Tag Archives: pain

Anne Sexton Talks to God / an interview with poet Jen Rouse

Anne Sexton Talks to God

by Jen Rouse

Anne, frantically twisting
her sea-tossed hair through
her fingers: I’m telling you,
you see, I’ve been here
before. I remember
the way you held me
and then pushed me
back into the water.
I remember! Why won’t
you acknowledge
that I’ve been here?!

God, turned towards
the sunset, back to Anne:
I know. I’m certain,
for you, it felt like that.
For me, it was often you
there, not quite within reach
yet, a tiny bird throwing
herself against the pane
of a window. I wanted
so much for you. But you
wanted your misery
just a little bit more.

Anne rises from the beach,
throws sand at God — her usual
tantrum: That’s a horrible fucking
thing for God to say. You’re not
really God are you? This is
not where I was supposed
to have landed. Where is my
boat, goddamnit?! I’m going.

God, softly, like the voice,
of an ocean, like the arms
of a tide: For some of you, I feel
more maternal, and your struggles
cause me something that manifests
in you as a kind of hellish anguish.
I would’ve let you come sooner, but you
were so strong. You had to do
it yourself. Such a constant dervish.
The unsettled rattle of your brain.

Anne: You could’ve saved me.
God: You could’ve saved yourself.
Anne: Why am I here?
God: You decided to row.

First appeared in Glass Poetry 2018.

JenRouseHeadshot

Jen Rouse is the Director of the Center for Teaching and Learning at Cornell College. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, Gulf Stream, Mississippi Review, Lavender Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Acid and Tender, was published by Headmistress Press in 2016. Riding with Anne Sexton, Rouse’s second book was recently released from Bone & Ink Press in collaboration with dancing girl press. Find her at jen-rouse.com and on Twitter.

Jen’s work was brought to our attention by poet Risa Denenberg, whom we interviewed here. We offered Risa the opportunity to “pay it forward” by choosing another poet to interview, and she chose Jen. Risa says, “Headmistress Press published Jen Rouse’s first book of poetry, Acid and Tender, in 2016. It was a finalist for the Charlotte Mew Prize; the contest judge for that year was Ellen Bass. I was delighted to learn that Jen’s second book of poetry was being published with the fabulous title Riding with Anne Sexton, and I was totally blown away by this poem (“Anne Sexton Talks to God”), which was published online at Glass: A Journal of Poetry. In looking for more of Jen’s work, I learned that she had two poems published in Poetry in 2002. I was jealous! But also intrigued. Why did it take so many years for such an obviously accomplished poet to publish a first book? And, so pleased that Headmistress Press was given that honor.”

So, here is Risa’s interview with Jen.

Risa Denenberg:   That is a very brilliant poem. When did you first read Sexton’s poem, “Rowing” from The Awful Rowing Toward God? Did a particular line catch you in the throat?

Jen Rouse: So much of Sexton’s “Rowing” is about not fitting in and how the gaze of everyone watching the ways we don’t fit can seem to be constant.  Her line “I wore rubies and bought tomatoes” speaks to me of the ridiculousness of living that she really sought to convey in her final work.  The writing in the entire posthumously published The Awful Rowing Toward God has this frenetic feeling—the desperation of trying to find some foothold anywhere. And nothing takes. In my poem, I get Sexton to that island, and she has her first conversation with God. I rarely spare anyone (including myself) in my poems, and this piece is no different. Anne wants to understand why God would make her suffer, and God basically tells her: These were your choices. Not mine.

Risa: The poem is from your new book, Riding with Anne Sexton. Mazel tov on its publication! I am very much looking forward to reading it. Can you describe it for us? How can people order it?

Jen: Riding with Anne Sexton is an unflinching portrait of my relationship with mental illness. I use the conceit of a journey with Anne Sexton—a poet who committed suicide at age 45—as a way to examine the darkest and, perhaps, most tragic voices in my head. In an absence of connection and care, the confessional voice of the pieces expresses the constant struggle I face in trying to end suffering, even in the face of great beauty and hope, while capturing what it’s like to remain trapped in a cycle of pain, longing, and loss.

Riding with Anne Sexton is collaboratively published by Bone and Ink Press and dancing girl press. Sending $10 for the book plus $2 for shipping to my PayPal address will get you a copy.

book

Risa: You are a poet and a visual artist and also a playwright. How do these arts interact in your life and your work? Do you work on them at the same time or do you work on art or poetry or playwriting at different times?

Jen: When I first start to conceptualize a poem or a play, I often think in images or images pop up while I’m doing research.  Sometimes I draw or paint those images as a way to connect with my subject. Sometimes I draw while I’m writing if I need to approach the poems in a new way.

Risa: How did it feel to have poems published in Poetry in 2002 and then to not have your book, Acid and Tender (which was a finalist for the Charlotte Mew Prize) published until 2016 (by Headmistress Press)? Were you submitting the manuscript and getting rejections during those years? Or, did you take a hiatus from writing poetry?

Jen: Ha! It was the thrill of my life to have a poem next to Maxine Kumin’s in that issue of Poetry. What a trip. And,  it was an even bigger thrill when I got the Headmistress email, saying my first book was accepted.  Such a full heart for Headmistress! I was doing something I hate—clothes shopping—that afternoon, when I checked my phone and the message about my book was there. My sister was with me, and we totally flipped out in the store. The person helping us even gave me an extra discount on my purchase that day.

As for the years in between, I was still writing. I never stop writing. But, I had to do a lot of relationship work during that time. I moved to Iowa with my partner. I finally came out to my mom—because we would be near her in Iowa. I landed my job at Cornell College—where I have been for 15 years now and will go up for full professor this year. I gave birth to my now 13-year- old daughter, Madeline.

Risa: Did you feel that your identity as a poet was marginalized during those years?

Jen: My major mentor, the one who guest edited that issue of Poetry, rejected me when I had our child, basically treating me as though that decision was the one that would end my career as a writer. I’m a very devoted and loyal friend, and the sting of that still lingers. It wasn’t until one of my amazing poet friends—Paulette Beete—from my MFA program at American University asked me to participate in an online writing group that I really started thinking about the trajectory of my writing career, of getting better, of publishing again. A wonderful writing group. I am deeply indebted.

Risa: Who were your gateway poets? Ones who made you feel passionate about reading and writing poetry.

Jen: I only ever wanted boxes filled with poetry books for holidays. When I started struggling with mental illness at 14, I found Plath and Sexton captivating.  Later in high school, I had the biggest aha moment of my life. I only got to see Rich once in person, but on the day of her death I felt like something in me went with her. Later there would be Maureen Seaton, Rita Dove, Gwendolyn Brooks, Cherríe Moraga, Audre Lorde, Li-Young Lee, Mark Doty, Louise Glück, and so many more.

Risa:  How do you feel being a lesbian affects your poetry?

Jen: There’s a kind of crazy wonderful courage I’ve developed over the last few years in my writing, especially in publishing poetry, that is very lesbian-centered. I love queering fairytales. I love having heartbreaking muses.  I want everyone to know what a fabulous press Headmistress Press is and how you and Mary Meriam made me excited to be a poet again, excited to have a community. The attention you pay to your authors and their works is truly remarkable.

Risa: Thank you! Is there any advice you want to share with other poets on writing, submitting, dealing with rejection, doing public readings, etc.

Jen: God, I really love every bit of the writing life. I’m too old to think too long about rejection—though when they come with thoughtful criticism I sincerely listen. I am old enough to lift up poets who need a boost in the mix. That’s important to me. I’ve always been a teacher and a learner. As a writer I want to be learning, constantly. When I do readings, I like to think of them as teaching moments. Of connecting with audiences in ways so that we really grapple with the material together.

Risa: How do you balance work life with your writing life? Also with your family/personal life?

Jen: I’m very fortunate to have a stellar community of colleagues at Cornell College. They celebrate my writing successes and promote my work. My last sabbatical really contributed to getting more of my work out into the world. Even though I’m constantly on the run, I believe it’s important to show my daughter that the life of the mind is important. She’s been in the audience for all of my plays. And she even asked if she could give my book, Acid and Tender (Headmistress Press), to two of her favorite teachers. Not that there is anything even close to balance, but I also don’t believe in bemoaning my choices. I live a life of privilege—with rewarding work and healthcare, a brilliant daughter, and supportive friends and family. Even when I struggle with my internal demons, I refuse to take these things for granted.

Risa:  On  lighter note, what are you reading this summer?

Jen: Your magnificent Slight Faith is on my bed, along with Maureen Seaton’s Fisher. I’m also reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House.

risa (2)Risa Denenberg lives on the Olympic peninsula in Washington state where she works as a nurse practitioner. She is a co-founder and editor at Headmistress Press, publisher of LBT poetry. She has published three chapbooks and three full length collections of poetry, including Whirlwind @ Lesbos (Headmistress Press, 2016) and slight faith (MoonPath Press, 2018).

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Of Some Mothers / an interview with poet Naomie Jean-Pierre

Of Some Mothers

by Naomie Jean-Pierre

I have heard it said that / as a bear defends her cubs / so may she maim them / in the process/

how I got here / is no mystery / that I am part miracle and part ecosystem / is truth / wild and sacred / are we / in our natural state / and we are doing life scared / or scarred with seven generations of survival / beneath their / our / my nails

IMG_20180713_182227-01-01-01-01Naomie Jean-Pierre is a MA literature candidate at City College of New York. She hails from Haiti by way of Atlanta. By day, she tutors high schoolers at Countee Cullen library of Central Harlem. By night, she versifies the raw material of daily life.

Naomie’s work was brought to our attention by poet Kay Bell, whom we interviewed here. We offered Kay the opportunity to “pay it forward” by choosing another poet to interview, and she chose Naomie. Kay says, “I chose Naomie because through her work we connect with themes that are often complex yet relevant. The way she articulates aching is so lovely that we see the thin line between pain and beauty and question if we can even experience one without the other.”

So, here is Kay’s interview with Naomie.

Q~How would you describe your style?

A~I think my style is a collection of streams, flowing into one major stream. Sometimes that flow is expressed smoothly like calm waters. Other times, that style is harsh, dangerous waters. The waters of trauma and anger rise, waters of survival and confrontation. My style also speaks from streams like Atlanta (pronounced Ah-lanna), a Haitian-refugee household, Pentecostal pews, and political and social dialectics. So sometimes, my style will be intellectual and other times, it will bleed with the streets that I have walked.

Q~Tell us a little about “Of Some Mothers.” How is it representative of your work?

A~I love to write about generations, about women and about nature. The form of this poem is free and eclipsed at moments by dashes that either disrupt or rush the flow. This is quintessential of my writing in that it attempts to capture something as nuanced as motherhood without casting blame, simply observation. It is like watching a stream flow and noticing the different currents that push the water in this or that direction.

Q~Is there a backstory you want to share?

A~My mother is the bear, and cubs trail not too far behind.

Q~Did it come easily to you or was it hard to write?

A~Most of my poems just come out. If I am writing right, not from a place of intellect, but of dreams and focused feelings, then the poem will write itself. Later, I return with small tweaks here and there to make sense of the raw feeling that is hidden within.

Q~What are your poetry likes/dislikes?

A~I hate that almost nobody ever really knows what I am saying. When I write, I have to chip at the raw material of my senses for a long time. I have been guilty of over-doing it and worst, writing to be understood.

Q~What is the poet’s role in society?

 A~The poet is a prophet, I think. And, some prophets prophesy through intercession, through weeping. Others, by hurling stones or travelling through wildernesses. Some wait on walls and watch for a word. Some prophets sit in wells and feed on very little. They eat from the mouth of ravens. I think overall, though that no matter what kind of prophet, a poet’s role is to be a mouthpiece, an instrument for society to hear again. Poetry is the song of the soul. It’s pain, comfort, lessons, love–all of these aspects of our flesh made word. Those moments that are deeply impossible to articulate, those songs that are muted, resonate and sound on a poet’s tongue. Once they land, we share something that reminds us all that we are more than flesh, even something more than what can even be worded. We can be reconciled to one another. As such, poets remind society and the individual that it is possible to author new agreements between one another.

Q~Who was your poetry first love?

 A~The youngin’ in me wants to say Langston Hughes. It was because of him that I traveled to South Africa, that I came to Harlem. I would stare at a photograph of him in his youth. In his hands, he held a book but I could not take my eyes off his knuckles. I could sense the struggle despite the smoothness of his skin. The strain between his fingers made his knuckles protrude, an image that reminds me of that iconic photograph image of the enslaved man’s back. You know the one. It look like someone carved a tree onto his back. Well, that is what Langston’s poems did for me, and I would be lying if I said it ended with me at 14 or 21 or 27.

Q~Who are you reading now?

A~Nowadays I am revisiting Lucille Clifton, Nikki Giovanni, and Rita Dove.

Q~What’s one piece of advice you want to share?

A~I would say to not war with time. Let every rejection and confirmation of your words secure you into something that is unshakable. For me, that unshakable security is in the fact that I write for an audience of one. That one is not even myself, because there have been dozens of times where I wanted to throw my children away. But, no. That one for me is God, who I feel sometimes over my shoulder saying ‘Keep that. That’s good.’ In time, what I keep becomes something that keeps me.

Q~Where can readers go if they are interested in reading more of your work?

 A~A short story and a collection of short essays can be found in Fiction Magazine.  A website is coming soon.

kaybellKay Bell has been published in the book Brown Molasses Sunday: An Anthology of Black Women Writers, Moko: Caribbean Arts and Letters, The Write Launch, as well as other venues. She considers herself a bibliophile and lives in the Bronx with her sons, Zaire and Morocco, and their tabby cat, Chad. Her website is www.iamkaybell.com