“Saraswati Takes Back the Alphabet”: An Interview with Shilpa Kamat

I was driven by the forces that create and break language: sound, migration, immigration, alienation, speech, accent, imperialism, place, longing, myth, consciousness, archetype, universality, magic.” – Shilpa Kamat, “Saraswati Takes Back the Alphabet”

Poet, visual artist, and educator Shilpa Kamat contends with the violent legacies of imperialism, her lived experience, language, and threats of erasure in her chapbook, “Saraswati Takes Back the Alphabet,” finalist for the 2018 Anzaldúa Poetry Prize. In “eleven,” mid-way through the chapbook, Kamat writes, “the demons were never/ evil just regular/ people who prayed.”  

The content of Kamat’s lifethe experience of thinking across multiple languages, and being rooted in a particular lineage, Konkani, while having grown up elsewhere—is woven into the chapbook. She is concerned with nuance and layers, integrating her fascinations with magic and the sociopolitical without oversimplifying the past. Kamat is committed to exploring where magic still resides despite every violent attempt to erase it.

“French Braid”: An Interview with Rennie Ament

Part instruction manual for living, part mourning song and meditation on America, Rennie Ament’s aptly titled chapbook, “French Braid,” weaves stories of being both at home and not at home in the world. The 2018 Anzaldúa Poetry Prize finalist braids lived experiences with the absurd, painting strikingly vivid, arresting scenes that rouse readers’ emotions and intellect. As she writes, “you have to be the explosion you wish to see,” and her poetry is precisely that: an explosion that we all need to see.

Rennie Ament’s work has appeared in Colorado Review, Sixth Finch, Redivider, Yalobusha Review, minnesota review, The Journal, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere. She is the winner of the 2018 Yellowwood Prize in Poetry from Yalobusha Review and a nominee for both the Pushcart Prize and Best New Poets. She’s also received fellowships from the Millay Colony, the Saltonstall Foundation, the New York State Summer Writers Institute and the Vermont Studio Center. She lives in New York City.

Jamie Wagman: I would love to hear a bit about your writing life and your process. What’s influenced your writing? When did you first know you were a writer, and what has your journey as a writer been like? What delights and what scares you most as a writer?

Rennie Ament: Poem-wise, I don’t pay attention to semantics at first. I’ll give myself some kind of formal constraint (a sonnet, “e” the only vowel allowed, words can only come from a specific source text), but mostly I want to play in language and surprise myself. It’s fun to scribble gibberish until something sounds both strange and true.

Eclectic Absurdism: Reading Mark Leidner’s Under The Sea

Mark Leidner’s newest book, “Under The Sea” (Tyrant Books 2018), is a collection of short stories that span across time and space, examining the lives of rural Americans, the heartbreaks of a nun, conversations between radicalized ants and far more. Each of these stories feel like a miniature novel, full of unique and engaging ideas.

What I found most fascinating about this collection was the way these stories were arranged. Although none of them are connected (thematically or narratively), there is an impressive flow that forms between them as you read.

Book cover featuring the title I'm Fine How Are You in black on pink paper with dark pink images of sliced grapfrfuit.

Catherine Pikula • I’m Fine. How Are You? • Print Only $8.99

I’m Fine. How Are You? • Print Only

Description

I’m Fine. How Are You? explores gender, love, sexuality, anxiety, and loss, and ultimately hope in the ability of language to heal trauma. Through threaded stories of a lover on a road trip with another woman, a violent old flame, and a friend’s suicide, the speaker unravels the troubling knot between herself and others, and between body and psyche in search of strength.

Details

Praise

“I’m obsessed with I’m Fine. How Are You? Reckless & ballsy & raw & smart.”
        —Chloe Caldwell, author of “Women”

“Is it a Lyric Essay? Is it a Long Poem? Is it Meditations? I’m Fine. How Are You? is about relationships and violence and loss and gender and duck vaginas and art and is a wonderful manifestation of Zukofsky’s definition of poetry; ‘It is precise information on existence out of which it grows, and information on its own existence.’ Pikula’s disarming voice is precise and totally winning.”
        —Mathew Rohrer, author of The Others

Reviews

Author

Catherine Pikula holds a BA in literature and philosophy from Bennington College and an MFA in poetry from New York University where she was a Writers in the Public Schools Fellow and an adjunct professor.

Artwork

Cover by LK James.

Book cover featuring the title I'm Fine How Are You in black on pink paper with dark pink images of sliced grapfrfuit.

Catherine Pikula • I’m Fine. How Are You? • Print + E-book $9.99

I’m Fine. How Are You? • Print + E-book

Description

I’m Fine. How Are You? explores gender, love, sexuality, anxiety, and loss, and ultimately hope in the ability of language to heal trauma. Through threaded stories of a lover on a road trip with another woman, a violent old flame, and a friend’s suicide, the speaker unravels the troubling knot between herself and others, and between body and psyche in search of strength.

Details

Praise

“I’m obsessed with I’m Fine. How Are You? Reckless & ballsy & raw & smart.”
      —Chloe Caldwell, author of “Women”

“Is it a Lyric Essay? Is it a Long Poem? Is it Meditations? I’m Fine. How Are You? is about relationships and violence and loss and gender and duck vaginas and art and is a wonderful manifestation of Zukofsky’s definition of poetry; ‘It is precise information on existence out of which it grows, and information on its own existence.’ Pikula’s disarming voice is precise and totally winning.”
      —Mathew Rohrer, author of The Others

Reviews

Author

Catherine Pikula holds a BA in literature and philosophy from Bennington College and an MFA in poetry from New York University where she was a Writers in the Public Schools Fellow and an adjunct professor.

Artwork

Cover by LK James.

Book cover featuring the title I'm Fine How Are You in black on pink paper with dark pink images of sliced grapfrfuit.

Catherine Pikula • I’m Fine. How Are You? • E-book $2.99

I’m Fine. How Are You? • E-book

Description

I’m Fine. How Are You? explores gender, love, sexuality, anxiety, and loss, and ultimately hope in the ability of language to heal trauma. Through threaded stories of a lover on a road trip with another woman, a violent old flame, and a friend’s suicide, the speaker unravels the troubling knot between herself and others, and between body and psyche in search of strength.

Details

Praise

“I’m obsessed with I’m Fine. How Are You? Reckless & ballsy & raw & smart.”
        —Chloe Caldwell, author of “Women”

“Is it a Lyric Essay? Is it a Long Poem? Is it Meditations? I’m Fine. How Are You? is about relationships and violence and loss and gender and duck vaginas and art and is a wonderful manifestation of Zukofsky’s definition of poetry; ‘It is precise information on existence out of which it grows, and information on its own existence.’ Pikula’s disarming voice is precise and totally winning.”
        —Mathew Rohrer, author of The Others

Reviews

Author

Catherine Pikula holds a BA in literature and philosophy from Bennington College and an MFA in poetry from New York University where she was a Writers in the Public Schools Fellow and an adjunct professor.

Artwork

Cover by LK James.

“Diffusely Yours” by Kate Garklavs Suggests We Are All Connected on an Atomic Level

In the chapbook Diffusely Yours by Kate Garklavs (Bottlecap Press, 2018) each poem is a letter to a person or institution. These poem-letters are playful, absurd and full of private meaning.

The speaker diffuses bits of herself and her very visceral memories to a friend, lover or regular haunt, but it also clear she has absorbed parts of these people and places into herself as well.

Making the Tongue Dry: An Interview with Prose Prize Finalist Jen Soriano

Jen Soriano is a Filipinx-American writer whose work blurs the boundaries between nonfiction, poetry and speculative fiction. Her chapbook “Making the Tongue Dry” was a finalist for the Newfound Prose Prize.  Her lyric essay “A Brief History of her Pain” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and her essays have appeared in a number of journals including Waxwing, Pleiades and TAYO Literary Magazine. Jen is an MFA candidate in nonfiction and fiction at the Rainier Writing Workship, and lives in the Beacon Hill neighborhood of Seattle, WA with her two favorite boys in the world.

I’m learning to kick that controlling brain to the backseat and just let instinct allow words to tumble onto the page. – Jen Soriano

Eppinger: My first question is about genre. What do you consider the genre of “Making the Tongue Dry” to be? Elliptical prose? Creative Nonfiction? Something else? Alsodoes genre matter to you?

Soriano: Genre definitely matters to me, but not in the conventional sense. I care about the ways genre descriptions can work to help readers understand what they are reading. But I don’t care about genre as a rigid container that writers must fit our writing within.

So, to help readers understand my chapbook I guess I’d describe it as lyric essay and hybrid nonfiction. It’s important to me to name that it’s nonfiction because I’m deliberately trying to capture actuality on the page. Each essay in the chapbook grapples with an aspect of reality as I see it.

“Alpha Bet”: An interview with Jacqueline Kirkpatrick

“Alpha Bet,” a finalist for the 2018 Newfound Prose Prize and chapbook contest, is a memoir told in vignettes and peppered with cross-references like an index of pain in the narrator’s life. It is an intimate work, offering a reader much to process as they piece together a story. 

Author Jacqueline Kirkpatrick took the time to share a bit more with us about her process in creating “Alpha Bet”.

Delaney Kochan: One thing I love about how you wrote this piece is how clearly it teaches the power of sharing emotion by showing scene. When it appears easy, you know you’re reading a talented writer who’s crafted each sentence to be unencumbered with internal narration. What was your editing process like?

Jacqueline Kirkpatrick: It’s probably a terrible thing to admit, however, the most honest response I can offer is that I don’t edit much. One of the first writers I fell for was Jack Kerouac and not long after I started reading him I found the “Essentials of Spontaneous Prose.” I’ve been writing based on that method since. Most of my work is stream of conscious. I pop on headphones, queue up the tunes that bring back certain memories and I close my eyes. I’ve been lucky that it makes sense most of the time but I run the risk that it sounds absolutely bonkers. Those pieces stay safe and in the dark in the filing cabinet.

I almost never edit content.

“How to be Extraordinary in America”: An interview with Ploi Pirapokin

You know those moments when you’ve realized that even in your effort to be well-versed in something and deeply probe at it, you’ve been asking it the wrong questions the whole time? This is the effect reading Ploi Pirapokin’s essay, “How to be Extraordinary in America,” has.

A finalist for the 2018 Newfound Prose Prize chapbook contest, this piece details her experience of obtaining a “Genius Visa” so she could continue to live and write in the United States. She was gracious enough to chat with me more about her process and underlying beliefs on immigration and belonging.

Delaney Kochan: Tell me about the structure of the essay. Is there something significant about the number 82 or the way you chose to structure your piece?

Ploi Pirapokin: The essay is numbered to reflect the eligibility criteria to qualify for an O-1 visa, as though it were a checklist that needed to be ticked off once completed. I wanted the seemingly never-ending numbers to mimic the arduous process of waiting, and of constantly proving my worth as though it were easy as arithmetic—if I only did X, then I would get my visa; what do I lose when I do Y; what risks do I take if I do Z. 

Erasure and Apocalypse in Claire Wahmanholm’s “Night Vision”

In Claire Wahmanholm’s poetry chapbook “Night Vision” (New Michigan Press, 2017), the world is transformed and brought to its most primal state after some catastrophic events that readers may never be quite sure of. The chapbook includes 30 poems—21 prose poems and nine erasure poems. (Erasure poetry is a form where an entire page of found text will be erased until only a few words remain. These leftover words form a poem.)

All nine erasure poems in “Night Vision” come from the wildly popular “Cosmos” by Carl Sagan, setting a reader expectation of wonder at the universe.

Loss an destruction are detailed instead, through Wahmanholm’s gripping yet elusive prose.

“Portrait of a Body in Wreckages”: An Interview with Meghan McClure

It is a body, wrecked and then stitched together with words. Feel free to disassemble it, rearrange it, make it yours. – “Portrait of a Body in Wreckages”

Portrait of a Body in Wreckages” is much more than a silhouette of it’s author, more than the form and parts of a human specimen. It’s a graceful dissection of the experience of a body in the world. Winner of Newfound’s 2017 Prose Prize, Meghan McClure’s fragmented essay is a collection of autobiographical vignettes that offers readers intimate rumination, allowing us to feel our own bodily landmarks and signposts through its careful illumination of how the physical intertwines with the rest.

It’s a well-balanced piece; the meta sections are visceral and grounded in the sensory, but the anecdotal sections are especially powerful. It’s a chapbook in which you can easily be absorbed.

I had the honor of probing deeper into the chapbook and it’s author:

Delaney Kochan: “Portrait of a Body in Wreckages” is broken into four sections that appeared to me as two relationships between seemingly opposite ideas: place and white space or potential; communion and isolation in the body. How did the manuscript divide into these sections?

Meghan McClure: After a couple years of collecting the fragments and research that make up this book I started to see some threads running through, so I sort of teased them apart and grouped them to find the commonalities. Of course, these things are at the ends of a continuum and can overlap, but it was a way of sorting what felt chaotic to me. I find comfort in organizing things and writing is no different – it helped the enormity of writing about the body feel a little more manageable. Isn’t that what we do when we write? Try to boil it down?

Anemochore: An Interview with Meredith Stricker

Meredith Stricker’s Anzaldúa Poetry Prize winning chapbook “Anemochore” is truly beautiful and inspiring. From her unique and layered title “Anemochore,” to her intricate design and use of space on each page, Stricker offers as much insight and perspective from their placement of her words as from their meaning.

“Anemochore” keeps no borders between visual art, poetry and even music. Stricker’s work here demonstrates a melding of ideas that flow naturally from page to page, evoking all of a reader’s senses.

Meredith Stricker fuses her work with her own experiences, including performances with musicians, her own work as an architect in Big Sur, California and her deep perspective into the value of poetry and imagery. The second part of the chapbook, The Be/s of the Invisible, was a collaboration with several other musicians that link the life of bees to the freedom in poetry.

Her chapbook “Anemochore” will be published by Newfound in spring of 2018.

Steve Mulero: When did you begin writing poetry and what were some of your influences on your early journey into poetry and art?

Meredith Stricker: Because my mother was a war refugee for whom English was a second language and my father’s family from Russia spoke in an archaic form of German, I grew up
in a household where several languages mingled in ways that were basically incomprehensible to me, except as a kind of music or rhythm that was deeply familiar, but also untranslatable.

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