Laura Farina is the author of two books of poetry, This Woman Alphabetical and Some Talk of Being Human, as well as the picture book This is the Path the Wolf Took. Her third poetry collection, Behold!, is forthcoming from Coach House Books. Laura is the recipient of the Archibald Lampman Award, and has been long-listed for both the Relit Award and the CBC Poetry Prize. She’s very temporarily the associate director of the Writer's Studio at SFU.
Her poem “Sometimes, a Lake” appears in the fiftieth issue of Touch the Donkey.
Q: Tell me about the poem “Sometimes, a Lake.”
A: I wrote this poem at a writing retreat on the side of a lake. Each morning, there was an hour where participants got together to write and many prompts were offered. The one that sparked this poem was “What does the term ‘sense of adventure’ mean to you?” I wanted to work on other things at the retreat, but I kept returning to this poem, and as the days wore on and I became more and more homesick its images kind of took a turn. I like the idea that a lake monster has nowhere else to be but in a lake.
Q: How does this poem compare to some of the other work you’ve been doing lately?
A: I’ve been reading and writing a lot of nature poems lately. I think this might be the best one I’ve written so far. There’s something about the line “Fuck it/ This lake is just going to do lake stuff” that really delights me.
Q: Was there anything in particular that prompted this shift towards nature poems? Who and what have you been reading?
A: A poem usually starts for me with something that’s going on around me (or inside my head). Lately, I’ve come to the realization that I am calmer if I spend time outside, so I’ve been trying to be better about going for walks. In terms of nature poems, Strike/Slip by Don McKay is awesome.
Q: Have you had any other models for the kinds of work you’ve been attempting? What else have you read lately that has caught your eye?
A: I love it when two dissimilar things nudge each other into some sort of strange meaning. The Trees, The Trees by Heather Christle does this so well. My copy is dog-eared from the number of times I’ve read it for inspiration. I just read Dad Era by Jordan Abel and was blown away. I don’t often recommend poetry books to my non-poet husband, but I told him he has to read this one.
Q: With a handful of published collections over the years, as well as your current works-in-progress, how do you feel your work has progressed? Where do you see your work heading?
A: This is such a tough question. I think I used to see the various ways I write as quite distinct – this one’s a weird poem, this one’s a poem about all my complicated feelings, this one’s a poem about something I saw that I thought was beautiful, etc. I’m really interested in how these various ways of writing can be in the same poem together, and I think as my work has progressed I’ve been able to do that more often.
I’m not sure I can predict where my work is going. The nature poems I’ve been writing have taken me completely by surprise. It will go where it goes, I guess?
Q: I’m very pleased to see you’ve a new book forthcoming! Is this piece part of that manuscript? How has the process of putting together a manuscript shifted for you, if at all?
A: Aw, thanks rob! This piece isn’t part of the forthcoming book – maybe it’s part of a future manuscript? I think the thing that’s shifted for me in putting together a manuscript is that the time where I feel like I’m floundering around in the dark, wildly casting myself in one poetic direction and then the next has shrunk. Not to nothing. But definitely shrunk. I think, as I’ve grown as a poet, I’m more able to follow the trail of my own interests, more able to identify when I’m up to something that might sustain me for a while.
Q: Finally, who do you read to reenergize your own work? What particular works can’t you help but return to?
A: To re-energize my work, I read Stuart Ross, Jason Heroux, Jaime Forsythe and Kayla Czaga. I return over and over again to Goat in the Snow by Emily Pettit, Lunch Poems by Frank O’Hara and Come on All You Ghosts by Matthew Zapruder.
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