#69 - Rebecca Hazelton

How often had you sent out Fair Copy before it was chosen for the 2011 Ohio State Press / The Journal Poetry Award?

According to my spreadsheet, I sent Fair Copy out one hundred and eighteen times to various contests or open reading periods from 2009 to the first month of 2012. I was a finalist ten times, a runner-up three times, and a semi-finalist five times. Looking at those numbers really brings back the feelings I had during those years, that I was yelling into the wind. Also, that I had no money.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Fair Copy? Did it go through any other changes?

It’s always been Fair Copy.

I would say that Fair Copy is a conceptual book. Can you explain what that means to you, and what the challenges are of creating a book? Do you think things like format, structure, and arc change significantly with a conceptual book versus one that’s not?

The book is conceptual in that there is a formal element uniting the poems, but it happened almost by accident – one day I wrote an acrostic off a line of Emily Dickinson’s, and then thought to keep going, choosing every 29^th poem in my Collected Emily Dickinson. I knew doing so would provide me with a book length amount of material, but I didn’t for a moment really think I’d do it. But if I consider the book in terms of the subject matter, the book is less conceptual. Many of the poems in Fair Copy have different voices or speakers, with different agendas and concerns; if the formal framework weren’t there the book would be a more jagged affair. I think of conceptual books as more unified in subject matter, like American Busboy by Matthew Guenette, where all the poems center around a restaurant and its wait staff, or almost any book by Jenny Boully, a poet who really unites the concept and the conceit. But that may just be me thinking of “conceptual” in a limited way, like an album (do we call cds albums anymore? Do we even call them cds?) – Pink Floyd’s The Wall, or Joanna Newsom’s Ys.

You also have your second book, Vow, being published in 2013 by CSU Press, only a few months after Fair Copy. Though this is rare for poets, it does happen. Tell us about trying to write two collections at the same time—if that was the case of course. Which do you consider your real “first book”? And what are the advantages and disadvantages, do you think, of having two collections coming out within months of each other? 

I didn’t write them at the same time; I’m not that good of a multi-tasker. Fair Copy was completed by the time I was at the University of Wisconsin-Madison for a year as the Jay C. and Ruth Hall Poetry Fellow. During my year there, I wrote Vow in around nine months. I wouldn’t consider either to be my real “first book.” I wrote a manuscript for my MFA thesis called Hinx Minx; that was my first book. It was not, however, good. I sent it out to a few contests, and then realized when it placed in one that I really didn’t want it out in the world. So I shelved it.

Having both books come out at almost the same time is very strange. I feel like I haven’t had a lot of time to get used to Fair Copy being my first book, because the demands of the second book are very much present – editing, cover questions, marketing, etc. I have readings scheduled, and don’t know whether I should just read one book at a reading, or try to read parts from both books at a reading –how does it work?

It seems like there’s a possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?

I submitted both to contests and to open reading periods. Fair Copy won Ohio State University Press’s contest, and Vow didn’t win Cleveland State’s contest but was selected by Michael Dumanis. I had good feedback from open reading periods, but no success. I would certainly suggest poets try both, but my experience was just that there weren’t a lot of open readings available compared to the number of contests. Passing through the screenings of a book contest is a matter not just of skill – you get the right preliminary screener, and not the one who has a chip on his/her shoulder against your aesthetic. You get the right second round screeners. You get the right final judge. You get lucky, in other words, but you get to be in that lucky position because you have skills as well. I assume these things apply to open reading periods and well, though I haven’t been on the other side of those as I have for contests.

The contest system is problematic, but it’s hard to know the way out. Contests help support small presses and journals, and whenever I wrote a check I told myself that’s what I was doing (sweetened a little when the contest actually included a subscription or copy of the winning book). I just told myself it was a donation. But knowing that the money helped support things I cared about still didn’t make the system any less expensive, and there were definitely other things I wanted that money for, like car maintenance and repair, or living in a less terrible apartment. The only way I made back (most of) the money I spent on contests over the years sending it out was that I won a book contest with a slightly larger than average prize. The fact remains that these contests are most accessible to people with some cash to burn – so how many voices are we not hearing because of that?

Friends of mine suggested that I try and pick the judges I thought would appreciate my aesthetic, and there were times I placed in contests where I thought that was the case – and just as many where my dream judge passed me by. Really, you’re just hoping that your judge is someone who can see past his or her own preferences, and there’s no way of knowing if he or she has that kind of breadth.

For what it is worth, my advice is to only pick the presses you would be proud to be a part of. There’s so little compensation for poets, monetarily or otherwise, and we are continually doing work for free – books reviews, interviews (thank you again!), untold hours at journals and presses that are labors of love. We do these things because we love them, and because we believe in poetry, but we shouldn’t then think that our work has no value. We at least need to realize that our own work deserves a proper setting, among other poets you respect.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

Ordering poems in a manuscript is not my strength. Everyone has different methods, and after a while, I felt as if I’d tried them all. The initial order was simply how I’d written them – every 29^th Emily Dickinson poem – but that was terrible. I tried ordering via narrative – one of a child growing into womanhood (ala Satan Says), or a relationship taking a downward trajectory – but it felt forced. I tried ordering by linking words from poem to poem, so that a poem ending on one word might match up via word or them to the following poem, but that was overly precious. I tried ordering by mood, and no surprise, I’d reorder it drastically whenever I was in a bad one. I tried thinking of it like a mixed tape. I finally returned to the narrative angle, but it is a fairly buried one.

The book went through many revisions, but because of the formal constraints the revisions could only be so radical and maintain the form. There are lines that changed drastically, and some poems I almost entirely rewrote, which was often a better, though exhausting, tactic to take rather than jimmying with one stuck line. Mostly, the style of the book changed a lot from the initial draft to its final incarnation – when I started I was very interested in jamming in as much as possible – I kept telling people I wanted the poems to be rococo! – and over the years a lot of that playful excess got stripped out, as fun as it was, because it was distracting. So weirdly, as time went on, the book gained a more Dickinsonian spareness than less.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.? Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

Ohio State asked me to send them several possible images for the cover, but it wasn’t guaranteed they’d choose one of my suggestions. I sent in a number of Victorian and late nineteenth century illustrations. I actually didn’t know they’d chosen the Kay Nielsen illustration I’d suggested until they sent me a preliminary proof, so it was a good surprise! I wasn’t involved in any of the other design aspects for the book, but they did an amazing job – I love the cover’s font.

What about the publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?

I never thought about it. If I had, I suppose I would have sent the poems out more often. I certainly had some publications, and some journals, like Field and Pleiades, seemed to really respond to these odd poems, and I am so grateful for that support. I’ve had more poems taken from Vow, but I also sent out more from Vow, and more often. It’s only in the last two years that I’ve started submitting more regularly, basically because friends of mine said I needed to do so.

How much work did you do as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published to its final proofing stage?

With Fair Copy, the changes were minimal. The book had been through a lot of revisions by the time it was taken.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

That it felt so strange! I felt as though I were watching myself. For my entire adult life –even when I was a teenager – I’d imagined being a published author. So to have that dream come true felt both amazing and surreal. When the box arrived, my husband and I opened it together, and he took a picture of me. The expression on my face looks a little like a kid whose had too much sugar at the fair: happy, but also possibly about to barf.

  

How has your life been different since your book came out?

I feel a little more exposed to the world, which isn’t a bad thing, but is uncomfortable. A lot of poets, myself included, have a drive to be noticed and to be read, but also a deep discomfort with public scrutiny. You toil away for so long as a poet, generally, and are so used to being unnoticed, that to have someone suddenly take a look at you can feel really alarming. After the book was published, I was more aware that other people really could read the things I write. I don’t know why individual poem publications didn’t trigger that for me, but they didn’t. It’s a good thing my subsequent book as taken so quickly and unexpectedly – I think if it hadn’t, I could have second-guessed the work in that book to death.

If you struck up a conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”

That would be a pretty self-punishing thing for me to do – I’m actually talking to a stranger in this scenario? We’re breathing each other’s re-circulated breaths? Terrifying! Well, assuming the braver, less flight phobic me is in this situation, I would probably tell them it’s about domesticity and desire, and the difficult of understanding the truth of either. Then I would quickly pick up the Skymall catalogue and become very interested in mobile stairs for arthritic dogs.

What have you been doing to promote Fair Copy, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’ve got a number of readings scheduled in the next few months, and the experience has been awesome so far, although I’ve just gotten started. I got to read in the Kraken Series in Denton TX, and back at my alma mater, Davidson College. I’ve been impressed by the strength of reading series in cities across the country.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

I actually think I got all the good advice! Several of my friends warned me that the experience of having the book published was in some ways anti-climatic. So I was prepared that I might not feel as excited as I felt I should feel. I was also warned that publishing a book wouldn’t change my life, so I managed not to wake up the next day expecting unicorns. All this sounds a little bleak –it’s not, I promise! I only mean that it’s easy to think, “I just need to get this book published and then…” – and to fill in that blank with whatever secret desire you have about your life. But the publication of the first book is not a panacea for your anxieties. That first book is just a first step if you want to keep writing poetry and to keep publishing it. So my advice is to celebrate – break out the champagne! – then figure out what’s next for you the following day.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

Before the book was taken, I felt conscious of it as not finished – for me, finished was to finally be in print. I had moved on to different work, but every couple of months, had to look at Fair Copy again, polish it further, send it out again, etc. I wanted very much to be done with it and completely free to do something new, but I continually had to try and dip into the book again and again, editing it while trying to be true to the book’s beginnings. It was hard to maintain those very different ways of thinking: my previous aesthetic and the work I was trying to create.

As for new projects, Vow is coming out, which is quite different from Fair Copy. No formal constraint to speak of, a number of series with implicit narratives, a lot more frank in terms of subject matter. I’m also working on a series of ekphrastic poems based off the works of contemporary female artists’ self-portraits: Cindy Sherman, Terri Frame, and Julie Heffernan, some of which are included in Tender Trapper, a digital chapbook from Floating Wolf Quarterly, and some of which will appear in Bad Star, forthcoming from Yes Yes Book’s Vinyl 45 chapbook series. I’m also working on a series of poems called “Homewreckers,” which look at disruptions to the home, both literally and figuratively, and which have been surprisingly fun to write. It’s fun to bring down buildings. It’s fun to break plates.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

It depends on the world. I’m unlikely to write a poem that makes the entire planet take notice – why would it? I write out of a very particular set of circumstances and privileges, and I’m fooling myself if I think my poems might fulfill some universal human need. There are poets that have come to mean a lot to particular countries – I think of Inger Christensen, or Pablo Neruda, but that’s rare, and often breaks down under closer scrutiny. But. But. If we think of the world as a smaller thing, if we think about the worlds we carry within ourselves – absolutely. There are poems I can honestly say changed the way I thought about my life and my place in it.

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Rebecca Hazelton is the author of Fair Copy (Ohio State University Press, 2012), winner of the 2011 Ohio State University Press / The Journal Award in Poetry, and Vow, from Cleveland State University Press. She was the 2010-11 Jay C. and Ruth Halls Poetry Fellow at the University of Wisconsin, Madison Creative Writing Institute and winner of the “Discovery” / Boston Review 2012 Poetry Contest. Her poems have appeared in AGNI, The Southern Review, Boston Review, Best New Poets 2011, and Best American Poetry 2013. Find more at http://rebeccahazelton.net.
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#68 - Joshua Robbins

How often had you sent out Praise Nothing before it was chosen for publication as a finalist for the 2012 Miller Williams Arkansas Poetry Prize?

The manuscript submissions process was, for me, as I’m sure it is for many, an anxiety-filled labor of love. I obsessed over it: compulsively checking email, refreshing my browser in hopes of even the tiniest update on press websites. I found that the only way I could cope with waiting was to fashion my submissions neuroses into an online spreadsheet. Consequently, I can answer your question with precise numbers.

I submitted Praise Nothing sixty-two times between September, 2010, and February, 2012. I withdrew the manuscript from ten presses after I received “the call” from Enid Shomer, the Poetry Series Editor at the University of Arkansas Press. I won’t divulge how much money I spent on supplies, postage, and reading fees, though that’s part of my spreadsheet. I’m also not going to count all the times I stripped the manuscript for parts and submitted those parts as chapbooks. I will say that no matter how I crunch the numbers, I feel fortunate to have been able to work with all the talented and kind people at the University of Arkansas Press.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Praise Nothing? Did it go through any other changes?

The manuscript had a few other titles—“Collateral,” “Against Forgiveness,” “Field Guide to the Second Coming,” among others—but those were really just placeholders and a way for me to explore different organizational strategies. I only ever sent it out with the title Praise Nothing.

It seems like there’s a possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?

My main concern was placing the manuscript with a press I admired, a press that had published poets I admired. The University of Arkansas Press’s Miller Williams Prize was among the dream contests at the top of that list. Most presses offer contests and so I entered them, but I also submitted to open reading periods.

My only bit of advice is to not fall prey to the temptation of settling for a press that you think might publish your manuscript just because you feel the urgent need to get the book out. That said, I was privileged to be in a position where I could send my manuscript to what I thought were the best places, the best fits, and not settle. My wife provided me support and had a steady income, I had some job security as a graduate fellow at the University of Tennessee, and I had manuscript submission money set aside from some earlier prize winnings. I had it pretty good. And still do. Even now, and especially after publishing my first book, I struggle to make sense of the crapshoot that is manuscript submissions. There are so many deserving poets out there.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

I finally arrived at the closest approximation to the book’s current form when I had the chance to leave Tennessee and return to Lawrence, Kansas, for a period of concentrated work on the manuscript during the summer of 2010. Before moving to Knoxville, I lived and worked in Kansas for a few years and I yearned to get back to the Sunflower State.

For two weeks: just me, the stack of poems, a tiny loaner cottage, and the Kansas summer heat. Getting to the final order took a process of spreading all the poems out on the living room’s dusty hardwood floor, assembling a draft, and then reading and rereading. Wash, rinse, repeat. And repeat and repeat.

In many ways, the assemblage process was similar to my poem revision process: making pass after pass over the draft, tinkering with the count and measure, culling superfluous lines, improvising and moving the puzzle pieces around until I finally recognize the picture. I was also fortunate to have a few poets read the manuscript and offer their affirmations that I was heading in the right direction.

A few months after “the call,” I had several thoughtful conversations about the manuscript with Enid Shomer. She is such a careful reader and she encouraged me to be certain I could justify everything about the book: the title, the section breaks and order, every poem, every line, every figure. I ended up taking out three poems and slightly revising a few.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

As for design, I didn’t have any significant involvement with the interior. I trusted the talents and experience of the design staff at the University of Arkansas Press. They did an amazing job.

Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

I was given the opportunity to suggest an image for the cover, which ultimately came down to two options. The first was an image from what is now known as the Heidelberger Totentanz, the first book in which the dance of death was portrayed, published in 1488. The second was a piece by Andrew B. Myers I’d seen in the journal Sixth Finch that summer I was in Kansas. After talking with Larry Malley, Director of the University of Arkansas Press, I did a gut check of what I really wanted and confirmed that the Myers piece was right. But picking the cover art is only one step and so I am deeply grateful to Liz Lester for her care and talents in designing the perfect cover.

What about the publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?

Like everyone else, I want my work to be read. Poetry ought to be written for the public sphere. I can’t say I felt like I had to publish the individual poems before publishing the whole manuscript. That wasn’t part of my strategy, but it did work out that way.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

I remember my wife said I looked like I’d just had a baby: tired, overwhelmed, deliriously happy. I just remember a feeling of profound gratitude.

   

How has your life been different since your book came out?

There was a deep satisfaction that settled on my heart once I held the book in my hands, but I can’t say my life is any different. I think the publication line on my CV is helpful in terms of the job market, but my main concern is working on the new poems. Arthur Smith gave me some advice shortly after the release of Praise Nothing: “Enjoy the moment, then get back to work.”

If you struck up a conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”

This actually happened to me last year. I was flying to a funeral in California and was seated next to a woman from Arizona who was traveling to examine some beachfront property she’d recently purchased. She told me she’d just been informed by her doctors that her breast cancer had gone into remission and that she’d decided to build an artist’s retreat near Long Beach where she could pursue her printmaking. We had an intense conversation about how grief and faith translate into art. When the conversation turned to my work, I described my book as being about faith and doubt, about the Problem of Evil, and about interrogating the differences between what is and what should be. She later mailed me a print and I sent her a book.

What have you been doing to promote Praise Nothing, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I created a new website and try to reach as many people as possible via social media. I’ve sent out many review copies and copies to contests. I’ve got some regional bookstore and university readings lined up and I’m working on scheduling more. Hoping to get back to Kansas for some readings. Also hoping to head back to the West Coast where I grew up and to do some readings in the San Francisco Bay Area, L.A., and the Pacific Northwest. There’s also a signing at AWP in Boston.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

This is a tough question because I received so much great advice from friends and mentors who’d been through the publishing crucible before me. I don’t think I was sufficiently prepared for the emotional ups and downs of transitioning from those first book poems into the new work. I guess I wish someone had told me something like, “Once your book’s out, you may feel compelled to pursue an altogether new direction in your new work. This is good. Don’t worry about the old poems. They can take care of themselves.”

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I still get up at 4:30 most mornings and write. I am trying, though, to push myself, to break away from the formal constraints I place on my drafts, to free myself up to wander and be more Negatively Capable. My poem “Exchange,” published in a recent issueof Anti-, is a good example of what I’m trying to do now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake off suburbia or my Christian background, nor would I want to. But I’m more aggressively pursuing, both creatively and critically, the connection between lyric poetry and theodicy.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

I don’t know about “change,” but maybe “resistance.” In her book Suffering, liberation theologian Dorothee Soelle offers a theodicy that does not attempt to explain the acceptance of some suffering for the sake of some good. Instead, she argues that Christ’s passion provides a model for how suffering and doubt can be experienced in solidarity with others. Suffering and doubt are not redemptive, but are forces that must be resisted. I believe the lyric poem is a tool of such resistance.

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Joshua Robbins is the author of Praise Nothing (University of Arkansas Press, 2013). His recognitions include the James Wright Poetry Award, the New South Prize, selection for the Best New Poets anthology, and several Pushcart Prize nominations. He received an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Oregon, and a PhD in English from the University of Tennessee. He is currently a Lecturer in English at the University of Tennessee, where he teaches literature and poetry writing. Find more information at his website and blog. ******************************************************************************************

#67 - Jeff Simpson

How often had you sent out Vertical Hold before it was chosen for publication in 2011 by Steel Toe Books?

I was extremely lucky. Steel Toe picked it up in the first round of contests I entered.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Vertical Hold? Did it go through any other changes?

At one point I was going to call the book Crybaby, but Vertical Hold was actually the first title I came up with. Growing up we had this old TV set that had been struck by lightning a couple of times, and you really had to fiddle with the v-hold dial to get the picture right. I always loved the sound of those words together and how the act of image stabilization is a perfect metaphor for writing poems: You put language in vertically running columns and try to assemble this flood of images into something steady and meaningful. Plus, I make a lot of movie references in the book. For me, it’s a perfect title even if no one younger than 30 knows what the hell “vertical hold” means.

It seems like there’s a possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?

I agree it’s a misconception. There are a dozen or more ways to get a book published, and I think you have to consider them all and weigh them against your expectations. As much as we want to believe publishing is this romantic enterprise in which the best work gets noticed and supported, it’s just not the case. Like anything, publishing is a game, and every avenue of publication has its own set of rules and practices and competing sets of outcomes.

I was very concerned about contests before sending the book out because that’s how most poetry titles are published. I love independent presses, and the open reading model that many of them use feels less dirty than the contest model. Still, most small presses can’t offer advance money or marketing support, whereas a contest can, on reputation alone, help market the book on top of providing a few dollars in prize money that can be spent on shit like book tours, etc. It’s all about looking at the pros and cons and choosing which route best fits your goals. 

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

At least a dozen or more. Besides editing on the screen, I spent three days looking at the page-by-page layout on my living room floor trying to decide if poem A should come before poem B or where to put the section breaks. I agonized over the smallest details, trying to create these complex patterns that would work like a concerto, knowing all the while that most readers wouldn’t notice the arrangements (or give a shit if they did). Ordering is essentially an arbitrary thing, but when you think of your book itself as a large poem assembled from its individual parts, you can drive yourself crazy trying to create this intricate design. Having gone through the process, I think I now know how to approach the next one without wanting to kill myself. It’s like what they tell novelists about learning to write a novel by first writing a failed novel. It’s the same thing. You have to put together 37 bad versions of your book before you figure out the right order…or at least the order you settle on.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

I was heavily involved. Steel Toe was super great about letting me have a say about the design. They were fine with me choosing the cover image so long as the photographer didn’t charge a fortune for the rights. After I picked the cover image, the designer, Molly McCaffrey, sent me design proofs of the covers, interior design, etc., which she nailed. Steel Toe has treated me unbelievably well, and the best part of working with them was how open they were to letting me have a voice on the design and editorial changes.

What about the publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?

There was a time when I was really concerned about publishing as many poems in journals as I could, but that was largely due to worrying about building a CV for future academic employment. I think it’s important to publish early in your career in order to make a name for yourself and start building an audience. Besides that, I don’t think poets need to worry about publishing 80 or even 50% of the poems in journal form prior to publication. There’s something to be said for creating an expectation with your work in journals so you can exceed those expectations with the quality of your book. There are a handful of poems I purposefully left out of print prior to the book release so they’d stand out and offer something new to the poems that had already been read. You want to create movements and rhythms and moments of surprise within the book, and it’s tough to do that if all poems are archived on the Internet.

How much work did you do as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published to its final proofing stage?

A ton. Another great thing about working with Steel Toe was that my editor/publisher, Tom C. Hunley, had me go through six or seven proofreading drafts, which gave us lots of time to fine-tune and catch typos. I also wrote three new poems (about 10 pages) that were not in the original manuscript, so there was a lot of writing and editing happening before the final proof. I’m obsessive-compulsive about editing anyway, so the drafting process felt right at home. And it’s great to have an editor who’ll work so hard to make sure everything is as close to perfect as possible before going to print.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

 

I remember how surreal it felt to open a box with 20 copies of my book inside. It took a good month or two before the idea of having a book felt real.

How has your life been different since your book came out? 

I have a slightly bigger audience, and I get to say, “I have a book” at parties and social events. Everything else is pretty much the same.

If you struck up a conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”

This is a tough one because the book is about so many things. I grew up in rural southwest Oklahoma surrounded by farming and ranching, and Vertical Hold is broadly about growing up in a particular time and place with a particular kind of family. I had one foot planted in this western, blue-collar world of combines and cattle shoots and the other submerged in books, music, video games, and HBO. I find the tension between high and low forms of culture—physical labor and questions of ontology—and the ways in which these things intersect our personal histories, endlessly fascinating. But my wife said it best in her introduction for the book launch party: “Vertical Hold sings not only of what we might have lost in this postmodern, media world of our own creation, but what we’ve found, offering a space to move forward, taking Bruce Willis by one hand and Barry Switzer by the other.”

What have you been doing to promote Vertical Hold, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I try to read as much as I can to expose new audiences to Vertical Hold and the poems I’m writing now. Besides readings, I have a website and use Twitter and Facebook like every other writer I know. I love giving readings, but I wish we still lived in the heydays when presses took care of the marketing side of things. Even though social media is a profound tool for communicating with readers and friends, most days I wish it were never invented. I’m a little sick of the endless marketeering writers feel they have to be engaged with to get noticed and sell books. I know it’s just how things are, but I’m careful about not letting book promotion steal too much time from the actual ass-in-chair writing I’m supposed to be doing. The poet Todd Boss co-ran a book promotion blog called Squad365 for awhile that I think is now defunct. He argued that book promotion should be a year-long event in which you’re always reading, posting, and showcasing audio and video recordings of yourself. 365 days is excessive and a little too Ringling Bros. for my taste, but I’d also say it’s damn effective.   

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

Start the promotion 4-6 months before the book comes out. I wish I had lined up more reviews of the book prior to its release, but I didn’t. No one sensible wants to be a ham about having a new book out, but you also don’t want to treat it like a secret and wait until it’s on shelves to start promoting.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

You always want the second book to be different than the first. Most of the poems in Vertical Hold are longer, narrative-driven pieces, which I guess is sort of my shtick. And while it feels comfortable having the “Jeff Simpson formula” down pat, I want to push my work into new territory. Even though I’m still writing longer poems, some of them narratives, I’m trying to work my way out of the habits I’ve created…within reason.

I have two manuscripts I’m currently working on: One’s a typical poetry manuscript, and the other is a giant, book-length poem that’s unruly and strange. It’s one of those projects I’m not sure I’ll finish, but anymore I don’t get too excited about writing unless the degree of difficulty or risk of collapse is pretty fucking high.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

I believe poetry can create change in an individual—change that may move someone to do good in the world. But can poetry single-handedly change the world? Probably not. I’ve always seen poetry as more a means than a means to an end—a way to communicate about the things we don’t talk about socially. I don’t expect anyone to be fundamentally changed by my work. I just hope readers get what I’m saying and enjoy the ride.

Jeff Simpson grew up in southwest Oklahoma. He is the author of Vertical Hold (Steel Toe Books, 2011), which was a finalist for The National Poetry Series. His poems have recently appeared in Forklift, Ohio, No News Today, Prairie Schooner, Cimarron Review, and others. He lives in Brooklyn, NY, where he works for Poets & Writers Magazine and edits The Fiddleback, an online arts & literature magazine. Visit him at jeffsimpson.org

#66 - Alex Dimitrov

How often had you sent out Begging for It [view the trailer for the book here] before it was chosen for publication by Four Way Books as a Stahlecker Selection in 2013?

I had been seriously sending it out for a year and during that year I was constantly changing it so different versions were sent to different publishers. I tried to forget who I had sent to once I had. I didn’t want to focus on my expectations for the book, I wanted to focus on having exactly the book and the poems I wanted.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Begging for It? Did it go through any other changes?

The title was American Youth for the first three years I was working on it—I began writing the book in 2007 and I finished it in 2012, though it was taken in 2011. I wrote a chapbook called American Boys during that time period but I had changed the title of the book to Begging for It well before the chapbook. And none of the poems in the chapbook are in the book—they are very different projects.

America is one of the big things I think through in Begging for It, which is full of lovers, America being one of them. So for a while, it just felt like I needed to include America in the title. But ultimately I decided against it. America, You Darling was also a possible title. That’s a poem in the book. I don’t know, I’m not Andy Warhol so that title didn’t quite work for me. I like what I went with.

It seems like there’s a possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a contest at any point?

I actually have always wanted an editor to take my first book as opposed to having it win a contest. Obviously it’s an honor however one’s book is taken. But I’m happy that it was taken by Martha Rhodes.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

I was changing the book until the last possible moment. I can’t tell you how many versions it went through—probably over twenty. I took out many poems, it was originally a longer book, but I had a rule that I needed to absolutely love every single poem in the book. No filler. No poems that were a “bridge” from one poem to another or from one section to another. Every line, every poem had to stand on its own and together with the others. And that took a long time and was difficult for someone like me who is not patient at all. But I knew I had to be patient because my poems are the most important things to me. And so I waited until I had exactly the book I wanted. You only get to debut once.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.? Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

I wanted a photograph from David Wojnarowicz’s “Rimbaud in New York” series. I knew that. When I first moved to New York, in the summer of 2007, I would look at those photographs and think about Rimbaud and being an artist and New York and Wojnarowicz. That series was very instructional to me. Those photographs were an education. So for the book cover, it was a matter of getting permission from his estate, and they ended up giving us permission.

Everything about this book, from the design to what’s in it, is very personal to me. It’s all been thought through really carefully. So yes, I was involved in the design process. I can’t imagine not being involved. I’m someone who’s concerned with both depth and surface. Visual presentation and aesthetics are incredibly important to me. But I mean, they are to most artists, right?

What about the publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?

Almost all of the poems in the book have been published in magazines, journals, anthologies. I never set out to do that, it just happened. I don’t think it matters either way. The only thing that mattered to me was that I was happy with the poems. There are a few poems in the book that haven’t been published anywhere, and they are some of my favorites, and I think some of the best. So what does that tell you.

How much work did you do as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published to its final proofing stage?

I never stopped editing. Before it was taken, after it was taken, a day before my final proofs were due. I have a hard time letting go of work.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

I was sitting at my desk at the Academy of American Poets and just looking at the envelope. I sat there and looked at it for a few minutes and allowed myself to have those last possible thoughts about the book before it existed in the world, before it was real, in front of me. And then I opened the envelope. And I loved it. I’ve worked so hard and for so long on this book. If I don’t love it, what’s the point.

   

If you struck up a conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”

Begging for It is about youth, love, and sex in America. It’s also about the past, religion, death, obsession, New York. It’s about people. It’s about me.

What have you been doing to promote Begging for It, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’m doing a lot of readings this spring at NYU, New School, Harvard, Yale, Poetry Society of America, a lot of places. And I’m also going to San Francisco. I want to go to LA and I want to go to Portland because I’ve never been there and the poetry community there seems great. I’ll go anywhere. This is not a New York book. So many different kinds of people from different parts of the country have written to me, and I want to give them these poems, physically, in person.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

I don’t really wish for things like that. Wishing is mostly a waste of time. I’m lucky, my teacher in graduate school was Marie Howe, who as well as teaching me how to make my poems better, taught me how to be a person in the world. She’s one of my best friends. And I really value all the advice and help Brenda Shaughnessy has given me. I love those women. They care and they’re such role models. And so many other friends have helped me as well.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I don’t think the book being published has had any influence on my writing. I am working on a few projects—one is a series of poems, some of which are portraits that I wrote about people I have never met from the internet—people who answered a questionnaire I wrote, consisting of 26 questions, which I posted on my Tumblr, and which asked them about love and death and what they really want in life. Here is a link to it if people want to read it.

I am using their answers to write poems, to make something out of the lives of people I don’t know, but also out of feelings, their feelings, that I often relate to quite a bit, and other feelings I don’t relate to at all. And I’ve also been seriously working on new poems, the internet project aside. Right now I feel like the internet poems/portraits will be a part of my second book, a section perhaps. I’m not entirely sure but I’ve been writing a lot. I also throw away a lot. The world doesn’t need bad poems. Or poems just for the sake of poems.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

If I didn’t believe that I would have a very difficult, impossible time, justifying my life. 

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Alex Dimitrov is the author of Begging for It, published by Four Way Books. He is also the founder of Wilde Boys, a queer poetry salon in New York City. Dimitrov’s poems have been published in The Yale Review, Kenyon Review, Slate, Poetry Daily, Tin House, Boston Review, and the American Poetry Review, which awarded him the Stanley Kunitz Prize in 2011. He is also the author of American Boys, an e-chapbook published by Floating Wolf Quarterly in 2012. Dimitrov is the Content Editor at the Academy of American Poets, teaches creative writing at Rutgers University, and frequently writes for Poets & Writers.
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#65 - Noah Falck

How often had you sent out Snowmen Losing Weight before it was chosen for publication in 2012 by BatCat Press?

Snowmen was sent out about 3 times a year for about 5 years, in various incarnations, before BatCat picked it up.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Snowmen Losing Weight? Did it go through any other changes?

The original title was The Snowmen Are Losing Weight. Then it was briefly called The Gods of Standing Room Only, and later Traffic Islands of Our Youth, but none of those gave off enough light. Eventually, I came back to Snowmen, but decided to simplify it to Snowmen Losing Weight.

Your book recently went into a second printing, correct? What do you think are the advantages and disadvantages to a more handcrafted book versus a collection with a more defined press run?

Yes, it went into a second printing in December 2012, seven months after the initial printing.

The advantages of handcrafted books are they feel more like friends than third cousins. Not that there is anything wrong with cousins. Well, not really. When you hold a handmade book it makes you feel good about yourself and the world. Like driving in an eco-friendly vehicle or better yet, a bicycle. It gives you a completely different reading experience.

It seems like there’s a possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?

Contests are catapults. Winning one will put your name and work in certain circles, and I respect that. I was not at all concerned about winning a contest, but I still sent Snowmen on the contest tour in hopes of getting noticed. And it was a finalist in enough places to make me smile. But I don’t think you need to win a contest to generate inspired work. 
 

The only advice I have is to send your work to presses you admire, places that are publishing work that excites you. I don’t think it matters if it is through a contest or an open reading period.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

I had nothing to do with the design. It was all BatCat Press. I didn’t actually see the book until the release party in Midland, Pennsylvania. When I first saw the book my heart skipped a few beats, similar to the way it did when I first saw my wife. It was sexy, and beautiful, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands all over it. That didn’t come out exactly right, but you know what I mean.

What about the publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?

I like sending work out and I like hearing from editors and presses no matter what news they bring. I wasn’t concerned at all with publishing any percentage of the poems. I did want to have some of the poems picked up, but there was no special number in mind. 

How much work did you do as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published to its final proofing stage?

The BatCat crew and I went back and forth over a period of 3 to 4 months discussing poems, order, punctuation, and all that fun stuff. None of the poems were heavily edited or rewritten. Working with the editors at BatCat was truly enjoyable. And it felt particularly special working with BatCat because it is a student run press. The student editors (Alison, Jane, & Robin) did a fantastic job. They were very considerate in regards to the layout and thoroughly thought out how people would interact with the book. And Deanna Mulye, who oversees the projects at BatCat Press, must be some sort of saint teaching her students the art and craft of bookmaking.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

  

There was a lot of sweaty palms and more applications of deodorant to my underarm region. Also, there was a nuclear power plant and margaritas. 

How has your life been different since your book came out?

A lot has happened in my “life.” I took a job in Buffalo, New York, working as Education Director for Just Buffalo Literary Center. Before I was teaching 4^th graders in Dayton, Ohio. 

So I’ve moved to a new city, which I am slowly falling in love with, and working a gig that puts me in a more direct conversation with literature and the arts. I also am writing more than I ever have. I am on more of a schedule that permits me to focus my creativity energy.

If you struck up a conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”

Ha, people on airplanes. I would tell them that the book is about you and me, and this shared air, and the baby crying its body to sleep in the arms of a young mother ahead of us. 

It’s about all those moments you want to remember forever. The moments you wish you had on film so you could watch them again in slo mo. It’s also about the moments you don’t want to remember, but are somehow thumb-tacked somewhere inside you and you can’t shake them off.

What have you been doing to promote Snowmen Losing Weight, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’ve been doing little interviews, and reaching out to reviewers and other writers to let them know that the book exists. I made a book trailer, which was fun. I’ve also been trying to participate in as many readings as possible, though I haven’t had the time to really travel or “tour,” but I’d like to. I like road trips of all kinds. Particularly, road trips that are focused around reading poems.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

Be patient and believe in the process. Keep at it. Don’t let it get you down. Never surrender. And ride your bicycle near the river, the ocean, the greatest of lakes.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

The publication of the book has only made me want to write another book. So that’s what I am doing. I am working on a new manuscript right now. Mostly prose poems.

I am also shopping around a chapbook collection about celebrity dreams, aptly called Celebrity Dream Poems. And I just finished a collaborative chapbook with the poet Matt McBride, tentatively called Vocal Air.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

I think poetry can act as a sort of communication vessel for the soul. A vessel that highlights both the quandaries of the everyday, and shares the dreams of the intellect. Can such a vessel change the world? Absolutely!

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Noah Falck is the author of Snowmen Losing Weight (BatCat Press, 2012), as well as several chapbooks. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boston Review, iO: A Journal of New American Poetry, Jellyfish, Sink Review, Paper Darts, Fact-Simile, interrupture, and elsewhere. He works as Education Director at Just Buffalo Literary Center in Buffalo, New York. Visit him online at noahfalck.org

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