Thank you for including me in this virtual space for poets! I want to leave you with something to chew on (one of my favourite stanzas of poetry):
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
- from “Eating Poetry” by Mark Strand
How do you know when a poem is finished?
Apart from some deep down, body-mind intuition, I often feel a poem is finished when I am brave enough to share it beyond my circle of closest supporters (like to a lit mag, for example). I think submitting poems requires a person to be vulnerable—and vulnerability can be a very uncomfortable space to be in. So when you feel it’s worth it to sit within that discomfort, I’d say the poem is finished.
When you require renewal, is there a particular poem or book that you return to? A particular author?
Faced with the death of someone I love, I always seem to turn to Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.” The repetition of the word rage echoes my own; and in a way, the poem gives me a sense of control (albeit a false one) in a situation where I have, quite literally, no control—I suppose the poem renews my desire for an impossible outcome.
What other poetry books have you been reading lately?
Infinite Citizen of the Shaking Tent by Liz Howard; Girl running by Diana Hope Tegenkamp; Phantompains by Therese Estacion; The Untranslatable I by Roxanna Bennett; and Side Effects May Include Strangers by Dominik Parisien.
What do you find most difficult about writing poetry?
The inner critics—there are many and they are loud. It takes an incredible amount of energy and focus to not allow their negative narratives to invade and sour all the creative space in my mind.
What are you working on?
I’ve got a few projects on the go right now: two poetry collections (one that examines disability and the other that explores Métis/settler identity); a YA murder mystery novel (set in Toronto); and a children’s book (about a pickle named Dilbert).
