All Rileyed Up

As you may or may not know, April is National Poetry Month. At the library, they’re showcasing collections of poetry and giving out Poetry-in-a-Pocket cards for people to carry around little poems. To celebrate National Poetry Month, I’ve got a wonderful interview for you with Ginny Kaczmarek, Assistant Editor in Poetry for Literary Mama and fellow New Orleans lover. She also blogs at Ginny’s Tonic and Broadsided.

1. Are you doing anything locally to celebrate National Poetry Month?

I’m embarrassed to say not much. As the stay-at-home mom of a young child, I don’t get out much. I do try to participate in local readings–there are several weekly and monthly poetry series — and to stay abreast of what’s going on around town, but now the decision is whether it’s worth getting my husband or a sitter to put our kid to bed (not to mention wanting to be in bed scarily early myself).

So I content myself with Poets.org’s Poem-A-Day and doing what I can through Literary Mama to keep the poetry flowing.

2. What first turned you on to writing poetry (a certain poem or poet, a moment or inspiration, an object, or…)?

Even when I was a little kid, I wanted to be a writer, and I read and wrote poetry along with fiction and nonfiction all through school. But it was as an undergrad at San Francisco State University that I had that moment of Ah-ha! We were studying some really difficult Language poetry and I realized that there really wasn’t any big secret to “getting” this — it was all about my interpretation of the words on the page and how they made me feel. The rest — the craft, the theory, the history — was just tools of the trade, like the mechanics of photography or music. That opened up the possibilities of poetry to me, as if I discovered that the big mystery of poetry was that there wasn’t any mystery at all. To me, poetry is not that different than sculpture or knitting or painting. Once you learn a bit about the basics, you can create whatever you want — and likewise, read it with more pleasure.

3. Knowing nothing about poetry, I wonder: how much editing goes into a poem? I always had this notion that they just come out as they are, but given that fiction is 10 % first draft and 90 % revision (at least for me) I’m wondering what it’s like for poetry.

I think it’s the same as for fiction or any other art form: you have an idea (or a word or a phrase), you write it down, then you play and work the language until it’s in a shape that pleases (or surprises) you. Maybe occasionally a poem comes out “whole,” but I think that’s rare. I think traditionally, poets have been responsible for perpetuating that myth of the poem that springs forth from the poet’s brow. The Romantics (Wordsworth, Keats, etc) were particularly fond of writing about themselves and their art like that, and then the Beats took up the mantle of “first thought best thought.” But Ginsberg, Kerouac, all those guys revised like mad! The trick is to make the poem feel spontaneous, but it takes a helluva lot of work to get it there. I console myself by remembering that Walt Whitman, the master of spontaneous-sounding poetry, only wrote one book, which he revised over and over for his entire adult life. Makes my year-old unfinished poems seem a bit less pathetic by comparison.

I was also surprised by how much editing happens once a poem is accepted by a publication; the editors often ask to tweak this or that or chop lines here or there to improve the poem. It’s not like in a workshop, but I find it comforting to know there’s room for improvement even after I’ve submitted something, that it doesn’t necessarily have to be Norton anthology-worthy from the get-go.

4. Who are your favorite poets?

I like so many different poets for different reasons, and I’m always discovering new ones (or old ones I never read deeply before). I go through phases, too. Lately I’m really into formalist poetry, sonnets, villanelles, rhymes and meter, so I’ve been reading Gwendolyn Brooks, Claude McKay, for their takes on old forms. I love Thom Gunn, who wrote formal, British-proper poetry about biker gangs and his gay lovers and the plague of AIDS in the ’80s. Annie Finch inspires me with her feminist formalist experiments. I love Beth Ann Fennelly’s work, which is funny and true and elegant, and Wendy Cope for sheer hilarity. X.J. Kennedy, Billy Collins, and Kay Ryan remind me that poetry can be both fun and meaningful. I recently re-discovered Walt Whitman, whose longer works take my breath away, but the shorter ones tend to leave me thinking, eh? Then I feel better that even a genius has off moments. And shout-outs to Adrienne Rich for her complexity and Elizabeth Bishop for precision.

5. You recently recommended Blood Dazzler on the Literary Mama Essential Reading list, which is a collection of poetry inspired by Hurricane Katrina. What are your thoughts on literature that incorporates current, life-altering events such as Hurricane Katrina or 9/11?

Ooh, good question. I just heard Billy Collins read, and his opinion was, “Poetry’s not about history, it’s about time,” meaning that poetry shouldn’t take on current events as much as universal themes. But I’d have to agree with my professor, John Gery, who taught that the poet has importance and value in society because of her ability to offer deeper, personal–and yet universal–commentary on the events of our day. I think immediate, event-based poetry can be an extremely valuable tool to help us understand the world around us. The challenge is to create poems that are still relevant 5, 10, 50 years from now, to discover how the personal or immediate translates into a universal, timeless expression of the human condition. Blood Dazzler did that impressively, transforming the personal stories of a collection of characters living through the hurricane and its aftermath into a mythological tale of heroes and villians in beautiful, powerful language.

6. How long have you lived in New Orleans?

I’ve lived here almost eight years. My husband and I first visited on our honeymoon in 1998 and didn’t want to leave. In a way, we didn’t.

7. I enjoyed reading your post on the violence that besets New Orleans. In consideration of that, what is it that makes you love New Orleans? Actually, that would probably be too long and complicated an answer, so why don’t you tell me three things you love about New Orleans instead?

Glad you liked the post. Living here is all about contradiction, the beauty and the violence, the third-world qualities despite our American address. I guess I love those contradictions, how this is a city unlike any other. The physical beauty of the place–the architecture, the flowers (now in glorious bloom; the streets smell like jasmine), the majestic oaks–overwhelms me sometimes. I also love the decay, the sense of history, the mish-mash of cultures and customs. We’ve got world-class music, art, and literature, and at the same time, lots of local, street-level performances that feel like anyone can join in, that we are all part of the ongoing project that is New Orleans. I feel like I could spend my life uncovering all of the facets of this city and always find some new way to participate in its culture, its community. I never felt that sense of belonging anywhere else I lived.

8. Besides Literary Mama, what other publications have you worked with?

I worked as a copyeditor for about 7 or 8 years, at CNet.com and then freelance for a variety of tech and computer book publishers. I went to grad school to focus on my first love, poetry, and was a reader for Bayou magazine and a copyeditor for Ellipses through the University of New Orleans. I am just beginning to develop relationships with Women’s Review of Books, Umbrella Journal, and Rattle, which I am hoping will continue, and am always looking for others.

9. What advice do you have to newbie and longtime poets who seek getting their work published?

Gosh, I’m still figuring it out myself! I guess first, just start sending your work out there–it doesn’t do any good sitting in your desk (or on your computer). You’ll get rejections–everybody does–but it’s the only way to get acceptances. To better your chances, seek out journals, contests, and magazines that have a niche you might fit into: for my work, I look for journals that focus on formalism, feminism, motherhood, New Orleans, and the South. A good way to begin developing relationships with editors is to submit book reviews, interviews, and essays about poets or poetry; they get to know your name and might look at your consequent submissions more closely. Definitely follow up with any that reject your offering but invite you to submit in the future–don’t let your bruised ego get in the way! I am also learning to take more risks: to submit to what might seem like a long shot, to offer my meager expertise when I see an opportunity (that’s how I got my gig at Literary Mama). Once you develop a reasonably thick skin, “No thanks” no longer seems like the worst thing to hear, and you begin to get more yeses. Start a blog–it’s a fun way to have a place to publish your stuff, get some feedback, and offer examples of your writing to potential editors.

10. How does one go about getting their work reviewed in Literary Mama?

Book authors and publishers send their books (or informational queries) to the reviews editors, who then contact me or other reviewers to see whether we’re interested or able to do reviews. I think authors who have had poems published on Literary Mama might contact Sharon Kraus, the poetry editor, about their forthcoming books, and she’d pass the info along to the reviews editors. Sometimes I find something on my own, by reading another review of a book or seeing a poem I like in a journal or online and looking into the author, and then I pitch it to an editor.

11. So I know you didn’t make it to the Tennessee Williams Festival this past year, but you’ve attended in the past. Tell me about seeing Yusef Komunyakaa. Did you hear him read his work aloud and/or speak on the subject of writing poetry? How did he inspire you?

I do usually go to the festival, but missed it this year. Seeing Yusef Komunyakaa a year or so ago was amazing. It was just him and an interviewer in an intimate conversation (well, as intimate as it can be with an audience). I was impressed with Komunyakaa’s ease and grace, his humor and his intensity. I’ve long admired his work, so hearing him speak about writing and living as a Louisianian was inspiring. Seeing someone like him makes poetry feel necessary, important–as if what poets have to say (and the ways in which we say it) are valuable resources for greater communal understanding. At the same time, I felt like he made poetry seem accessible, like any other vocation, one that requires hard work and gives personal satisfaction in equal measure. As much as I regard his work with awe, I felt like I got a glimpse into the worker at his bench, hammering it out. It gave me and my hammer hope.

12. To end with a lighthearted question, what is your favorite Mardi Gras parade and why? (I’m partial to Krewe d’Etat, on account of a wonderful memory associated with my first attendance of it.)

Krewe d’Etat is wonderful–I love the political satire and the emphasis on skull and skeleton imagery (the wannabe goth in me!). This year I caught a blinky gargoyle! But my favorite has got to be Muses, the all-women krewe that also has clever satirical themes (this year’s was Muses 009: License to Swill) and the best floats. Who doesn’t love a giant, sparkly shoe or an enormous bubble bath complete with blowing bubbles? Not to mention how generous and creative the women are with the throws: hand-decorated shoes, high-heeled shoe beads, shoe bracelets, (see a theme developing?) drink coozies, martini-glass-shaped beads…it’s just such a great time. Oh, I almost forgot the walking krewes in between the floats: the New Orleans Rollergirls on skates, the Rolling Elvii (dudes dressed as Elvis on mini-scooters handing out silk scarves), the Pussyfooters and the Camel Toe Steppers (grown women in costume dancing en masse). One of these years, I’m gonna get myself in there: I think being a Camel Toe Stepper would be a blast! That’s the parade that I’ll stand in the rain for. You get the best throws that way.

13. Anything else you’d like to say?

I think I’ve said enough! Thank you so much for your interest!

So are you ready to celebrate National Poetry Month? Check out Literary Mama’s poetry. Some really great selections in there!

This post contributed to Thursday-13.

Like this post?

Subscribe to All Rileyed Up

Or use the button below to Stumble, Digg, et al –

On a visit to Steph at The Red Clay Diaries today, I was led to this poetry site, Pensieve.

A writer friend of mine says she likes to study and write poetry because it gives her the opportunity to examine words from a completely different persepctive than when you’re writing fiction or nonfiction. I couldn’t agree more. So I decided to participate in Pensieve’s monthly Poetic License. The deadline for submissions was Friday, but it was a fun exercise so I’m posting anyway.

The theme was winter or Christmas and the form was haiku or pensieve. I chose the pensieve, defined as this: “A titled, five-line poem; each line correlates to one of the five senses–sight, sound, scent, taste, touch–and describes the subject (title). The goal is for the reader to take on the poem as his own, being able to ‘experience’ your subject through your words, by seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and feeling what you described.”

Tree Decorating

Giggles and gasps as the tree branches receive their wares one by one:
Glittering glass orbs that sparkle in the white lights;
Gingerbread men, baked with vanilla and cinnamon;
Gilded, bumpy angels, a texture little hands can’t resist.
Ghirardelli hot chocolate, to cap the night off.

Beth Staples is the managing editor for Hayden’s Ferry Review and Marginalia and was kind of enough to do some Q&A with me about the submissions process for her publications. You can read excerpts from Hayden’s Ferry Review here, the publication’s blog is here, and an LA Times review of Hayden’s Ferry Review can be found here. Enjoy!

1. Approx how many submissions do you receive in a month and what is the process for reading them?
Oh boy. Math on the very first question. I’m not sure how many per month exactly, and that probably varies. (Some journals don’t read in the summer, and even though we do, it seems like people submit less during the summer months.) For each issue of HFR (every six months), we receive about 1300 prose submissions (that’s fiction and nonfiction, though about 90% of that is fiction), and 750 poetry submissions (each submission has usually 3-6 poems). We also accept unsolicited art and translation submissions, though the editors for those areas spend a lot of time researching and courting the work for the issue.
Our editors are MFA students in their third year of the program here at ASU. The associate editors are a combination of graduate students in their first two years, and talented ASU staff and community members. The associate editors are the first line of defense, reading through the slush. They decide whether to reject the work or pass it on to the editors. There are usually two editors per genre, so from the passed-on work, they must come to a consensus about what they will accept. I basically oversee the process, hire and manage the staff, and help out with the reading.

2. Do you try to divide each issue up equally among the different forms of writing, or do you find that your issues tend more towards poetry or fiction or…?
We allot a certain number of pages to each set of editors based on a 180-page issue. But sometimes we find that we’ll have an especially wonderful set of stories, or more poetry, or more black and white photography, etc. and the editors can choose to share some of their pages. The issue is sometimes longer or shorter than 180 pages, based on how much good work we receive. Basically, we wouldn’t publish work we didn’t like just to pad the issue, and we wouldn’t send away work that we wanted to publish. The page allotments are fluid, and the editors work together to decide what goes in.
One thing I’ll mention is that we don’t get many nonfiction submissions. For our “Works of Witness” issue (#39), that theme really lent itself to nonfiction, and we published 4 or 5 essays. In our last issue (#42) the editors didn’t choose any nonfiction because they simply didn’t feel strongly about anything we got. We’d definitely like to see more essay submissions.

3. How much time do you spend on your own writing?
Not enough, is the short answer. I’ve only been editing HFR full time since January. Before that, I was an MFA student at ASU, finishing the first draft of my novel for my thesis. The transition from graduate school to the working world wasn’t the easiest one. My alarm hadn’t been set that early in a while. I was tired a lot. I bought a house, so I was also broke. And the absence of that kind of womb-like community of graduate school left me a little scared, I think. I realized it didn’t matter if I wrote or not, not to anyone but me. I’m only just getting used all of that, getting back into writing regularly again. And by regularly I mean a few stolen hours on maybe two weeknights, and a nice little chunk on a Saturday. I also have to vacuum sometimes, and watch So You Think You Can Dance, and eat, pet my cat, go swimming. It feels like juggling sometimes, trying to find time for all of those things. It’s funny, as a writer you never feel like you have “free” time; whenever I sit down to relax I always think, “You should be using this time to write, dummy.”

4. How much reading do you do outside of the reading you do for the journal?
I’ve been making this more of a priority lately. I find it’s really hard to do both – read for HFR and read for “pleasure” (Not that reading the slush isn’t pleasant; I absolutely enjoy it). It’s weird, the more I was reading for HFR, the more difficult I found it was to read already published stuff. There’s a certain editorial mindset involved with reading submissions, a kind of hopefulness or cheerleading as you read a story or poem, and usually the feeling kind of crashes. That is, you don’t love everything you read no matter how much you want to. It’s hard to relax that tendency. And maybe you shouldn’t, I don’t know. But when a book or story is already published, it doesn’t require the simple yes/no answer that editing ultimately requires. Or, necessarily, the cheerleading. In some ways, editing might be hostile to the act of reading for pleasure. But then again, I’m not sure a writer can read strictly for pleasure. I’m always trying to take apart what I’m reading, to learn from it. Did I answer the question?

5. What other jobs have you held that have enabled you to understand writing/publishing process better?
Well, let’s see. I worked as an editorial assistant my first job after college. Except I was working for a medical publisher. I worked on textbooks about otolaryngology and urology. I actually helped put together a chapter for surgeons about what to do with a penis caught in a zipper. Then I worked for a “publishing services provider” called Xlibris. Basically, we helped people self-publish. A lot of those books were really bad, but I still liked working with the authors. I kept thinking, “all these people can write a book. I can write a book.” So I applied to grad school. In grad school, I worked as a teaching assistant, teaching English 101 and creative writing. My third year, I applied to be one of the fiction editors for HFR. And then I got a graduate assistant position working with Salima Keegan, the Managing Editor of HFR (for over 20 years!). When she was retiring and I was graduating, she really pulled for me to take her place. She knew how much I loved HFR. I owe so much to her. Honestly, I was in the right place at the right time. I feel lucky.

6. Is it okay that I said writing/publishing, or do you feel the two are separate, with two separate paths?
I’m not entirely sure I understand the question, but I’ll give it a go. For me, I pursued publishing after college because it was related to writing. I liked to write, but I knew no one would pay me to write short stories. Publishing sounded exciting. Some people who love to write get jobs as journalists or technical writers, but that never sounded any good to me. I didn’t want to get burnt out on writing with a job that required me to write all the time about (potentially) things I didn’t care for. That argument is just academic, though. I know writers who just write and write (for a living, at home), and the more things they write, the better they feel. I don’t think I’m that person. That said, I’ve been enjoying blogging. I usually write at least one post a day, and I like the rhythm of that. It’s been giving me confidence for my other work, I think, regularly producing an (albeit small) piece of writing.
As for whether writing and publishing are the same for me as a writer, that’s of course no. You have to just write what you believe in. Write and write and don’t think about whether anyone else will like it, last of all a “publisher.” Write the story you have to tell. When you’re done, you send it out. Getting it published doesn’t make it good.

7. How did you first get into writing?
It’s the same kind of corny story a lot of people tell. I wrote as far back as I can remember. When I was a kid, I wrote poems that rhymed and fables about animals. I used to narrate my every-day activities as if I were in a book. That way it felt like someone cared about every little thing that I did. That sensibility has stuck with me – an attention to the little things, a desire to chronicle moments so that they’re not lost, writing as memory.

8. Who are your favorite writers?
Gabriel Garcia Marquez. George Saunders. Nicole Krauss. Jose Saramago. Kelly Link. Vladimir Nabokov. The way Nabokov writes is so amazing to me. You can just see that he has it, The Gift. (Ah! That’s a joke, because that’s the title of one of his novels!) I love the magical and strange, anyone who can make me laugh.

9. Any editor pet peeves that writers should know about, personal or general?
That’s tough, because I think the things that annoy me are highly personal. A few things do get under my skin: I’m always highly suspicious of stories that take place in trailer parks or at religious revivals. They’re a kind of “white trash” story I see a lot, often accompanied by the characters speaking in some strange version of a southern accent. I rarely like stories about writers or teachers of writing: they often seem like a failure of the imagination. And don’t explain your story in your cover letter; always a red flag. I can think of exceptions to all of the above, though. Anything can be done well.

10. Are most of the editors you know also writers?
I don’t really know many other editors. The few I do are writers. Editing is another one of the ways to be employed doing something you really care about. I love my job. I get to work with and in support of writers and artists all day long.

11. I’ve heard the criticism of MFA programs that they focus so much on craft they lose sight of the creative process? Sour grapes, or do you have any thoughts on this, for writers considering an MFA?
I’ve heard tons of bad things about MFA programs. Is it possible that someone could come out of an MFA so wrapped up in the technicalities that s/he has lost sight of the joy? I suppose. Do I think that MFA programs could better prepare writers for the real world? Perhaps. Do I think some are too competitive? I’m sure. Do some encourage group-think? I guess it’s possible. None of that happened to me. This is what I’ll say of my MFA experience: I was given three years to spend most of my time writing. Someone else paid me to do that! ASU gave me a community of people who valued what I did, people to talk about writing with. I worked with brilliant teachers and writers. I learned that I could teach. I traveled to China. And I found my way into a job. All of that is pretty amazing. To be given the time, space, and support to simply write as much as possible – that’s a dream come true for a lot of writers. I feel grateful for the experience.

12. What prompted your decision to create a blog for HFR?
This question actually prompted me to write a blog post. What I said there was that a blog seemed like a good way to supplement the work of our printed issues, a place to talk to our contributors and learn more about their work. It helps us to both deepen our readers’ experiences with what we publish, and broaden the reach of our contributors. And since our mission is to support emerging artists, the blog also gives us a chance to do more of that: to talk about writing and visual art more. The implication is that the reach of the printed copies of HFR is limited. This is, of course, true. We are not only limited by our ability to find our readers out in the world, but also by the number of copies we can afford to print. The blog, ideally, helps us find more readers for our printed issues, and furthers the whole of our mission. And, it’s fun. And, you know, a strong internet presence seems to be kind of important.

13. And just so that all the writers out there can remember that as an editor, you’re also a human, how about your most embarrassing moment?
Okay, here it goes. This is pretty gross. I was on a kind of “date” with this guy I met at a bar. It was my first year at ASU, and I was trying to get to know people. He worked on campus, so we met on a concrete bench next to a palm tree for coffee. I had a cold. We were sitting and talking for a while, and my nose started to get runny. I didn’t want to get up to ruin the moment, so there was a lot of sniffling. As things escalated, I tried to check for drippings by casually running my finger under my nose. All the while, maintaining a witty banter. (In my mind, I replay this like that scene in Better Off Dead where John Cusack and that character “Beth” both think they have something in their noses while they’re talking. Except worse.). Obviously, there was something emerging, because when I pulled my hand away, a giant strand of snot – like a tight rope – connected my nostril to my outstretched hand. At this point, I was able to excuse myself. I went to a bathroom in the nearest building to clean up and calm down. When I returned, in typical ‘me’ fashion, I remember saying, “I peed while I was in there, just to make sure I won’t go in my pants.” I thought that was funny. Now that I’ve typed it, I’m not so sure. I’m engaged now, so eat your heart out, fellas!

This concludes the interview. Once again, here are the links: excerpts from Hayden’s Ferry Review here, the publication’s blog is here, and an LA Times review of Hayden’s Ferry Review can be found here.

Thanks, Beth!

I am on Day Three of the Santa Barbara Writers Conference. It’s been great so far. Did I already tell you guys that this conference offers pirate workshops?

Aaaaargh!

I am seriously overwhelmed right now by all the workshopping, critiquing, lecturing, learning, blah blah blah–but all in the name of fun! And, uh, honing my craft, um, yeah, that too.

I am participating in the Ultimate Write Off. It’s a speed writing competition. Day one. 47 people. They gave us twenty minutes to write a coming of age story, fiction or non. I wrote mine about growing up in a bicultural household and a particular night when it became apparent to me that not everyone thought that was an okay thing (yes, a creepy redneck man was involved).

Day Two, they announced I had made the cut and I was moving on with the other 26 people (how they came up with this random number, I do not know). We were told to pick an object off a table. I picked up a Give Blood red rubber arm band. This seemed a better option to me than the worn, though clean, tighty whities. We were told after we picked the object to write a poem. We had 15 minutes. I do not write poetry. Except for the occasional haiku in honor of David Hasselhoff. Seriously! What’s a girl to do!!!!!

Here is my poem, in all its glory. This is how open I am people, I am sharing my poem with you. My POEM. I’m not posting it here, so you can gush how good it was. I’ve read good poetry. This does not fall into that category. My point in posting this is to show you that I stepped up to the challenge and wrote this in 15 minutes, and personally, I feel accomplished that I didn’t just walk out of that room and give up. In the words of the great Jean Claude Van Damme, “no retreat, no surrender.” (I laughed so hard just writing that. I love it when I crack myself up).

“Give Blood, Give Life”

A red circle
Wrapped around my wrist
It represents life
It represents blood
It says give blood

Another circle

A white circle
Wrapped around my wrist
It represents my life
It represents my blood
It says I am losing blood

A different circle

A red, wet, undulating circle
Nowhere near my wrist
It represents blood
It represents life

A last circle

A small, white circle
Wrapped around her tiny foot
She is a new life
She has my blood
I have given blood for life