Her poems “The Pantry,” “Neighbors” and “Just Like in the Movies” appear in the fiftieth issue of Touch the Donkey.
Q: Tell me about the poems “The Pantry,” “Neighbors” and “Just Like in the Movies.”
A: “The Pantry” is part of a chapbook manuscript I’m working on inspired by fairytales. It actually started as a longer prose poem that I wasn’t very happy with, but as I whittled it down more and more, it started to shape itself into something more satisfying.
Both “Neighbors” and “Just Like in the Movies” came about after I learned about the nonet form, which really appealed to me in its brevity. “Neighbors” is inspired by a Chinese folk tale, while “Just Like in the Movies” began as more of a prayer.
Q: How do these poems compare to some of the other work you’ve been doing lately?
A: When I wrote these poems, I had mostly just been writing prose poems and microfiction, so it was the first time I was experimenting with line breaks of any kind. It was also the first (and only) time I tried out a formal poetic form in the nonet. Since then, I’ve become a little bit more comfortable with lined poetry, although I still feel most at home with the prose poem.
Q: What is it about the form of the prose poem that appeals? What do you feel the form allows that might not be otherwise possible?
A: I think it’s all about expectation. When you see a chunk of prose, you go in expecting a story, some sort of straightforward narrative. But within a prose poem, you’re kind of allowed to upend that expectation, to insert surreal imagery, to not necessarily have a story arc or anything really that makes sense, and it just takes the reader onto a strange journey that might feel disorienting, that might make the reader want to read the poem over again in a new light. That kind of unsettling feeling that might evoke surprising and hidden emotions is what I aim for, because it’s the kind of journey that I go on myself when I write the poem.
Q: Do you have any models for the kinds of work you’ve been attempting? Are there particular writers or works in the back of your head as you write?
A: I think Ben Niespodziany’s writing has been a huge influence on mine, in terms of introducing me to the absurd and surreal in very short forms, so I always like to go back and read his work to see what is possible. And then Sarah J. Sloat’s erasure poems have also been very inspiring to me, in terms of rhythm and imagery packaged into a tiny, tiny poem.
Q: At what point do you see your work meeting both prose poetry and microfiction? Is there a difference in the way you approach or even attempt to place a piece? Is the difference context, beyond any elements of form?
A: Ah, it’s always been tricky for me to differentiate between prose poetry and microfiction. In the very beginning when I was first starting out, I would read a ton of examples of both and try to figure out what made editors/writers categorize them into each genre, and I could never come up with a clear answer. Some micros read more like a poem, and some poems read more like a micro. There are times when I am trying to write one or the other, and for micros I might try to have a specific character we follow throughout, whereas for a prose poem I can just run with disparate ideas and images. But more often than not, it’s really just a whim whether I submit my writing as a micro or prose poem. I kind of leave that up to the reader to decide.
Q: With two published chapbooks, as well as your current works-in-progress, how do you feel your work has progressed? Where do you see your work heading?
A: Working on those chapbooks was such a fun and eye-opening experience for me. It pushed me to write around one central theme or character, to try and extend a somewhat loose narrative arc over a series of poems. As much as I like writing standalone poems, I really enjoyed focusing on a certain image, and just reiterating on that over and over again in different ways. So I definitely would like to write more micro-chapbooks, or maybe even a full-length chapbook, in the future. The problem is that it takes a long time to come up with a theme I’d want to stay with for a while. I kind of just have to sit with what I’m writing until I’m struck with an urge to continue exploring a character or image further.
Q: Finally, who do you read to reenergize your own work? What particular works can’t you help but return to?
A: At the risk of sounding cliche, I think about David Lynch’s work a lot. I don't necessarily rewatch his films very often, as they’re often a bit hard to stomach, but I do think about his philosophy and approach to art, and the few images of his films that stick with me, in terms of dreaminess, atmosphere, and internal logic that is obscure to the audience but is very clear to the creator. Relatedly, I think about the fairy tale form a lot, and how fantastical elements are rarely explained and are simply accepted, and how the violent can occur with such nonchalance, and how archetypes function to pull in the reader.
Recently, I find myself weirdly drawn to horror films. I’m a huge scaredy-cat, so I’m not delving into the hardcore stuff, but I feel such a connection to the visceral, inexplicable, and surprising elements that can come from horror movies.
And finally, when I’m feeling really stuck, I always tend to return to Jon Boisvert’s collection BORN, as his prose poems always tend to strike the exact chord of what I want to achieve with my writing.
