Thanks to the lovely Jenny Wong for inviting me to answer these
questions
What am I writing on?
I’m completing a pamphlet of more recent material which
collides different ideas of the foreign and ways we make it manageable, such as
by reference to films. There’s a poem in there called ‘Thinking of Blade Runner in the Turkish quarter of Berlin ’ for example. I’m
also completing a more experimental pamphlet based on the work of three
artists: Martin Creed, Michael Frank and Anselm Kiefer. On a separate level,
I’m trying to find someone with an understanding of code to help me with a
Poetry Map – 78 poems located at different places across the globe. The poems
are written, I just need help realizing the project more dynamically. The
prototype is here.
How does my work
differ from others of its genre?
A long time ago I read that you can recognize any great poet
from one line taken at random, and that has stayed as a kind of definition of
poetry for me. It’s important to be singular. I think I write by omission in
some ways, hence my introductions at poetry readings tend to fill in all the
necessary information. The downside of such a spare approach is that the reader
might be left high and dry. Then again, there’s a pleasure in interpreting
things your own way. One thing about Sylvia Plath is that because she left such
a manageable body of work, with her poems written almost on a daily basis,
after reading her chronologically there comes a point when you can ‘get’
exactly what she means – intuit her intention – no matter how obliquely she
writes; or at least feel you can.
How does my writing
process work?
I write very quickly and amass a huge amount of drafts, which
I then edit and re-edit. I never throw anything away, because I don’t trust
myself. Once I have a stack of new work I think it’s time to sort it out and I
read through all the different drafts of a poem and see where it is heading, which
approach of all the different edits works best, and shape it, often collaging
it from different versions, and re-write the thing. I had a poem accepted
recently that was begun about two years ago, which is not an uncommon time
frame. It isn’t much changed: a few stanzas cut, a few words edited, a few
lines in a different order, and it is now in quatrains.
I tend to write a lot when I am away from home, and end up
with sequences about Portugal, Wales etc that aren’t particularly shaped (lots
of *s) but contain interesting details. I often worry about whether I am a poet
or a writer.
I find it a great help to write for competitions and
journals – reading my drafts with an eye on a theme helps me see my work
freshly. For example, that poem about the painting of the prematurely aged
children might be seen to be about war. The deadlines get me digging stuff out
and working on it. When I get a rejection I read the work again and can see it
in a different light, more uncharitably. This too is useful. Didn’t Ted Hughes
say that when a poem of his was completed he felt excluded, shut out from it?
When a poem is finished I put it (and all its drafts) away and my pile is that
much thinner so I can begin work on the next poem.
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