{"id":1473757,"date":"2024-01-31T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2024-01-31T08:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thecreativeindependent.com\/people\/poet-emily-zuberec-on-finding-the-shape-of-what-you-want-to-say"},"modified":"2024-01-31T08:00:00","modified_gmt":"2024-01-31T08:00:00","slug":"poet-emily-zuberec-on-finding-the-shape-of-what-you-want-to-say","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/radiofree.asia\/2024\/01\/31\/poet-emily-zuberec-on-finding-the-shape-of-what-you-want-to-say\/","title":{"rendered":"Poet Emily Zuberec on finding the shape of what you want to say"},"content":{"rendered":"

Can we start with an introduction? I want to know a bit about your background in writing.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I\u2019m living in Montreal. Quebec. I\u2019m originally from Vancouver, a place that I think about all the time. Even though I\u2019m not there, it filters into my writing constantly. It\u2019s funny because the fact that I ended up in Montreal is random and the fact that I started writing is also random. But I guess I\u2019ve always liked a story. I often think, \u201cIn what ways do we need to create narrative to make it through certain phases of our lives? Or to fully enjoy it?\u201d I think this impulse to narrativize is not just out of a necessity, but also out of pleasure, that we can revisit positive experiences.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

I did school for writing twice. Both times I felt slightly let down, in some ways. But I was also really inspired by having a concrete community of other writers. Because so many creative practices are materially and mentally so private, as soon as you end up in a room with other writers you\u2019re like, \u201cWhoa, this is happening everywhere in the city. People are working away so diligently and thinking such radical, interesting thoughts.\u201d That\u2019s my favorite part about going to school for art, that practices are made visible and generously shared.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

In school, you go through class critiques where your classmates dissect each other\u2019s work. How important is criticism to you in that context? How important is it to you in the professional realm?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I don\u2019t write professionally. My day job isn\u2019t editing or writing or doing copy so it\u2019s still this private habit that exists in a pre-critical realm I\u2019ve developed for myself.<\/span> In regards to criticism, I would say it\u2019s so valuable when someone actually takes the time to see who you are and why you\u2019ve chosen to arrive with a certain idea, right now, at this point in time.<\/span> But then it\u2019s also refreshing when when someone\u2019s like, \u201cI don\u2019t actually get this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

In my poetry, the main focus is on the unit of the image. For me, I work a lot in images in my poetry. Images are fascinating to me because of their mechanics and how they ultimately function as an outwardly-pointing reference. Often, a poetic image make sense to the writer only because they\u2019ve carried around the words, or the feeling attached to the words, around with them for so long. Often they\u2019re personal, language or political concerns that I\u2019ve thought about as I walk around, and then these intuitive associations solidify and metabolize together. So when someone is like, \u201cUm, I don\u2019t get what this crazy image of a puddle that smells like blood is about.\u201d I\u2019m like, \u201cTrue, because you weren\u2019t there when I was walking around feeling broke or something.\u201d I think that\u2019s what makes poetry so beautiful. To read something that\u2019s personal where you\u2019re like, \u201cOkay, that\u2019s your economy of sense and meaning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

In your writing, I often see this theme of the city coming up. In your thesis, you write, \u201cAs a subject of adoration, the city infrequently returns the affection.\u201d Can you talk about this idea?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I love the city. I miss Vancouver, but I don\u2019t think there\u2019s any debate that it\u2019s impossible to live there. In many ways it\u2019s inhospitable and everything is aestheticized and so tightly packaged. What many of us are looking for in a city is space to experiment and to be creative in an un-curated way\u2014creative in a liberated way. Whereas the trajectory of virtually all major cities is that inhabitants must be committed and financially certain about everything.<\/span> When we can share space without the stakes of crushing bureaucracy, eviction, and no unplanned-land we share it in such different ways. I\u2019m drawn to the city because I feel like I personally need the plurality and randomness, but it often feels like the city doesn\u2019t need us. Like within a larger operation or architecture of planning and municipal government, it feels like the city doesn\u2019t need us a lot of the time.<\/p>\n\n

I feel it when I\u2019m taking the bus or waiting in line. Though there is some sort of glory in that, I also feel I\u2019m shrinking in some ways. I just think that there\u2019s so much to write about as the Romantics did when they look at the city and they\u2019re like, \u201cWhat\u2019s going on there?\u201d They had to extract themselves from it. If we think of the city as an architecture, to then think about the natural environment as another kind of architecture has been generative for me.<\/p>\n\n

One of my favorite parts of your writing is seeing this dance between your internal and external world. You are so good at honoring little moments of your day and putting them into writing. Can you speak about this?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

A commitment of mine is to how emotions and our embodied experiences of moving the world can be treated as a necessary, imminent knowledge. I want to say \u201cwhat I\u2019m feeling, it\u2019s quantitative, it\u2019s fact.\u201d<\/span> And then in reverse, how scientific, larger systems or mechanisms or infrastructures can be treated as emotionally necessary, participating in qualitative systems of knowledge. Both my parents are engineers and I\u2019ve always been curious about math and science, but from more of a conceptual perspective. Experimental math in particular at a certain point evolves into philosophy, verging on poetry if we think about poetry as comprising units in negotiation with each other. But that\u2019s one system of making sense of the world. For example, I\u2019m fascinated by the drive to understand the Big Bang. Because for me, in my daily life, I know where I came from, it\u2019s a palpable undercurrent of how I move through the world. So then a collision occurs between these larger systems making sense of collective origins, and the substantial, robust narratives we have for explaining our lives to ourselves.<\/p>\n\n

That\u2019s really beautiful.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Right! Because particle science and particle physics doesn\u2019t affect my daily life, but it\u2019s cool when I force it to. It\u2019s also cool if we say our emotions, or our narratives or our affective response to the world, can be treated as fact - only if it\u2019s not harming other people, of course. It\u2019s important to remember that we matter. We as little people really matter.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

We do matter. Our little stories!<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I think if space is made for us in these cities to matter individually and express our divergent stories that would change a lot.<\/p>\n\n

Something I often think about is how the hyper personal can become universal. I find the more detailed a book or a song or a poem is, the more I feel I understand it. Do you feel this?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Totally. I think as soon as we want to be general and encompass everyone, it\u2019s hard to find resonance in the same way. People want to know, \u201cwhy am I listening to you? Who are you? What do you have to say?\u201d<\/span> Not in a skeptical way, but in an open way. In writing, you\u2019re prompted to cultivate a voice which then defines your work. It\u2019s this weird blending of modes. There\u2019s language, there\u2019s tone, and then there\u2019s actual sound in rhyme and repetition and lineation, all encompassed into a singular voice. I think it\u2019s important to be like, \u201cHow do I say what I say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n

What is your relationship to your voice like when you\u2019re giving readings? Do your words change when you speak them?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

There are people that are always checking the meter of their lines, but I don\u2019t do that\u2014I wish I did! Every time I have to read, I\u2019m like, \u201cOh shit, this sounds bad out loud.\u201d When I start practicing for a reading, I\u2019m changing words immediately. I\u2019m always changing words. I used to read off paper because I\u2019m a nerd, but I\u2019d make so many notes and I couldn\u2019t even see what I was reading anymore. So now I have to just read off my phone so I can edit it on the go at the event.<\/p>\n\n

I wouldn\u2019t say I\u2019m naturally someone who gravitates towards reading, but I\u2019m liking it more and more because of how close it brings me to my own work.<\/span> People who are good readers are just so amazing to watch. They honestly are hypnotizing. I love that feeling where you\u2019re not necessarily following word for word, but you\u2019re getting this textured air coming towards you. Being soothed or stimulated.<\/p>\n\n

The last reading that I saw you do, you read a poem that starts with the line, \u201cAnd so what if?\u201d I was just immediately hooked and it got me thinking: do you think all lines are created equal?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

No, I don\u2019t think that all lines are not created equal. I spend a lot of time on opening and ending lines. I think there\u2019s two modes with ending lines in particular. When ending a poem, I think \u201cAre we wrapping it up or are we sending the reader elsewhere?\u201d Both work for different kinds of poems.<\/span> I\u2019m trying to learn how to send it elsewhere and send it outside the poem instead of folding back into what I\u2019ve just said. I find that often when I start a poem, the first line ends up being something that was way further down and I have to bring it up to the beginning. It\u2019s funny how hard it is to get around to say what you want to say.<\/p>\n\n

You end one of your poems with, \u201cMay you build an opening and allow yourself to pass.\u201d One of my favorite lines. I feel like that is an example of \u201csending it out.\u201d Can you talk a bit about that line?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I also love that line. I mean, spoiler, I wrote that when I was during the worst four months where I was super stressed out all the time. I was thinking, \u201cThere must be a way to let ourselves pass through things and time ourselves.\u201d Not in an individualized way but more so picturing how I could orchestrate the passing through of a moment for myself with my relationship to language and relationship to myself. I really was picturing an archway. Something I could build and clearly see. You put all this work in and then suddenly an opening appears for you to move on to the next part of your life or move on to this next project or move out of an apartment that hasn\u2019t been serving you or whatever. It\u2019s that daily labor, or the daily creative labor, just reminding yourself that you\u2019re doing the right thing.<\/span> It forms your escape into the next moment. Even though in the moment it doesn\u2019t feel like you\u2019re getting anywhere. I think it\u2019s the repetition.<\/p>\n\n

Right now, I\u2019m obsessed with repetition and symmetry and how we\u2019re constantly repeating the action of building, and how rarely we encounter something that is perfectly symmetrical. Repetition will never be the same because the moment\u2019s passed or the voice has changed slightly.<\/span> And that\u2019s my new kind of obsession with the city and with writing. Which again, kind of came from that line.<\/p>\n\n

Can you build an opening for yourself through writing?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

A hundred percent. If I didn\u2019t write I don\u2019t really know who I would be.<\/span> For sure it\u2019s needed. I think its highly radical and political to spend your time doing this thing that amounts to pure text. In the same way that you sing a song and it doesn\u2019t get recorded, it still was sung. Where does it go? Maybe nowhere but that is what is beautiful. In writing I have made space for myself to think. It takes a practice having some sort of practice, to make space to think it through. For me, writing is the best tool for processing and distancing. I extract things from my body so I don\u2019t have to hold onto them in the same way.<\/p>\n\n

Does your writing ever reveal hidden things that you weren\u2019t expecting?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Totally, it\u2019s like you\u2019re speaking to yourself in tongues. In the moment you\u2019re like, \u201cEw, what am I going on about?\u201d and then like, \u201cOh no, I wasn\u2019t blabbering. I actually needed to communicate something.\u201d I can think of a poem called \u201cLHC\u201d from my thesis that was about two things at once, but initially I was so lost as to what I was trying to say. It was about particle physics while also about a relationship that I didn\u2019t understand. Both the subjects evaded me so I brought them together, subconsciously. It\u2019s so interesting because now both of them, I can understand better.<\/p>\n\n

Can you talk a bit about Commo<\/i>, your magazine? When you are reading people\u2019s submissions for it, what are you looking for in their writing?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

People having fun and doing something for themself. With Commo<\/i>, there\u2019s no genre separation. I\u2019m like, if it\u2019s with text, do it. I\u2019m so attracted to hybridity and other interdisciplinary modes. I like to see people pushing what they can come up with. It provokes the question, \u201cWhat form do you need to say what you need to say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\n

What are you looking for in your own writing?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

A piece that is working towards the interconnection I feel in daily life. I\u2019ve been thinking about all that I don\u2019t feel separate from. How can I possibly be separate from the tree that hangs in front of my window as I write when I\u2019ve looked at it all day? That becomes part of my writing. In the same way, I don\u2019t feel separate from most things. We can let ourselves be stimulated by everything and I just want to express the power in interconnection and make space for either meditation or a moment of reflection.<\/span> And that feeling of dependency, interdependency, and interconnection.<\/p>\n\n

What does your writing space look like?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I have this huge desk that I\u2019m obsessed with. It was so heavy to get into the apartment and I love it. I have my Baba\u2019s little doll in traditional Slovak clothes. It\u2019s so cute. I have calendar that my coworker\u2019s mom made which is great for knowing where I am. When I\u2019m like, \u201cWhat day is it? What\u2019s due when?\u201d And then I have my aspirational list of things to work towards that I just write on paper and tape to the wall.<\/p>\n\n

Whats on it?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

There\u2019s a lot right now. I want to make a pamphlet zine with my partner Terrance. I want to get better at InDesign. There\u2019s magazines to submit to, things to submit to. There\u2019s a lot of submission deadlines or application deadlines.I live on a busy street, which has really affected my writing this year and the way that I\u2019m thinking about sound architectures in the city. There\u2019s this huge tree outside my window and it feels like this weird collision of two experiences being under the foliage with crazy traffic going by. When I sit down to write a poem, I find I don\u2019t write for a long time. My sessions are kind of like bursts.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Do you collect words and ideas as you go?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I\u2019ve got scraps everywhere.<\/span> The beginning is usually the transcription of all the bits that I\u2019ve written down. They\u2019re in my phone, in my journal, on my notepad that\u2019s on my desk. In email and other correspondence, too. Sometimes I\u2019m like, \u201cOh, that\u2019s actually what I meant to say or I\u2019ve been trying to think about.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

My process includes transcribing, collecting all those little crumbs, and then a lot of moving stuff around.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

I would say in my writing, I\u2019m working towards an idea or experience as opposed to a clear story. So for me, each poem is trying to elicit the same experience or the same feeling.<\/p>\n\n

Do you feel like your work is all in conversation with each other? Or continuous?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

For sure, except for some really old stuff where I was trying irony. I\u2019m just not ironic. Honestly, my partner will use irony with me and I\u2019m like, \u201cI don\u2019t get.\u201d I get confused, I\u2019m so literal a lot of the time that I just get lost. So yeah, I think now it\u2019s pretty much all on conversation with each other. Because how could it not be? It\u2019s me, right?<\/p>\n\n

Literally. It\u2019s your life You\u2019re adding to it.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

That\u2019s it. It\u2019s not going to stop happening. Exactly. It makes so much sense to me to feel compelled to work through ideas, or work towards ideas, for so long.<\/p>\n\n

Do you have any closing remarks?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Give poetry a chance. You\u2019re all scared, you don\u2019t have to be. You don\u2019t have to understand it, just let it be. The poet already did the thinking. You get to enjoy it, enjoy what you hear. I listen to so many songs with lyrics that I don\u2019t understand or can\u2019t fully hear, but I still love the sound and I listen anyway.<\/p>\n\n

\n\n

Emily Zuberec recommends:<\/strong>
<\/p>\n\n

Double Trio<\/i> by Nathaniel Mackey<\/a>. Read it twice, read it three times.
<\/p>\n\n

The Last Samurai<\/i> by Helen DeWitt<\/a>.
<\/p>\n\n

The poetry of Bhanu Kapil<\/a>.
<\/p>\n\n

The poetry of Lisa Robertson<\/a>.
<\/p>\n\n

Walking as much as you can, everyday.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

This post was originally published on The Creative Independent<\/a>. <\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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