To write well, to write at all, is to listen closely - to the spaces between what a person says, to the small silences, the almost indiscernible shifts in tone. It is to observe from one's own place the place of another, it is to travel, exchange positions and mix other walks of life with our own. There's no one way to do anything. The entry into words is multiple and shifting constantly. This is its grace; that one can't pin the formula down. Devon Balwit's poems are listeners in the night. A news story prompts reflections on the horrors of war, ecological disaster inspire reflections on the earth's deep damage, a painting; an opportunity to explore the meaning of light and the force of color. Balwit's poems are more than travelers, they are witnesses. As Devon writes in Luminescence "we'll get no second chances." We might as well begin to attune ourselves, not just to what is inside of us, but to everything that sits in between, where the crossing becomes its own translation. It might just be that a poem always starts there. AHC: How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different? Devon: Hah! I have to laugh. I was jonesing to publish my first book, thinking that it would grant me some kind of legitimacy as a poet. Then, after I had done so, I realized that it changed nothing at all. The human animal, or at least my particular/peculiar double-helix, always manages to project contentment further into the future. Publishing my first book gave way to anguish over no one reading or reviewing the book, which gave way to wanting to publish the next book, which gave way to wanting my book/poems to be spoken about in a certain way by certain people, etc. etc. Of course, books are cool. Your name is on the cover! They look wonderful—especially all pristine in the box that arrives on your door step. You can carry them to readings marked with sticky tabs. But, the wisest thing for me to do is to keep my little egg of contentment centered inside my own ribs rather than externalized elsewhere. AHC: How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes? Devon: My writing comes quickly as my brain is a busy place. Most of my poems undergo constant revisions even after publication (as when I move them from a journal or chapbook to a larger collection), sometimes dramatically, sometimes more line edits, line breaks, stanzas, word choice, verb tense. I never take notes to write—except for reviews (although I do keep a journal of favorite lines for any book that I am reading—these often become epigraphs for poems). AHC: Where does a poem or work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning? Devon: Individual poems begin with an image, a situation/news event, a line, or a form or format that I want to experiment with. Sometimes they begin as a conversation with another poem, not necessarily from a striking line used as an epigraph, but with its style. For example, recently I noticed that many widely-celebrated poets use nouns for verbs. (Perhaps that’s something they teach in MFA programs?) Anyway, that device was striking in its pervasiveness…so I wanted to spoof that—Turns out I really liked the jagged, fresh effect of “nouning” and want to try it more. Chapbooks are easier for me to plan and execute than full-length collections. The idea of 15-20 poems on a theme seems a natural unit. When I read a compelling work of writing, I jot down quotes which, themselves, suggest poems. Thus came a chap inspired by Flannery O’Connor’s Wise-Blood, one by Melville’s Moby Dick, one by Sylvia Plath’s Ariel poems, one by Michel Leiris’ book Phantom Africa. However, creating full-length collections frustrate the hell out of me. I have so many poems in so many styles and voices that it’s hard to wrestle them into a cohesive shape. The poems always come first and then comes the pressure to do something with them, the feeling that I should be working up and sending out collections or chapbooks rather than endlessly publishing individual or small suites of poems. AHC: Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings? Devon: I like doing readings but must confess to sadness when the crowd is small—like only the poets and the poets’ relatives! That’s a painful feeling, like having few (or no one) like a poem on FB (or just my mom ☺). It’s great to have a sense of audience, to see what people react to (or don’t). I stand up when I write, so it feels natural to stand when I read. If I can, I choose to go without a mic, preferring to move around and project as I do in the classroom. AHC: What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)? Devon: The best advice I ever got was from a poet-peer, Anatoly Molotkov. He told me that he doesn’t hesitate to send out the same work over and over until it’s picked up. That might mean he submits a piece 30, 40, or 50 times. That information was hugely liberating. After a couple of rejections, I would have assumed my work was “bad,” and ditched those pieces. Also helpful was the news from many editors that female submitters tend not to resubmit to journals that reject them while males do. I make sure to resubmit. Of course, it gets painful and feels personal when the same journal rejects my work again and again, but at least I know that I didn’t shy away from the pain and self-doubt that comes from rejection. If I believe in the work, I will keep submitting it. AHC: What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin? Devon: I wake up early, take the dog out to buy time, start coffee and forget to drink it, and go upstairs to my daughter’s bedroom-turned-office while she’s away at college and write until my husband yells that it’s time for work, drag my heels until he yells--really time! I’m not kidding!--and then I dash around hoping to remember all my clothing for teaching. (Once it was raining, and I forgot that I’d thrown rain pants over my pajama bottoms to walk the dog, so had to pretend to my students that my pajamas were some sort of stylish lounge wear…) After work, I again play with the dog and write until I can’t see straight. I try to read. (Like most people I know, I struggle to leave my computer and read uninterruptedly. I used to read for hours at a time.) AHC: When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration? Devon: My writing doesn’t usually get stalled, but sometimes my ego tanks when I’ve received too many rejections in a row. Then I remember how many FB posts I’ve read by poets/writers I admire who lament laboring on in obscurity, and I realize this sine curve of exhilaration / despair comes with the territory. It is just the way writers feel. AHC: What fragrance reminds you of home? Devon: Ferret shit. My house is a sty, so if it smells of compost and black mold, that’s home. I’d much rather write than clean. AHC: David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art? Devon: While I love to listen to live music—especially jazz and classical, I never ever turn on the radio and rarely am inspired to write by songs. Instead, I’m drawn to the visual arts. I write many ekphrastic poems. I grew up in a house filled with art. My mother is a painter and my step-father a photographer. I spent many hours in museums, studios, and darkrooms. The walls of my childhood home were covered with paintings, drawings, lithographs, collages. The shelves and counter-tops were thick with statues, vases, decorated boxes, and bones. I love to dig around in on-line sites like Raw Vision and ars gratia artis-mutatis mutandis for compelling works or better yet, to use the paintings, drawings, and collages of FB friends as spring-boards to poems. AHC: What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work? Devon: I take special interest in popular science—books about genetics, disease, insects, artificial intelligence, biomes, and animals. I also like reading travelogues and history. I’m amazed by intrepid characters like Wilfred Thesiger and Earnest Shackleton. AHC: What would you like to do that you haven't yet done? Devon: I am assuming you mean as a writer. I would love to have a book solicited by a press. (Does that even happen? I have had poems solicited and was so blown away by that.) Like any poet, I dream of receiving a grant to write or of having a writing patron like the classical musicians of old did (although I wouldn’t want to live sequestered away at Esterhazy like Haydn…). I would love, for even a month, to be in the black on submissions/payments received. AHC: What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film? Devon: I loved Julian Barnes’ The Noise of Time, Amor Towles’ Book A Gentleman in Moscow, and Primo Levi’s If Not Now, When? I’m not much of a movie watcher but loved the Netflix series Babylon Berlin and Fauda. AHC: What are you currently working on? Devon: I’m always trying to slow down and whip a full-length collection into shape…and usually forgo that discipline to generate yet another new poem… Devon's collections We are Procession, Seismograph and Motes at Play in the Halls of Light are both available for purchase on Amazon.
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