Four Poems + five questions make for nine very special pieces of reading from Lo Kwa Mei-en.

1. What geography do you trust the most?

Trust, for me, is more meaningful as an intentional act rather than a state of grace that can be assumed. I trust the ocean. If I had the choice–and much of the time I do–I would not trust anything. I love an excuse to stay in, where everyday dangers such as automobiles, super-developing technologies, and alienation are also present but where my sense of control is less challenged by the seeming mundanity of those dangers. There is little mundane about the sudden appearance of an undertow, stinging jellyfish, or starved shark in the water. All of those things are in the water, and cannot be controlled.

Engaging with a geography like the ocean taught me trust because there is no way to engage with the ocean if you do not make the conscious choice to trust its basic nature despite having plenty of rational reasons not to. To enter the sea is to embrace both the risk and reward of being a creature entering a whole other ridiculously amazing world. Of course, you could say the same thing about any wilderness. There is a lot of trust that goes into falling asleep in the woods, but there is something about the fact and presence of solid ground that in that case might allow me to (incorrectly) take for granted my place in the world more than I would on the water. Of course, you could say the same thing about people, too.

2. Why is poetry fascinated with myth? 

Because like poetry, myth lives in a weird and exciting place of negotiatable fictionality and meaning-making where whether it’s “true” or not is besides the point? Because a myth has no author and therefore can be appropriated as a received narrative structure in similar ways to how poets can appropriate received verse forms like the sonnet or received rhetorical conventions like anaphora? I don’t know!

3. How are Singapore and Ohio similar?

I know a significant number of people who couldn’t wait to leave Singapore, and found themselves to be drawn back, and I know an equally significant number of people who couldn’t wait to leave Ohio, and found themselves to be drawn back. Continue reading →

JR Fenn discusses existential crises, growing up, and her story “Altogether,” published in the June Issue.

1. Why write to the screams of seagulls? Wouldn’t it be better if you were doing so to the screams of a Flock of Seagulls?

I think that when living with a ubiquity of seagulls, it’s really quite daring to capitalize them and/or refer to them using their collective noun. I say this because this spring two seagulls made their nest on the ground right outside of my door. I was dive-bombed by the pair of them when coming and going, so much that I Ran (So Far Away). My neighbours had the nest removed, and my daily brushes with death ended there, but I really missed that nest, which looked a lot like a massive upside-down 80s bowl cut.

2. Are all cats gray?

As an American living in Britain, this question has given me an identity crisis. [They are sometimes grey.]

3. Where did this story come from?

In Iceland, mums and dads take their babies out in strollers and park the strollers outside of coffee shops, unattended. On Laugavegur, the main street in Reykjav­k, there are some lovely coffee shops and outside of each coffee shop you might see four or five different-colored strollers (pinks, blues, greens, purples, yellows) with babies inside all lined up bumper to bumper. Somehow those quiet babies in their strollers- with their parents inside the coffee shops enjoying their coffee- radiate a strong sense of contentment. This story came from imagining what might have happened before that moment- how that moment might have come to be in the world. Continue reading →

Brett Elizabeth Jenkins’s “Scheherazade,” previously published. Recently published, this interview about the piece.

1. What would you change your middle name to?

I am too lazy to actually go through with changing my name (didn’t even do it when I got married), but if I could change my name without having to do any work, I would change it to Lobster.

2. What influenced the shape of your poem?

I don’t generally like to shape my poems in specific ways, but I think it works for this poem. I don’t really know why. Do you know why?

3. How is a new moon magnificent?

A new moon is magnificent because there’s something there but it looks like nothing. Continue reading →

Kate Rutledge Jaffe’s wonderful Two Poems were in the June Issue.

1. Why are poets obsessed with collecting various things?

Some of us are hoarders – of words, images, animated gifs… Collections can have a near-sublime impact. And the act of collecting – not to mention the anguish of holding onto things in hopes of culling a poem – distresses even as it appeals. That said, a confession: I don’t collect tangible things, or I do so poorly. My friend’s grandmother found my lack of collections as reprehensible as my “debutante slouch.” So I faked it for her. As a result, I have twenty-two teacups.

2. How do you grieve?

Slowly, quietly, forever. Like a mantra, or the television through the walls, grief pulses in the background.

3. What have you quarantined lately?

Ubiquitous apologies; my dog when he had kennel cough; my cactus after I grabbed it — twice – with my bare hands; my mischievous hands (into your pockets, hands!). Sidebar: I once bought a pair of jeans at a thrift store only to discover the pockets had been cut out (a disturbing revelation). Possible upside? A pocket collection? Continue reading →

On writing and marriage, in response to “Three Short Essays for Aubrey Hirsch.” 

1. How did your wife react to these essays when you showed them to her? Did you clear it with her before sending them off? What, if any, rules of writing engagement do you have?

Here’s what I would’ve said: “We’re both pretty hands-off about it, though we do give each other an advance read of our non-fiction, mostly as a by-product of asking for feedback.” But then I showed her this question, and she said she felt like we do a decent amount of tinkering with each other’s work. I don’t remember what’s true, except that there is one piece she won’t let me send out. And it’s only peripherally about her! And it’s so good!!

2. Where did the idea of a long distance marriage come from? Will it ever stop being long distance?

We’ve already moved back in together, thankfully. I’ve just finished a longer-form essay about why we were apart, though. The short version: Aubrey got a fellowship in Colorado, we moved there, and I turned out to have an altitude-related sleep disorder. I moved back to low ground, but besides finishing out the academic year she’d already committed to, we decided that the second year of the fellowship was too good to pass up.

3. How has your technical expertise influence your writing?

I’m happy with my previous answer (see #6). Continue reading →

Read Masin Persina’s Five Poems here, and then read his responses to six questions below.

1. Where did you get the idea to use pieces of New York Times articles in creating these poems?

The New York Times poems came from my desire to mimic what musical artists, such as Boards of Canada, accomplish, which is to take me to a very specific emotion from the past. As I only have words and not vintage synthesizers, using diction, syntax, phrases and clauses from old New York Times articles seemed like a solution. Then the process took over and it had nothing to do with emotions from the past.

2. What have you made a bet over? What was your wager?

I am more of a dare man than a betting man. Nothing life-shattering is lost in a dare. And mild dares at that, such as, dance out of this restaurant, if you dare.

3. What animal would you line the streets with?

I would line the streets with the least expensive animal money could buy because money is an issue for my city. Probably ants. This would be both revolting and awe-inspiring and perhaps make my city some money. Continue reading →

Randolph Pfaff, everybody, his Two Poems and his responses.

1. Whose name do you want on your laminated name tag?

Someone else’s. I don’t want weird customers writing poems about me that use my real name.

2. What have you wanted to tell someone lately?

That, without her, I’d lose all perspective.

3. Where did these poems come from?

Both of these poems grew out of my formative years spent living a life of exurban absurdity. I wanted to juxtapose feelings of overarching sadness (peppered with flashes of hope and something like happiness) with the symbols and signs that serve as visual anchors in my memory. I also wanted them to be funny in parts because some of my favorite poets use humor to disarm or refocus the reader in very effective ways. I hope I was able to accomplish that to some extent. Continue reading →

Below you will find responses to questions regarding Kirstin Scott’s June published piece “Advice for the Female Fetus.”

1. What advice have you provided to your fetus?

I was mostly worried about oxygenation and all that, but I did try to transmit the message, “Stay put until you get the signal.”

2. What is your favorite euphemism for having sex?

I sort of like “hooking up” because to me it’s an unlikely, unsexy stand-in; it conjures images of carcasses hanging upside down from the ceiling, draining.

3. What would your fetus look like if it was a Muppet? What would it sound like?

Beaker. Beaker. Continue reading →

Presenting responses to questions regarding “Dead Alice,” from Annie Hartnett, in the May Issue, ladies and gentlemen.

1. How would you react if a dead lover wrote you letters?

I’d send them a care package. Things they might miss from life, things that ship well: Oreos, comic books, canned fish. A flashlight, in case it’s dark down there.

2. Whose name would you carve?

Where would you carve it? I’d carve my still-alive boyfriend’s name on J’s Oyster in Portland, Maine. I don’t eat seafood; I just drink beer and watch him eat. It’s very romantic.

3. What is heaven to you?

My dog will be able to speak human. There will be carrot cake and coffee for breakfast. Fall foliage all year round. There will be a soundtrack, probably the Tom Waits station on Pandora. Continue reading →

From the May Issue, “Crown for a Natural Disaster,” by Amanda Smeltz.

1. In those moments you feel you are too stupid to write a poem, how do you stop yourself from doing it?

I don’t. I’m too stupid to know when to stop. I wanted to write as stupidly as I could, thinking about sophistication’s being so prized. It’s just childlike defiance.

2. Why did you involve yourself in your poem?

Because I am a human, therefore utterly self-involved. What does it look like to uninvolve yourself from a thing you make? If someone says, this isn’t about me, they’re lying.

3. Do you trust more in Michael Jackson or Madonna?

I don’t trust in either of them! I love their performativity, not their reliability. MJ I find more compelling, as his work seems a hall of mirrors refracting around his pain-ridden upbringing and family life. I don’t know if Madonna has a biography beyond the cone boobies. Kinda wish she did. Continue reading →