual consciousness and experience offers a starting place for creative work, but how can we avoid boring others? Get off dead center. A friend of mine used to say that about people who despite the direction of dialogue always brought a conversation to their own struggles, accomplishments, wisdom. They are self congratulatory. It makes you want to run away, fast. How can you tell if you are solipsistic? Look for a glaze in the eyes of those around you, a certain lack of engagement, or withdrawal. At your desk, question the material and more importantly, yourself. What are your motives? What is your quest? Have you arrived at the true subject?  Have you developed your material enough to leap over the boundary of self? Can you find other patterns besides your own?

What is good poetry?  Of course, it's different for everybody, and it's difficult to articulate. I like what Emily Dickinson said, "If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry." Good poetry is physical. It engages the senses. It opens the mind and senses. I also like what Dylan Thomas said, "Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toes twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing." In other words, poetry connects to emotion, and it plays with language patterns in a way that is physically satisfying. In her work, my artist friend Gladys Koski Holmes felt she had to "break something open." This definition, applied to good art or poetry, satisfies me because it suggests that "aha" experience. It achieves or alternately, descends to a different level. It engages the imagination.  Carl Sandburg said, "Poetry is a diary kept by a sea creature who lives on land and wishes he could fly."

Aside from that, poetry needs good readers. It needs those who have a quest. The language of poetry is concentrated; it needs those who want to breathe a richer mix of oxygen. It needs people who are engaged in the creative process, who like to be challenged intellectually and who are not intimidated by ambiguity. Poetry needs readers who are willing to be changed by what they read.  It needs people to use their minds and bodies to receive literature; in other words, those who like to dance to new music.

Work like a bee, if you are a poet, from bloom to bloom, drunk with nectar, and make honey. (Keep in mind that bees have flight patterns, and notice how methodical and organized is a hive). If you are reader, visit the hive and savor the complex flavors.  Here's more of the poem that I began with -- poetry is the best way to speak:


THE SPLENDOR OF BEING
by Rosario Castellanos
  
Silence alone is wise.
But with my words, as with a hundred bees,
I am building a small hive.

All day the hum
of happy work strews the air
with the gold dust of a far-off garden.

Within me a slow roar grows as in a tree
when a fruit ripens.
All that was earth -- darkness and weight --
all that was turbulence of wild sage, leaves rustling,
is becoming flavor and roundness.
Sweet imminence of the word!

Because a word is not a bird
that flies and escapes far away.
Because it's not a rooted tree.

A word is the taste
our tongue has of eternity;
that's why I speak.
...

(excerpt from the longer poem translated by Magda Bogin)

Stavans, Ilan, editor. The FSG Book of Twentieth Century Latin American Poetry. c2011. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. New York.  (pp 446-447)

Monday, 20 May 2013

Saturday, Ocean Creek by Fred D’Aguiar



Sometimes the morning shakes
itself from its moorings



To this world and lifts skywards
with a fighter jet's roar,



Everyone lucky enough to be up and
about looks to the east







But the sound follows idly a much
faster comet too quick



For lazy eyes, so we ink in a
sleek cross with exhausts



And settle for sound in place of
sight for peace of mind.







A morning without wings, or

Sunday, 19 May 2013

An Interview with Poet Kate Fadick


Is this
 the winter I begin the practice
 of making bread,

 water, salt, flour, yeast,
 blistered crusts that hold
 sweet softness?

 
from “Artisan Bread,” Kate Fadick

  

Kate Fadick worked for over 25 years as a community organizer and advocate for social justice in rural Appalachian communities and urban neighborhoods. She lives in Cincinnati and now considers her day job as that of "poet."  Her work has appeared in Appalachian Connection, Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel, For a Better World (anthology of poems and drawings around the theme of social justice), A Few Good Words (Cincinnati Writers Project 2012 anthology), and Buddhist Poetry Review.
 

* * *

As mentioned in my review of Slipstream,I met Kate Fadick at a monthly meeting of The Greater Cincinnati Writers League, a poetry critique group that's been in existence for over 80 years. I began to see more of her at local workshops, poetry readings, and eventually at The Cincinnati Writers Project's poetry critique group. Her poems intrigue me, with their brevity and yet their wealth of suggestion, haiku-like poems that expand with meaningpoems you want to read many times. When Finishing Line Press accepted her chapbook, I was excited that these richly nuanced poems would be available for others to enjoy.
 
—Karen L. George

 (This interview was conducted via email in May 2013.)

     ____________________________________________________________
 

 Kate, I want to start this interview off by congratulating you on SLIPSTREAM, your debut poetry chapbook, and by saying how much I enjoyed working on the review and interviewrevisiting these lovely, thought-provoking poems. I know you began writing poetry later in life. Did you read poetry for years before you began writing it? What led you to first start writing poems? And have those reasons changed over time?

KF:  I began writing poems as a third grader. I still remember my teacher’s nameMiss Belle McGaugheyand the actual mimeograph book she created of several poems I wrote while in her class. A few years later I entered what was to become a long silence, writing occasionally, but rarely showing what I wrote to anyone. It was in my 50’s that I began to call myself a poet and call writing my “work." Writing, for me, has to do with the way I want to live my life; it’s a way of paying attention, of “showing up."  

One of the things I admire most about your poems is how rhythmic they are, through the use of assonance, alliteration, and internal rhyme. I know you were once a member of Muse, Cincinnati's women's choir. Do you feel there is a connection between that and how your poems are so rich in sound and rhythm?
KF:  That’s an intriguing question. I haven’t thought of the crafting of poems in that way, but now that you mention it, I realize that the physical act of writing a poem is very much like musical notation for me. I hear my poems before I write anything down….often find myself speaking them aloud as I drive somewhere or cook or lay in bed sleepless. And then, as I write them first with pen and paper followed by using my laptop, I continue to “speak them," adding and cutting words as I go.
 
You have a skill for breaking lines at interesting points, really working line breaks to add layers of meaning to your poems. I’m curious if that’s something that comes naturally to you, and/or if you studied particular poets who excel in that area?
KF:  The line breaks are a part of the musicality of the poem. Like the rests in a piece of music, the line breaks open up a space in the poem. They help expose the layered images, inviting the reader into the heart of the poem. They do come somewhat naturally for mebeing a singer has something to do with it, I suspect. I do pay attention to what other poets do with line breaksKay Ryan, W. S. Merwin, Li-Young Lee, Lucille Cliftonto name a few.

I’m fascinated by several of the poems in your chapbook that have no punctuation, such as “yesterday in a forgotten box,” and “This is Enough;” and how you use line breaks to reveal meaning and/or unfold the story. Is this a decision from the beginning of a poem’s genesis, or is it something that surfaces during later revisions? And can you describe what about a poem makes you want to shape it that way?          
KF:  Early drafts are usually punctuated. It’s when I begin to cut words and lines that I take it out. When the poem is really right, I find that punctuation would get in the way of its natural flow and wind up removing it all. I find myself using punctuation less and less as my work continues the transition from narrative to more lyric tone begun with some of the pieces in Slipstream. 

Your poems often contain an element of ambiguity that results in a sense of mystery that keeps me thinking about them long after I’ve finished reading them. I believe that’s a choice you made. Can you explain why and what you hoped to accomplish through allowing for multiple interpretations, or various levels of meaning, in your poems?
KF:  I think the ambiguity is there because, as Merwin is fond of saying, and I paraphrasepoetry is in some sense about what can’t be saidabout those places in our experience when words fail us. I write poems about what I don’t know and in the writing am led to some understanding of some part of my life that hasn’t been attended to. And I hope the ambiguity, the mystery, pulls the reader into some part of her or his experience that is as yet unspoken.   
 
 Are you writing for a particular audience?  What do you hope your readers come away with from your poems?
KF:  I really don’t have a particular audience in mind. It can be discouraging to realize how few of the people in my life read anyone’s poetry, let alone mine. I think it safe to say that in this country, relatively few read a substantial amount of poetry. So, I’m thrilled to hear people talk about the poetry they do read; and if it’s mine they happen to talk about, I hope they are coming away from the poems with more questions than answers.
 
 The bio on the back of your chapbook says “…you worked for over 25 years as a community organizer and advocate for social justice in rural Appalachian communities and urban neighborhoods.” Did that have any impact on your becoming a poet, and/or in what you choose to write about?
KF:  That work was about making a different world more likely, a more just world, a less violent world, a more sustainable world. I think poetry can help us continue to hope in such possibility when only the opposite seems likely. 

So many of the poems in your book abound with birds, insects, animals, flowers, trees, gardens, bodies of water.  Why is the natural world important to you, and what do you see as its role in your poetry?
KF:  Gary Synder says that humans are nature. My poems seem to reflect thatat least I hope they do. We can’t live well without that intimate, mutual relationship with all that is other than ourselves.  Close to home for you and me is the mountain top removal that bears a grotesque witness to the lack of mutuality with nature. 

One of the poems I didn’t mention in the review of Slipstream is “Welcome the Stranger,” which reveals the integral connection between the woodpecker and the saguaro cactus it makes its nest inside. What was the inspiration for this poem?  Did you see such a nest in person, did you read about it, or learn about it in a documentary?
KF:  “Welcome the Stranger” came out of a visit with friends in the Southwest. They have an adobe in the desert, and it was there I found a saguaro boot, as they are called. I had never seen one before, and after my friends told what they knew, I “googled” and learned more.  The poem is about the connections between the woodpecker and the cactus, as well as the human connection to what goes on in nature. I hope the poem also speaks to our response to other beings. 

      Do you have a favorite poem/poems from Slipstream and why?
KF:  The poem we’ve just discussed is certainly one of my favorites because it is for me a very personal poem written in such a way that no reader has to know the backstory. I’m tending toward that more and more with my work. “Eve Before Surgery” is another like that. 

Tell us about the writer groups you belong to and how they’ve contributed to your poetry. Do you have any suggestions for poets concerning critique groups?  
KF:  I’ve been a member of Greater Cincinnati Writers League for several years and the poetry group of the Cincinnati Writers Project for two or three. They are very important to my writing in a couple of ways. They are each in their unique way a connection to other poets in the area and their work. And, they are places where early drafts get a hearing and a critique that always leads to a stronger poem. Mary Oliver talks about the solitary act of writing, that eventually one has to sit down and do it. I agree with that. However, it is good to have companions along the way to that solitary place. While critique is necessary for my writing, in the end I make the decisions about the poem. I like making informed ones. 

Who are the poets that most influenced you and/or whose poems intrigued you most? 
KF:  It’s hard for me to think in terms of whose work intrigues me most, or even who favorite poets or poems are for me.  It’s usually the ones I’m reading at any given time.  Right now you’d find in various reading spots around my house Mary Oliver (always someplace), Merwin, Langston Hughes, Nancy Willard, Jane Hirshfield (always someplace), Mark Doty, Jim Harrison, Anne Carson, and others. 

What are you working on now? 
KF:  I’m working on another chapbook of pieces many of which began with walks in Cincinnati’s Spring Grove Cemetery…working title is “surrounded by weary angels."  I’m also working on a short cycle of 6-8 pieces which I think will have a spot in the collection.  They are series of self portraits as a woman with whom I sense some connection. For example, “Self Portrait as Hildegard of Bingen."

 
      A sampling of Kate Fadick's poems on-line:


________________________________________________________________
 

Karen George lives in Northern Kentucky. Since she retired from computer programming to write full-time, she has enjoyed traveling to historic river towns, mountain country, and her first European trip. Her chapbook, Into the Heartland, was released by Finishing Line Press in 2011. You can find her recent and forthcoming work in Memoir, The Louisville Review, Border Crossing, Permafrost, Blast Furnace, Kudzu, and The Heartland Review.