Incendiary Lit

Emma Bolden is a poet, playwright, teacher and editor. She holds a BA from Sarah Lawrence and an MFA from University of North Carolina, Wilmington; her poems have appeared in MARGIE, Verse, and Briar Cliff Review among others (including winning the Georgetown Review’s 2007 fiction prize); her newest chapbook The Mariner’s Wife was published in 2008 by Finishing Line Press, and first chapbook How to Recognize a Lady appeared in the chapbook quartet Edge by Edge; and her her one-act, Drinks, was selected as the winner of the American Theatre Co-Op’s Winter 2004 Contest for Original One-Act Plays. She will be assuming poetry editorship of the Georgetown Review this fall. And, she updates the world on her life and writing and whatnot at A Century of Nerve.

Zebulon Huset: Do you have a favorite two-word color?
Emma Bolden: Pearl gray.

ZH: Do you have any tricks that you use when a particular word in a poem just doesn’t feel right?
EB: Sometimes, I just sit and stare at the word for a very long time.  Sometimes, I change it, and then sit and stare at the new word for a very long time.  This process tends to repeat itself ad infinitum, until I finally find a word that feels right.  When I can’t find a word that feels right, even after said process repeats itself ad infinitum, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.  I am sadly dependent upon the online thesaurus.  I have a collection of odd books lying around, most of which are very old, and I’ll sometimes pick a word randomly from one of those books.  It’s a trick I picked up from OuLiPo, and often shakes the text up enough so that I can see where things need to go, or it gives me a new vision for the work.

ZH: If you were stranded on a desert island what three movies (or books or CDs) would you bring (with the island’s magical cd/dvd player in mind, I guess)?
EB: The three movies I’d bring are Spinal Tap, Dr. Strangelove (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb), and The Graduate.  The three CDs I’d bring are Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde, George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass, and Radiohead’s OK Computer.  The three books would be Emily Dickinson’s complete works, T.S. Eliot’s complete works, and Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping.

ZH: If an actress was to play you in a movie, who would you want it to be?
EB: Oh, Emma Thompson.  Definitely.

ZH: Do you have any tips for writers just beginning to submit their work for publication?
EB: Read the magazine!  I know it’s the most common piece of advice, but I think it’s the most important.  At the very least, read the work samples on the journal’s website.  It can tell you a lot about what they’re looking for.

ZH: If you could only ever read the books of one author again, who would it be?
EB: Hm.  This is an especially difficult question, so I think I’m going to have to cheat.  If I could only ever read the books of one poet again, it’d have to be Emily Dickinson — I’ve read her poems hundreds of times, but am always surprised by something new — or Anne Carson, who I think is one of the most brilliant minds at work today, if not the most brilliant.  If I could only ever read the books of one fiction writer again, it’d be Margaret Atwood.

ZH: Do you have any guilty pleasure books/movies?
EB: I have to admit that I absolutely love Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls and Once Is Not Enough.  I also loved the Joan Crawford movie Straight Jacket.

ZH: What was the last book (or poem) that you’ve absolutely loved?
EB: Louise Gluck’s Averno – it’s a powerful, affecting, complicated, and gorgeously written collection.  I read it months ago and am still wrestling with it, which is when I know a book is really doing its job.  I also loved Beth Ann Fennelly’s Tender Hooks, which is powerful and unflinching and beautifully done.

ZH: What is the best title you’ve come across (actual work notwithstanding)?
EB: Sad Little Breathing Machine — and the actual work is even better than the title.

ZH: Writers are notoriously neurotic, do you have any particular writing-related tics, or have you seen any interesting tics in fellow writers?
EB: The most interesting tic I’ve ever heard about — though this might be a myth (I almost hope it is) — is of a writer who could only write while eating green apples.  That sounds like a stomach ache waiting to happen to me.  I write poetry long-hand, which many people think is crazy.  I always write with a particular kind of pen (Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball Pens, Extra Fine, to be exact) and in a particular kind of notebook (those old school composition books you can find for 90 cents at an office supply store).  I tend to write at night, and I have to be alone, in a quiet room.  I never actually realized how particular I am about writing until I answered this question …

ZH: As a Master of the Fine Arts, do you have any advice for writers planning on applying to MFA programs this coming winter?
EB: Steel yourself.  Remember that the most important part about an MFA program is developing your own voice and learning, for yourself, what it means to be a writer.  Remember that this means “for the rest of your life” — only a fraction of your life as a writer will be spent in an MFA program.  Therefore, I think the most important thing to learn as an MFA student is how to work independently — that is, learning and developing the patterns of life and of mind that will allow you to work as a writer after the MFA program.  As important as my classes and workshops were, I think that the most essential work I did as a graduate student happened outside of the classroom, as I studied and wrote and revised on my own.

ZH: You’ve successfully navigated the path from MFA to teaching, do you have any tips for current MFA students who are hoping to teach?
EB: I’d encourage them to remember that good teachers are immersed in their subject, in and out of the classroom — in order to teach well, it’s important that you’re immersed in the work you’re meant to teach.  I’d advise them to not be overwhelmed by the day-to-day problems that occur in the classroom.  There will be challenges, and those challenges will be significant, but I am grateful for each and every problem that’s popped up in the classroom, as it taught me more about what it means to be a teacher, and how to teach effectively.  Remember that your students are human beings, just like you, with their own interests and issues and challenges and concerns.  And don’t be afraid to be a human being in the classroom yourself — in writing classes, I’ve often found that the most helpful thing for a student is to share your own struggles with them.

Posted: Wednesday, July 9th, 2008 at 7:33 pm
Category: The Writing Life, Poets, Uncategorized.