Nicelle offers us four poems in the August issue. Today she talks with us about these pieces, where they fit in a larger body of work, and how she did homework in the delivery room.

1.   We love that you had a reading partner in Judas and Jesus As Boys. Who is your partner in crime?

I’m not allowed to say. I promised my shy Jesus that if he read for me no one would have to know that it was him. Funny, this question almost made a Judas out of me.

2. Two of these poems have religious tones to them without being religious in very interesting ways. How did they come about, and are they part of a larger work?

All of these poems are (hopefully) a part of a larger (semi-autobiographical) collection entitled Becoming Judas. Growing up in the back room of a record store in Mormonville, Utah I developed sincere love for both religion and those who rebel against it. Using Joseph Smith as my example, I’ve been writing my own religion based on Christian principles. Only I don’t have angels or golden plates for guides. My religion is informed by pieced together scriptures, Gnostic texts, the Kabala, tabloid articles, and Beatles lyrics. In the poems John Lennon is cast as my Jesus, I morph into Judas, the complicated relationship between Judas / Jesus begins to take on aspects of my relationship with my mother. Eventually there are no clear dividing lines. There is no one to blame, nothing to judge. All is reconciled to love. Wish fulfillment at it’s best.

3. In When I Was a Boy and 1970 you write remarkable, visual, unexpected endings that really surprised us. Is it important to you to surprise and challenge the reader by upending expectations the way you do?

That’s not a question, that’s an embarrassingly kind compliment. I never anticipate or plan for a poems ending. Poems (for me) are all process, all exploration. If a poems ending doesn’t surprise me when I come to it, I’m a little suspicious of the lines—suspicious that they are lying or better put hiding something that needs further exploration.

4. Were you a boy? Or a tomboy?

Tomboy, but a real Tomboy: the kind who is completely shocked at puberty.

5. There’s a lot going on in 1970. How do you manage to compact so much story into such a small space?

Poems often operate as visual compositions. Erik Sandberg paintings are canvases brimming with story just as C.D. Wright’s poems are the mind in thought—seemingly endless. I do not mean to compare myself to either Sandberg or Wright, but they are the masters who I turn to in my desire to be an artist. My compression is an awkward mimicry of what I see in master works.

6. What is your writing process like?

A poem starts with an image, usually inspired by music. The rest is translation. Writing is always an emotional experience. I’ve come up with creative solutions to mask my face, namely wearing wide brimmed hats while writing in public. Writing (for me) requires many, many cups of coffee.

7. What are you working on right now?

I’m afraid to say—I might jinx the momentum. I recognize that this is a lame answer, but I also know my superstitious self well enough to leave her alone.

8. Mothers figure significantly into three of these poems. Is motherhood a common theme in your writing?

For this collection, motherhood is at the core of all the poems. This focus has a lot to do with timing. I had accepted UCR’s invitation to be a part of their MFA program and a week latter found out I was pregnant. Two months latter I got shoot gun hitched to my beautiful husband and went off to graduate school—with a full belly. The students and faculty at UCR welcomed the challenge; we even worked out a situation where I would Skype into workshops for a quarter. I was literally completing writing assignments from the delivery room. The combination of graduate school and child birth really forced me to explore this complicated thing—motherhood—in a way that I don’t think I’d otherwise be capable of.

Mel Bosworth has a beard and a story about his beard appears in the August issue of PANK. He is also generous and charming. Today we talk with him about the state of his beard’s union, his pirate name and his writing.

1. Your beard is rather accomplished. Is there anything else your beard can do that you haven’t detailed in this story poem thing?

My beard can break dance. My beard can also store snacks. Eat from my beard. It will feed you–I just gagged. For reals. On a side note, I enjoy “story poem thing” more than “prose poem” or “verse fiction,” although each has great appeal.

2. Xyrophobic Me is rather whimsical. How did this work come about?

That’s a good question. Hmm. Well, I suppose I was sitting at my desk, like I do, and–I’d been wanting to write something “funny” for a while. Sometimes I get stuck in the shadows. Needed some light.

Anyway, as I was rubbing my cheek, it occurred to me that it might be fun (whether the end result is “funny” or not is debatable) to write a piece in which my beard has its own identity and life. People often give their genitalia nicknames and personalities (they do, right?) so why not a beard? Is facial hair somehow less deserving of personification? I don’t think so.

3. Why do you wear a beard? Do you ever think of shaving it off? What does your face have to say about your beard?

I’d always wanted a beard, so when I could finally grow a proper one, I did. That was–nearly 9 years ago. It usually comes off once a year. But then it grows back. My beard is willful, and refuses to leave.

I suppose I wear it so I don’t look like such a child. But it truly is practical. Good in winter, good in summer. Chicks dig it too, I think. I could be wrong. Honey, do you like my beard? Honey? Yeah–I could be wrong.

My face is a fan of my beard, but cries a little when I yank out the gray hairs.

4. This piece works very well with the surreal in a grounded manner. A lot of your writing, in fact, could be characterized as such. Do you think that the real surreal would be a good way of describing your writing? How would you characterize your writing style?

Wow. Look at you go with the good questions. Real surreal. “Yo, that shit is real surreal!”

Ha. I like that. I guess “real surreal” would be a good way to describe my silliness. Maybe not all of it, but a good chunk. I generally try to mix it up. Perhaps I fail, perhaps it all sounds the same. I’m not sure. But I guess in my little writing world the images are often bent like in funhouse mirrors. But I try to keep the heart honest. Somewhere.

5. The form of this piece is interesting. Why is it organized and divided as such?

Easy digestion. I didn’t want readers to choke on my words. I tried to keep my thoughts distinct. But I don’t always do this. Sometimes it’s fun to smash everything together. But it’s all about pacing, I suppose. White space is quiet and reflective. Absence is just as important as presence. I think it’s fair to say that a piece of writing is just as much a visual work as is a photograph or painting. It’s all about how your eyes interpret the information. For “Xyrophobic Me,” in particular, I wanted the information to be as accessible as possible. Cryptic can be cool, but cryptic can be taxing for both writer and reader. Sometimes you just want to sit back and enjoy the ride. Or you want to fidget and simply tolerate the ride until it’s over. I’m hoping readers of “Xyrophobic Me” experienced the former.

6. Ahoy! What would you name yourself if you were a pirate?

ARGH! My pirate name would be “Shits McGee.” Victims of my plundering would cry out, “We’ve been stung by Shits McGee!”

What would your pirate name be? Can I ask the interviewer questions? (ed. Yes, you can ask questions. My pirate name would be Red Light Harlota.)

7. Who is Eddie Socko and why does he no longer warrant hot lunches?

Ha ha! Eddie Socko! Well–.Eddie Socko is a sock. He’s been around for years. He’s been a puppet, a tool, a cleaning rag, and–.a friend. I wrote the story “No More Hot Lunches for Eddie Socko” about a year ago. It recently made its way online at an awesome zine called “The Writer’s Eye.” I don’t want to spoil the ending, so you’ll have to take a peek at the story to find out why Eddie Socko no longer warrants hot lunches. Then you’ll probably never speak to me again.

8. If you had to make a short story + poem mixtape, what tracks would you include?

Track 1: The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams
Track 2: To a Stranger by Walt Whitman
Track 3: Santaland Diaries by David Sedaris
Track 4: A Clean, Well-Lighted Place by Ernest Hemingway
Track 5: Intersect by Tia Prouhet
Track 6: Twelve by Lao Tsu
Track 7: A & P by John Updike
Track 8: Christmas by George Saunders
Track 9: My Wheel is in the dark by Emily Dickinson
Track 10: God’s Eyes by xTx
Track 11: Mel by Darby Larson
Track 12: Important Things to Know About Career Girls by Roxane Gay (Ed. Awkward! Thanks!)

–.I like to close strong.(Ed. And you do.)

END

J. Bradley brings us the first epic poem we’ve published and talks with us about how the poem came about, the best Usher song to make love to and why some questions should remain unanswered.

1. You don’t see many epic poems anymore. What brought about this magnum opus? How long did it take you to compose?

Esmeralda came from a comissioned challenge from a friend and fellow poet.   Her challenge to me was to write about a “Byron-esque sexual adventurer, female” in 300 lines.   A long long time ago, I used to write fiction exclusively, cyberpunk and sci-fi, and the amazing thing about the epic poem is you can use narrative elements and poetry in conjunction and from that, Esmeralda Estrus was born.   To write the whole thing took me over four hours non-stop.   Writing it felt like I cracked open an urn and let all of these spirits out.

2. What is your favorite epic poem? Why?

I’ve always been a huge fan of The Odyssey because I’m a sucker for Greek mythology.   I enjoy Dante’s Inferno as well because of the imagery and the concept of the different circles of Hell.   I bought and tried reading Ezra Pound’s The Cantos but it was too complex, too pretentious.   My favorite mini-epic and probably one of my top five favorite poems of all time is T. S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock because of the musicality of the poem and the thread work within the narrative.

3. Normally, when we think of epic poetry, we think of lengthy narratives like Beowulf or or The Illiad, with highly stylized, formal language. In How Esmerelda Estrus Got Her Revenge, however, you use vernacular to great effect. Why did you make that choice?

I wanted the average reader to really get the poem, the story, and it’s weird when you have an epic poem or story where everyone talks in a high vernacular or in perfect speech where we don’t talk in exactness.   We break language, misspell things for the sake of expediency (donuts vs. dounghnuts), invent new ways of cursing things.   I feel more connected with the characters when they behave as themselves, not what an author seems to think how they should behave.   Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting is an excellent example of effective use of vernacular to tell a story (though reading Scottish vernacular can be pretty difficult).

4. One of the things we really like about this poem is that the cantos work together but they also stand alone as narratives within themselves. Do you agree with that assessment?

Absolutely.   I wish I could say more to this but you hit the nail on the head on this one.

5. There were many pop culture references throughout the poem. Did you include those to make the narrative more accessible or are they more an organic part of the poem?

The pop culture references felt incredibly organic as I was writing Esmeralda.   If it made the narrative more accessible to the reader, then that’s a bonus.   Eliot worked in Dante’s Purgatory with Prufrock.   I worked in Joy Division.

6. Is Esmerelda satisfied with her revenge?

I will leave that to the reader to decide.   Frustrating answer, I know, but what fun is art if it turns into a Choose Your Own Adventure book?

7. What is the best Usher song to accompany love making?

I got the Usher thing from my wife who lost her virginity to an Usher song, “Nice & Slow” to be exact.   I could have went with Dave Matthews Band’s “Crash” but that’s way too predictable.

8. There are vulgar elements to this story and yet, it is still a piece of literature. How do you balance the line between literary writing and pornographic description?

That’s the neat trick, walking the fine line between porno and literature.   It’s a matter of perspective.   If there’s going to be tits, then there better be a reason other than making a deposit in the spank bank.   Same thing with other titillating scenes in literature; it must contribute to the story.   On average, pornography treats the story as a barrier to the sex, rather than intellectual foreplay.

After his story Sammy went up in the August issue of PANK, Jason Jordan posted some interesting thoughts on the genesis of his story. That inspired us to start an interview series where we talk with PANK contributors about their writing and other fun things. First up, Jason Jordan, editor of decomP talking about Sammy, seals and subtext.

1. Over at your blog, you explain that this story came about after you saw a pattern in the shower stall that looked like a seal and then you thought, what if a seal just appeared in a guy’s bath tub. Does your mind always work like that?

I think so. Usually I start with an idea or image and move from there. I never sit down to write if I don’t have an idea first.

2. This story details a scenario that (as far as we know) is not possible so it demands from the reader the suspension of disbelief. Having said that, I wasn’t distracted by the fantastic nature of the overall premise because you wrote so convincingly and rationally. How did you manage that?

I’ve discovered that there’s a fine line between being too concerned with the fantastic elements and not concerned enough. Balance is key. For instance, I think it’s important to avoid dwelling on the logistics, so I didn’t include exactly how or why Sammy appeared in the bathtub. Yet, I did include his diet because that was easy to explain and didn’t steal focus from the main narrative. The more technical aspects you include, the more questions they’ll raise. Most readers are more than willing to suspend their disbelief. I think we want to believe extraordinary things can happen that can’t be explained rationally.

3. I sensed a lot of subtext in this story, particularly in terms of protagonist trying to make money using Sammy as an attraction, and plying his trade on children, and then we have the ending which I found brilliant. Was this subtext deliberate or something I brought to the story as a reader?

Yes, it was deliberate. Lately I’ve been trying to infuse my stories with more specific, intended meaning than I used to. I try to refrain from being preachy, because I’m not an activist or anything, so I don’t feel that I’m in the position to get on a soapbox. Rather, I simply point out some things that, in my opinion, are worth considering.

4. If you actually encountered a seal or other sea animal in your bath tub, would you be able to deal with the situation rationally?

Yep! Actually, it depends on the animal. Seals are seen as innocuous, so I wouldn’t feel vulnerable getting close to one, aside from normal apprehension. If it were a shark, stingray, or crocodile/alligator, I’d feel differently, of course.

5. There seem to be a great many writer/editors. Why do you think there is such a cross over between writing and editing? Does editing make us better writers?

I think editing does make us better writers in the sense that it teaches us what we like, what we don’t like, and why, which can help in the writing process. It’s certainly instrumental in a dos and do nots kind of way. Otherwise, I believe I’m an editor because I love to read, provide an outlet for great work, and champion it. Also, editing can serve as inspiration, prodding me to write, as well as give me another acitivity. Both can be very rewarding.

6. Was Sammy the only title you came up with for this story? If not, what were some of the others?

Yes, it was. It’s strange because I usually start with a shitty title, change it to something I’m okay with, and then, either settle or try to find a truly great title, a rarity.

7. What is your writing process like?

I used to fret when I read about writing process, because it’d always convince me that I’m not writing often enough. But, over the past few years, I’ve accepted that everyone’s process is different, and that’s all right. We all have schedules that we prefer–not that they can’t be altered.

Typically I wait until an idea inspires me enough to write about it. Then I try to hammer out the first draft in an evening, or, at the most, a couple days in a row. From there, I’ll send the first draft to my reader–Nick Ostdick, who does a phenomenal job giving me useful feedback–and revise according to his advice. I read the revised version aloud, testing diction, rhythm, and sentence length. I tinker until I’m ready to submit it to a few places. If I rack up several rejections, I usually revise again. It’s easier when you’re confident about the quality of a story. If you aren’t, that compounds the difficulty.

A few months ago I decided to write at least one, “finished” story per month. I keep a list of them on a Post-It by my computer, so there’s evidence. Sherrie Flick recommended doing this. One may not seem like that much, but it’s a pace I’m comfortable with. Some say that you shouldn’t wait for inspiration to strike, though it always does sooner or later, and it’s much more fun to write when you want to.

8. Are aquariums and zoos cruel and unusual to animals?

Yes and no. This is naturally an issue that I bring up in “Sammy.” I understand the pros of zoos–people learning more than they would if they didn’t visit, being able to see exotic animals firsthand, and others. However, the con is that a zoo imprisons animals that should be roaming free. But then that brings up the issue of domesticated animals, which, I think, lead happier lives on average than ones in zoos. Still, ethics aside, zoos make money, and as long as they do, they’re here to stay. I don’t have any solutions to any perceived problems in this regard, nor do I pretend to. Like I said, it’s just something to think about.

The original ending didn’t have “Myself included” as the final line. Another editor told me it “rings a bit sanctimonious”–an understandable complaint. I think I was relying too heavily on the reader to notice the irony–hey, this guy is imprisoning an animal and making money off him, which is hypocritical–but ultimately decided to force him to acknowledge his hypocrisy. Plus, I was trying to avoid the cliche ending of a person freeing zoo animals.