{"id":89385,"date":"2021-03-23T07:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-03-23T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thecreativeindependent.com\/people\/ada-limon-on-being-a-gateway-drug-for-poetry"},"modified":"2022-02-23T08:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-02-23T08:00:00","slug":"poet-ada-limon-on-making-work-that-matters","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/radiofree.asia\/2021\/03\/23\/poet-ada-limon-on-making-work-that-matters\/","title":{"rendered":"Poet Ada Lim\u00f3n on making work that matters"},"content":{"rendered":"

Your last book, Bright Dead Things<\/em>, was a finalist for the National Book Award. Did that create a certain amount of pressure going forward?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I tend not to think about readership. \nInstead, I think about a reader, the person I am trying to communicate with, but I don\u2019t have the idea that a lot of people are ever going to read anything.<\/span> Then after Bright Dead Things<\/em>, there is a little bit of a pressure. Like, \u201cOh, people may read this.\u201d There was that. Mostly there was just the sense that I wanted to honor that connection with people who had been drawn to Bright Dead Things<\/em>. But other than that, I really just wanted to do good work. And that\u2019s not much different from how I usually feel. I\u2019m competing with my myself, right?<\/span> I appreciate all the work I\u2019ve written so far, but I\u2019m always trying to push myself. And so this new book was just me trying to go a little further.<\/p>\n\n

You\u2019ve always written about personal things in your work, but the poems in The Carrying<\/em> feel even more intimate, particularly the poems about trying to conceive a child. It feels very bold.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Yeah. It was bold. Or terrifying. However you want to look at it. I always want to make work that matters, even if it\u2019s just to myself. I didn\u2019t know how to really process what I was going through in my own personal life without just writing about it. Writing is how I make sense of the world, so it would be hard not<\/em> to write the poems.<\/span> I guess I could have chosen not to publish them, but it felt like once I had written them it would be wrong not to share them. There aren\u2019t a lot of poems about some of these things I was experiencing\u2014not even a lot of essays or memoirs either. So I thought maybe that meant I was supposed to create this book.<\/p>\n\n

It\u2019s easier for me if it\u2019s about myself. It\u2019s harder for me if it\u2019s about anyone else. I want to get permission. I want to make sure that I\u2019m not stepping on anyone\u2019s toes. Also, I\u2019m very aware that there are two sides to every story. So I may see something one way, and another person could be like, \u201cThat\u2019s not at all<\/em> what happened.\u201d Still, the rudest editor is the one that you encounter before a pen even touches the page, right? The one in your mind that says, \u201cNo, you can\u2019t write about that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\n

All writers get asked questions like, \u201cHow do you work? Do you work in the morning? Do you work at night? Do you use a certain kind of ink pen? Do you have rituals around writing?\u201d As if by answering you\u2019re giving them the key that would maybe unlock their own process. I am curious, though, for someone who has been doing this for some time now, has your process changed much over time? Do you always approach making a poem in the same way?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Over the past eight years, one thing that\u2019s different is that I take longer breaks. I\u2019ll sometimes go months without writing, which is not something I used to do. I used to write every day. I still take a lot of notes, but I think I allow myself more time to be receptive to the world, as opposed to always worrying about saying something.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

That has been really important to me. I don\u2019t know why, exactly. I wish I could articulate that better. I just feel like I\u2019m going through this stage where I spend more time gathering, instead of always trying to be like, \u201cOkay, I\u2019m going to crank out a poem a day.\u201d I feel like it\u2019s much more, I don\u2019t want to say seasonal, but it feels like when the deluge comes, it really<\/em> comes. And I\u2019m ready for it.<\/p>\n\n

Maybe a lot of that is also because I have built my life in such a way that I now have a little more space and time. I\u2019m a freelancer and someone who works from home. Maybe I\u2019m more comfortable with not writing, because when it does come, I can shut down and go, \u201cOkay, I\u2019m going to write every day.\u201d I think it\u2019s almost as if, as I\u2019ve gotten older, my process is now a little bit messier and more unpredictable. And yet, I trust it a little more.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

It\u2019s hard to make people understand sometimes that taking a walk for 30 minutes can be more productive or generative than sitting down and staring at a piece of paper for 30 minutes. That can be part of the process, too.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Yes, yes, yes. I totally agree. Or sitting in silence. Or reading something. Or doing the dishes. That\u2019s when things come to me. A lot of times if I\u2019m in a producing mode, it\u2019s because I\u2019ve been receptive to the world for a long time. Suddenly it\u2019s like, \u201cOkay. I\u2019ve turned something on inside of me. Time to work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

In what form do you receive feedback from people? And how much of it do you take?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I have three or four readers that I share with on a regular basis. As soon as I finish something, and when I feel like it\u2019s in a good place, I send it to them. You know, excitedly, hoping for their approval. Those readers will often be very specific and sometimes they\u2019re just like, \u201cIt\u2019s done. Great.\u201d Sometimes that\u2019s all you need. Sometimes that\u2019s why you send it, you just want a pat on the back.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

And then other times, they have real critiques. And I take them to heart. Sometimes it\u2019s just the act of sending it to them that will make me edit it in a different way. The next step for me is getting feedback from editors of journals. You know, really good editors. They might say, \u201cThis is great, but what about this last line? What about this title?\u201d I edited out a last line of a poem for The New Yorker<\/em>. And I also changed a title of a poem for The New Yorker<\/em>. And those were with two different editors. Both times were difficult. I had to really think about it. Both times, they were right.<\/p>\n\n

In those moments, do you feel like you have agency to say, \u201cNo. I\u2019d rather you not publish it unless you publish it with that line.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Oh, yeah. Absolutely. There\u2019s a particular editor that has come to me with changes, and each time I have said no. And I\u2019ve actually never published with him. There\u2019s just people that you trust and you know that their eye and their voice and their ear is similar to what you\u2019re doing. Or at least they know what you\u2019re doing. And then there are other editors who are seeing it from their perspective so wholly that they\u2019re not allowing your own creative, artistic drive into their world. I\u2019ve pulled poems because of that in the past. There is a poem in my new book called \u201cMastering,\u201d which takes place at a bar where I\u2019m meeting with a friend who doesn\u2019t drink anymore. There was an editor who would have published it if I had changed the ending to not be so harsh. And I wouldn\u2019t do it.<\/p>\n\n

I know the poem. It was supposed to be harsh, right? That\u2019s the point.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

That\u2019s what I said! I told him that I had sent this to the person it was about. We\u2019re still great friends. He told me I should publish it. Also, it\u2019s just an honest description of how the speaker in the poem, me, felt at the moment. Right? It\u2019s not necessarily that this person feels this way all<\/em> the time. It\u2019s capturing a moment. Which is the best thing poets do, right? So, you know, I tend to be a little stubborn about changes.<\/p>\n\n

Is it true that you are you working on a novel now?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I always say that Bright Dead Things<\/em> was the byproduct of a failed novel. I was writing a novel and then, in between working on chapters, I would write these poems that were really personal. It was a break from writing the fiction. I think the novel is okay. You know? I think it\u2019s fine. I think it\u2019s very much a poet\u2019s novel, which means it\u2019s basically\u2014a woman stands out in a field thinking about other times she stood out in a field.<\/p>\n\n

I also wrote a young adult novel, a draft of one at least, but that was just sheer fun. And it\u2019s sort of a magical realism thing. The thing about young adult novels is that they move really quickly, which is fun to write. I don\u2019t know what will happen with it. I love writing fiction but I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m necessarily good at it. But I also don\u2019t mind that. It\u2019s kind of like drawing or painting. They\u2019re things that I love to do, but I\u2019m not super talented at them in any serious way. I\u2019m not saying my attempts at fiction are terrible. I learn a lot from them. But I don\u2019t know if they necessarily need to be in other people\u2019s hands.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Does the economy of language that comes with writing poetry lend itself in a helpful or non-helpful way to trying to write prose?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I always think poets actually tend to switch over genres better than other kinds of writers. We start out so little. Right? We start with a sound and a syllable. So, that attention to language is there, which I think is the hardest part to teach. The musicality of language. But musicality of language can only take you so far. Turns out there\u2019s other things, too. Like plot.<\/p>\n\n

You are also a freelance writer for a variety of magazines. Being able to work in other genres, doing other kinds of writing, feels very healthy. I\u2019m guessing that all of these kinds of writing inform each other in interesting ways.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

I agree. I was a copywriter for a long time and occasionally I still do that kind of work. Someone asked me once if, as a copywriter, it felt like I was giving all of my best lines away to advertising. I just started laughing.<\/p>\n\n

Advertising doesn\u2019t want your good lines. It wants your bad lines.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Yeah, I was like, \u201cAbsolutely not!\u201d It is an entirely different part of the brain, which is what makes it great. There\u2019s no aspect to this that\u2019s poetry, other than the fun of playing with words. It\u2019s funny, when you are a freelance writer and a poet\u2026 if someone wants to cut some of your copy or change something it\u2019s like, \u201cOk. It\u2019s not like my soul is at stake or anything. Wanna cut the first paragraph? Change the intro? Go for it. I don\u2019t really care that much.\u201d But if someone were to do that with one of my poems\u2026 it would be like losing a limb.<\/p>\n\n

For young poets who are trying to share their work\u2014or just trying to get their work seen\u2014what do you tell them?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

It\u2019s interesting. I experience this with young writers in a couple of different ways. I think that there are a lot of younger poets who want to be better writers. And then there are a lot of younger poets who just want to be better known. Those two things are very different. And sometimes divergent.<\/span> For me, as long as they\u2019re focusing on the work, and actually creating something interesting, then I feel like I can say to them, \u201cOkay. I think it\u2019s going to happen for you.\u201d Because the real joy for them is in creating something.<\/p>\n\n

I remember when I was teaching in New York and this wonderful young man came up to me. My new book was just coming out at the time and he was like, \u201cWow, now you get to go on tour and do all these great things. This is the fun part, right?\u201d I looked at him and I was like, \u201cIs it?\u201d For me, the fun part is just being at home and writing in my sweatpants. And then being like, \u201cI wrote a poem and I like it.\u201d There\u2019s nothing that compares to that. Nothing.<\/span> Not The New Yorker<\/em>, not The New York Times<\/em>. I feel like that\u2019s something that sometimes gets lost in our culture, where everything\u2019s about building a brand before you even have an established creative process. Please, don\u2019t be a poet unless the number one thing you like to do is write poems. And read poems.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

You must love to write poems and read poems. Because, if you\u2019re a poet, you\u2019re going to have to have another job. And that job, whatever it is, is going to be your main job. And it\u2019s going to be the thing that puts food on the table and pays your rent and makes sure you have healthcare occasionally. You know? Hopefully you\u2019ll be writing all along, and doing things and creating. And that<\/em> is going to bring joy into every part of your life.<\/span> If it\u2019s just about what you can get published, then I think that\u2019s when it kind of falls apart.<\/p>\n\n

I know how that probably sounds. I know it\u2019s easy for someone who has published a lot of things to say that. I know I\u2019ve had a lot of success and I am grateful for that. When I graduated from my MFA program, almost everyone in my class had books out before me. I had to get really comfortable with just working. I had to just keep working at it. It was the pleasure of actually doing the work that sustained me.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

You left city life and moved to the country. Did that have an effect on your writing?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Yeah, I think so. I think some people are built for New York in a way, that New York sustains them. I did New York for 12 years. I think that was maybe two years too long. I\u2019ve been out of the city now for almost exactly eight years and I love it. The hardest part is finding your people. In New York it was easy, all the weirdos are there. And, you know, poets are weird. We need our weirdos. So you have to look for the writers, and you have to kind of make that connection, because it\u2019s not as easy. You can\u2019t just walk into a bar, order a Guinness, and find yourself with two Irish poets and a musician. It\u2019s not going to happen if you are living out in the woods somewhere.<\/p>\n\n

Aside from that, I think that allowing myself to work from home was really important. I can turn on the extrovert when I need to, but I think that I am a natural introvert. And I think a lot of my energy when living in the city was going towards the performance of being human. That idea of \u201cHello! Look, I got dressed today. Ta-da!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\n

I also think that allowing myself to be a little more vulnerable, and maybe a little more tender, has really allowed me to open up in my own writing. And I don\u2019t think that would have happened if I had stayed in New York. I think there\u2019s a self-preservation and a self-protection that happens in any big city that\u2019s necessary. You can build up this armor that can be prohibitive when you\u2019re trying to create. Some people really flourish in that world, and it\u2019s not a problem at all. But you know, everyone\u2019s different. I think I flourish with a little more space and time, and a little more fluidity.<\/p>\n\n

I think your work speaks to that. I know several people who don\u2019t typically read poetry who happen to really love your books. It feels accessible in the best, most open kind of way.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

It\u2019s funny. Often when I\u2019m giving a reading somewhere, someone will come up to me and say something like, \u201cI don\u2019t even like poetry. I never read poetry. But I like yours.\u201d And I never know quite what to do with that, because part of me is like, \u201cOh, that\u2019s so wonderful. I\u2019m happy to be a gateway drug for you.\u201d But the other part of me is like, \u201cMaybe you should just read some more poetry.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Being a gateway drug is good.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

Yeah, right? Why not? The poet Matthew Zapruder<\/a>, who is my friend, was saying that we should come up with a poetry anthology that\u2019s called Gateway Drug<\/em> and it\u2019s just the stuff you would hand to someone who has never liked poetry or never read it. And you\u2019d be like, \u201cOkay, pick a page, any page.\u201d And then they\u2019re hooked.<\/p>\n\n

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Ada Lim\u00f3n recommends:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n