1. Where are you now? I am in my house under the 45 degree eaves of our upstairs. [In Boise, Idaho where I have lived for centuries.]
2. What are you working on and what have you got coming out? Nothing is coming out. I am working on trying to find something simple, too near to see. I want to make a poetry completely non-disruptive, natural, human.
3. Where do you write? I write sitting on my bed (mattress on the floor) mostly since my desk, meditation space, and bedroom have all been combined into one small room. My room is downstairs. This computer is upstairs. I write generative parts for poems in a large unlined notebook. I feel like the notebook is the actual location.
4. What’s the last best thing you’ve read? I have become interested in people’s body language, facial expressions, and ability to project internal reality onto the surroundings and one another. Everyone is such a mystery with clues; I read all this and find so many places-pieces where I have no idea or sense what another person’s language means. It’s almost like giant, unconcluding play (both kinds, but 98% universe activity 2% theater). I don’t know what’s happening; books seem the same way to me, these vital momentary gestures. For all that, I have recently been reading the poetry of Don Mee Choi, Emily Kendall Frey, Melanie Noel, Brandon Shimoda, C.A. Conrad, Kate Greenstreet. All provide a jump into mystery. The more I read and understand, the more questions I have. So much opens. I limited this answer to contemporary poetry because I read so many different kinds of best things.
5. What journals, poets, presses have you discovered lately? Jane Lewty is a force of intellectual power. Rauan Klassnik gave a compelling reading here in Boise this fall. Deborah Woodard’s poems have been dancing around.
6. Care to share any distractions / diversions? I spend an unproductive amount of time fantasizing about learning to sew. I also have an imaginary gardening hobby. I quit pretending to jog because too many neighbors mistook me for a real jogger (I wore running shoes that someone gave me as a visual excuse for wearing sweatpants in public. I also ran short distances like twenty or thirty feet, but that has stopped.).
7. What are you looking forward to? Apart from the translations at the public library,I’m trying to decide which translation of The Cloud of Unknowing to read. I have really wanted an ice cream sundae for about a week now and predict this will happen soon.
I am going to answer one bonus question:
Do you think much about your audience? In a public sense, I don’t have an audience. I write very very privately, but not for myself. I write for the people who choose to read my work. They are oxygen to me when I write. I recently started to understand that I don’t have the social skills or energy reserves to develop some kind of world-navigating poet persona. It is a hopeful wish in my heart that I could be seen and known by the people who wish to.
Why through art? I experience aesthetics as a core. Every construction occurs from an ideal of beauty or meaning. With some poets, there exists aesthetic kinship. When I read their poems I am already, instantly their related audience. It seems I belong in their readership. In my dreams I am always in the audience, filled with anticipation. I am more audience than poet.