“I think I write to make something living out of what I feel or think—to take a two-dimensional statement and make it three-dimensional. That’s the only time I feel like I’ve communicated myself truly, and maybe I’m just chasing that—true communication.”
I absolutely adore your Installation Series collection of poems, and we at Mud Season Review knew we’d stumbled upon something unique and exceptional in your “imagined art installations” portfolio. With potent and haunting imagery, an immensely immersive aesthetic, and rich tapestry of envisioned physical spaces together woven, the reader is placed into a dreamlike, ethereal, other-worldly labyrinth—some strange, newfangled, unsettling maze. “Traveling” through each successive layer proves a raw, intoxicating—even holy—experience.
Please share with us your inspiration, or vision, behind Installation Series. Take us through the process of its composition. Why—and how—did you approach the creation of this particular poetry? What is it you hope readers take away from engagement with the series?
Firstly, thanks for giving these poems such close attention that you could come up with such a complimentary question! To be honest, this series was born in jealousy. I don’t write narrative poetry—not as some sort of high-mindedness but because I’m terrible at it—and my poems often leave people asking what the hell I’m talking about.
I love visual art and had been looking at pictures and videos online of art installations. I was jealous that the artists could make these obscure things and then explain them on a piece of paper on the wall, so I decided to write poems that imagined fake installations and talked overtly about what they meant to me. Of course, it didn’t turn out that way. I wrote like I wrote before. But it gave me a way to enter ideas that I hadn’t felt able to contain in a poem. I started out writing about huge issues I obsessed about—women, race, climate—but the only ones that stuck were the ones I had not just thoughts on but a long, intimate experience inside of—womanhood, girlhood, motherhood.
I wrote each of these in a lot of sessions, usually one section at a time. I kept coming back and responding to what I’d already written, trying to engage with the installation, or with my own earlier responses, rather than coming from inside the poem like I usually do.
My main hope for these pieces is that women recognize them, have some sort of “Yes, that’s it!” response to them. Beyond that, I have ridiculously lofty feelings. I hope they help chart for men (and everyone) the bigness and mystery they feel about women but can’t explain. I hope they remind us that women’s bodies are not separate from their selves. And I hope they remind all of us what the feminine brings to the table, its massive power and reserves.
How long have you been writing poetry? Why do you write poetry? Knowing you have written—and had published—other poetic pieces, which may or may not be similar in nature to that which we feature here, how would you describe your own poetic “vibe,” generally speaking?
I have been writing poetry since I learned to write. My mom recognized my love of poetry early and nurtured it with books and journals. I wrote piles of terrible things and lovely things, but it took me a really long time to grow up and take feedback in a useful way.
I don’t know why I write poetry anymore. I used to write to find out “what I think,” which has been said by many writers, and to process events and feelings personally. But now, I think I write to make something living out of what I feel or think—to take a two-dimensional statement and make it three-dimensional. That’s the only time I feel like I’ve communicated myself truly, and maybe I’m just chasing that—true communication.
I feel like I have a huge variation in poems. I’m sure there’s a recognizable throughline, but form and topic and even tone are pretty random. What’s less random is my obsession with “being.” I frequently veer back to spiritual questions and opining about time or death or whatever it is about the whole universe that is beyond/outside of the physical.
I understand you have also worked as a reporter, an editor, and a teacher. How would you say these various (though certainly related) experiences inform your creative writing, such as poetry?
They’ve each shown me more about people, and dealing with different people shows me more about myself. I saw a recording years ago where the poet talked about the job of the poet being to grow as a human being as much as possible so that it was reflected in the work. I think that’s right.
A lot of my editorial experience has been proofreading, and I’m not sure that’s been helpful for poetry. I used to have much freer feelings about using punctuation playfully in poems. Spending so much time regarding punctuation as strictly grammatical has probably tamped that down some.
What are you currently working on? Anything exciting coming down the pike?
I’m trying to finish the rest of the Installation poems! I got attached to some stuff that wasn’t working in the earliest pieces and have finally surrendered it, so there are gaps to fill in these pieces. Beyond that, I’m working to be patient with myself. I had a long period of feeling pretty Eeyore, and what I wrote during that time reflects that—not in a good way. So I’m attempting to let it be and wait for things to move me.
What are you currently reading? What was the most recent film you saw, which you really enjoyed? Music, listened to?
I’m reading The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, picking up where I left off probably 15 years ago. And I just finished Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. It’s beautiful, but a hard read.
I’ve been listening to the pre-releases for Sharon Van Etten’s upcoming album, and they’re fantastic. I’m always listening to Devendra Banhart and Alex Ebert.
No films of note. What I’ve been gradually watching (if I’m alone, because my family hates them) is Scandinavian detective shows. But I love their characters and darkness and hanging out in a culture that’s similar to what I know, yet wildly different.
Who are some of your favorite writers and poets? Why?
They’ve changed a lot over the years. Right now, I love Marianne Moore and Norman Dubie and Theodore Roethke. I love sort of puzzling out what Moore is saying and the way her phrases grow into something more marvelous when you’ve slowed down to parse them. I love Roethke’s dark and mysterious stuff, the way you can’t truly get inside them except to feel them. And I love the atmosphere of Dubie.
For contemporary stuff, Don Mee Choi is one of my favorites, though I like her earlier, very odd stuff best. The language play and deceptive, singsong rhythms of Hardly War captivated me instantly. Dunya Mikhail’s The War Works Hard always brings me back, too.
Can you share with us a few interesting facts about yourself, your interests—apart from poetry?
I’m a good cook and a good baker, and I make dinner from scratch most days. I love my garden and have great success with some things, but have never grown an onion larger than a kumquat. I like to collage, which is really the only visual art I can pull off.
My husband and I have three kids, and another who lives with us, and they all manage to be excellent and humorous company. We have dogs and a cat and chickens, and they all lift my spirits … usually.
And now, just for sh*ts and giggles:
Metallica or Mozart?
Mozart. But Jane’s Addiction is a different matter!
Hemingway or Homer?
Both, according to mood.
Oscar Wilde or Oscar the Grouch?
Both, according to mood.
Dr. Seuss or Dr. Strangelove?
Dr. Seuss.
Seventeen syllables or fourteen lines?
17 syllables! — For writing.
14 lines — For reading.
Thank you, Jodi, for sharing with us your time and talent, your poetry and thoughts. I’ve truly enjoyed it.
