LOGOS | Sue Burge: "I See Poets As Alchemists"
Sue Burge • avr. 27, 2022
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Norfolk Poet & Mentor Sue Burge
SUE BURGE is a poet, freelance creative writing tutor, mentor and editor based in North Norfolk, UK. Her poems appear in a range of publications including The North, Mslexia, Magma, Under the Radar, Strix, Tears in the Fence, The Interpreter’s House, The Ekphrastic Review, Lighthouse, Poetry News, and Revue {R}évolution. Her poems feature in themed anthologies on science fiction, modern Gothic, illness, Britishness, endangered birds, WWI and the current pandemic. Sue’s four poetry collections are: In the Kingdom of Shadows (Live Canon 2018), Lumière (Hedgehog Poetry Press 2018), The Saltwater Diaries (Hedgehog Poetry Press 2020) and Confetti Dancers (Live Canon 2021). She is currently working on her new collection which explores the world of the alter ego she left behind in Paris three decades ago.
In this heart-felt talk with the Poet, we discuss how it all started with James Bond, establishing visibility as a teacher of Poetry, Poetry salons and open-mics, going beyond the male female dichotomy in poetry, Eurydice, Persephone & agency, what makes great poetry, finishing a poem, and stalking Paris.
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It all started with James Bond
MURIELLE MOBENGO: I read that your first poem was published when you were nine. How wonderful!
SUE BURGE: It wasn’t that wonderful (laughs)
How did that happen? I mean, obviously, you never had a doubt about being a poet because you wrote a poem at such a young age and you submitted other poems, the same day. There was this other poem about William Blake, is that right ?
Yes. I don't know. It's strange looking back. But I always loved reading and writing. I was quite a lonely child. My brother was born nine years after me. So my friends were books, really. I did have real friends as well, but...
Sounds familiar.
Yes, a lot of children are like that. I used to write poems, and the local newspaper had one of those little poetry corners. So I sent my really dreadful poem about James Bond–I think probably my mom sent it–and they published it. And then I wrote one about horses. I was crazy about horses.
It was so pretentious, Murielle, I cannot begin to tell you again how pretentious the poem was. That also got published. I don't know how many people actually read these poems or what kind of audience they had.
The Poetry Society, which is this fantastic institution in the UK, had poetry reading, not really competitions because you didn't win, you just passed or failed, but poetry reading exams, I suppose. My best friend's mom used to take her along to these every year and one of my teachers would train us in how to speak our poetry. So, I chose William Blake because it was really short and easy to remember. Oh my god, how did I have the confidence at 9 or 10 years old?
Yes! What was that?
I read the stallion poem and passed the poetry speaking exam, but I always think I was shy but clearly wasn't. I had some kind of misplaced confidence.
Was it misplaced confidence or simply confidence? Something in you already knew you were a poet.
I always wanted to be a writer or a journalist or something with words, I guess, from a very early age. I just wanted to write and all the many books that I was reading were about children writing, or they would inspire me to write what I thought was a novel. But you know, it was 30 pages long and I thought it was a novel and that I was going to be a novelist.
It's wonderful. So you were encouraged by your family?
Not really encouraged. They just left me alone to get on with it. I would say they didn't discourage me. My mom liked reading. My dad didn't really read very much. But I think it was because my best friend was from such an educated, well-read family, and that I spent so much time there that somehow they influenced me to.
Ever since I've been having these conversations with poets and artists, there is something you know, going on, something common [in their experiences]: the resistance they had to face when they expressed their desire to become poets or artists. Society, that is, their families, did not react positively to that because for them, being a poet-artist is messy. Or let’s say it's not a reliable job to non-poets and non-artists. So it's wonderful that your family didn't discourage you.
So, now, obviously, no one is discouraging you (laughs). You're really living your vocation, your calling? So, what does your life look like? Now that you are a full time writer and that you teach and you have all these wonderful writing workshops and classes?
The Teacher
That is an interesting question. I feel very, very lucky and very privileged that I'm teaching something I love. I've always taught English, and love of the English language and literature. But now I'm able to specialize in creative writing. I love the creative process of creating worksheets and workshop sessions for other people. I can never do my own tasks, but I love creating them.
I love finding poems that I think will be inspiring. So I think that really nourishes me in ways that maybe I don't really realize, because I always say, oh, you know, I made up all these prompts, and I can't do them myself, because I can't do prompts. But somehow they live inside me. So I spend quite a lot of time teaching. I don't write that much.
What I do is I think a lot and I swim and I read, and then poems come out. I've got a lot of friends who write every day. They free write and have a real discipline whereas I'm more kind of…I don't believe the Muse descends. I don't believe that at all. But somehow, I've got a really strong internal process that I trust. So when I do put pen to paper, it's very nearly finished.
I never worry about what I am going to write. I'm not writing anything at the moment because it just all happens. I've been very lucky to have two publishers, one for my chapbooks and one for my full collections.
I feel very lucky that it's all come together and I've got wonderful poetry communities I belong to in Norfolk, but also during the pandemic via zoom, I found such support.
Zoom changed a lot of things for a lot of poets.
Something I've always done is I always go to workshops myself. That's where I get a lot of my stimulation from being in a class with other people with really good poets giving prominence and I've been able to do more of that via zoom with poets from all over the world and it's been amazing.
Wonderful. And so your students are non-writers?
They're all adults. So they're all adults who write, and who just choose to come along and develop their writing skills. Some are complete beginners, some are quite experienced. I always have mixed classes.
I spend quite a lot of time teaching. I don't write that much. What I do is I think a lot and I swim and I read, and then poems come out.
–Sue Burge
The creative urge in poets is so intense that sometimes we get lost in writing and writing and writing and writing and we're not involved in turning our craft into something pragmatic; something that's going to be visible for the community and help people around us, people who are interested in writing, or to the younger poets who don't know that a life like that is possible. So what you've been able to accomplish is beautiful. I admire you.
Oh, thank you. It's just sort of happened. I suppose I have worked hard to contacts and have a network of good poets who were really good friends around me. I think poets are so supportive of each other. That's something that's carried me along for so long.
The poetic novelist?
People often say, “Have you ever thought of writing a novel?” I mentor novelists but I can't imagine writing that many words myself and having that daily discipline that a novelist needs because I need space and time to do other things to inform my poetic world.
I understand that. I wrote a novel when I was in my 30s and I have never written any novel ever since. It was weird, because it happened like a poem. A poem just comes to you, you don't know why, you don't know how, but it's there. It's hovering around you. Well, the novel happened like that! And then it was over (laughs). So I thought, now I'm a novelist, too. No!
The novel wanted to be written through me and when I tried after that, it was awful. Something else happened instead: I decided to turn poems into modern fairy tales. I think this was my way of dealing with the frustration of not being able to write a novel.
Oh, so you're writing kind of narrative poems?
Yes. In French we say, “des contes,” neo-folklore, legends? I would read them to people when I was living in the north of France, in Flanders. This was like a novel being alive for me because I could deliver the poem and write and tell the story. I don't know if you can be a poet and a novelist at the same time. That’s interesting.
Yes. I suppose. I there is a Poet I really admire who's also a friend, her name is Mona Arshi and she's a beautiful poet. Her work is fantastic. She's just written a novel, but it's so poetic. It's fragmented. It has a different voice. It feels like a different kind of novel. It's unusual. So that's interesting, because I tend to agree with you. It's very hard to be a poet and a novelist. It's difficult. Some people seem to be finding a middle way. Being a poetic novelist!
I don't know. Maybe it's because we are more introspective in nature and novelists are story people. We're interested in emotions and what's hidden. Is it harmonious with [the storyteller’s] exuberance [or extroversion]?
Paris, c'est une blonde
Your relationship to Paris is fascinating and beautiful. What happened there? You left your alter ego there?
My obsession with Paris! Yes. Um, yeah. It's really interesting. I'm teaching a poetry school course at the moment in the OULIPO movement.
I'm not surprised.
For me, Paris is a character. She's definitely a woman. Paris is a place I first visited when I was 15 and I became obsessed with it. I lived there when I was 18, for a little while. Then, I went back again and again and again and made friends. I kept revisiting Paris. My degree is in French, so I could communicate, which is helpful.
I did my year abroad at a university in Paris teaching in a very rough school in the suburbs and then I had a big gap, where I didn't visit Paris. But Paris kept living in me when I was teaching a course on French films. I constantly read books about Paris, and I went back a few weeks with an Arts Council grant to write my first chapbook Lumière, which was about Paris's cinematic heritage.
After that, I just couldn't stop going back. So I'd had this big hole, where I still had Paris in me, but I wasn't visiting very much. Since 2016, my obsession has escalated into as you can see, Eiffel Tower fairy lights and maps of Paris, Eiffel Tower on my door. I'm working on this new collection, The Artificial Parisienne, which is about the alter ego I left there. The minute I step off the train at the Gare du Nord, you know, I feel like I'm a Paris, even though I've got the most horrible English accent when I speak.
Accent is not an issue. Accents are always charming. Speaking matters most.
I suppose I stalk Paris, which is what that poem Revue {R}évolution published was about that, Paris, c’est une blonde. Reading Lauren Elkin’s book, Flâneuse: Women Walk the City, I was taken with the fact that when I go to Paris, I walk all over the place, but Lauren Elkin was talking about women, who, through the centuries were unable to walk freely in city streets. So, I was feeling grateful for this.
I was thinking about being a flâneuse and having a subject as I walked a bit like Baudelaire, who would create his poems like that. I wondered if I could be a female Baudelaire. So I adopted this flâneuse persona. When I was in Paris on my Arts Council grant, an Irish poet called Matthew Sweeney was there too. He was quite sick at the time. He subsequently died a couple of years ago.
Matthew Sweeney took a Baudelaire prose poem every day from Le Spleen de Paris and he transliterated it into his own imaginative prose poem in response to Baudelaire. So, he would only walk a few minutes from his flat and create a response. I loved that idea and I thought, well as a female, what can I do? What personas can I take on to channel this obsession with Paris? Poetic. So that's a very long answer, Murielle! (laughs)
I'm completely into what you're saying. Paris has a soul, I agree. She's a woman, definitely. She has been fascinating poets almost from times immemorial, and I don't know why. I suspect the aura of all the great Poets who have lived there has something to do with it.
When I say “great” today, we think of a famous poet who received prizes. For me, a great poet is someone who lived for Poetry. 100%. And Baudelaire did that. Rimbaud did that. Victor Hugo did that. They left a powerful, spiritual imprint on this city. Any poet, every poet will respond to Paris strongly. Same thing for Artists.
A lot of Artists settled in Paris because they were persecuted in their home countries, which reminds me that Revue {R} is preparing a Poetic history of French poetry for English-speaking Poets. We will study what I call the
Sacred Triad: Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Victor Hugo. These guys are the essence of French poetry.
Beyond male/female dichotomy in Poetry
I had a question from a poet and a reader a few weeks ago which bugged me a little bit and I’d like to share my questioning with you. She asked, “Why are there so many male poets and women are not as famous as them?” I forgot about the question for a while. And then she came back with it. When I saw the master poets section on Revue {R}’s website, I realized they were all men [and I am not complaining]. So what is this?
Each time I think about it, I have no answer. The only thing that I can tell is that they came up with a certain mastery of emotions and reason. They found the perfect balance. I'm not talking about men, specifically. I'm talking about great poets. We chose to publish your poems because we found such equilibrium of emotions and reason, embodied in your poetic language and in this surprising mix of English and French. How do you handle your emotions when you write a poem? What do you do with them?
What do I do with my emotions? I'm not sure. I suppose with Paris, there's a passion there. When I write about my family life, there's a sadness and nostalgia. I'm not conscious. It's really interesting. I was thinking as you were talking about the master poets being male. Stereotypically, men don't show emotion. So, perhaps male poets are somehow channeling their emotions into the poetry.
Yeah. Oh, I like this.
Women are not to be taken seriously because their emotions are so visible a lot of the time–the hysteric, the holder of the womb–which keeps your hysteria bubbling up inside. So I think there's that with male and female poets.
Also, I've been given a lot of space. I don't have children. I've got a really supportive husband and I think I've had a lot of freedom. I wonder whether my poetic environment is what men have been privileged to have, over the centuries. I'm lucky enough to have it.I have the space, I have the time, I have the support. So when it comes to emotions, I think I'm so focused when I write a poem that I'm not as aware of the emotions that go into the poem as I could be. It's often when I read it when I go to an open mic session, and I read it for the first time, I think, oh, gosh, actually, that's really sad, or that's really passionate. I'm not sure why I wrote that. Where did that come from? I wonder where on Earth did that poem come from? I feel a bit the same with the emotions. Where did that emotion come from? I get it from my subconscious into the poem.
I like getting my poems published and speaking them going to open mic sessions because then, the collective experiences the emotion that I have not
yet seen. It's so much part of me in the poem, but I haven't yet been able to identify it. Reading the poem [to an audience], the emotion shines back at me.
–Sue Burge
Carl Gustav Jung wrote beautiful things about it and Eastern mystics or Hindu mysticism, to be precise, inspired him. Serious psychologists and serious mystics will say the same thing: Emotions are collective.
After being a poet for 30 years, myself, I subscribe to that. Emotions are collective, so they're not really ours. We channel them, we're available for some kind of emotion; anger or whatever emotion wanting expression through us. Emotions are all around us and I feel poets are more sensitive to them, a concept at the heart of my teachings in the
Polymath program.
Poets have what I call a “multi sensitivity” which makes them more sensitive to emotions than non poets. It doesn’t mean that people who are not poet-artists are psychopaths or sociopaths. Poets are simply more accustomed to “their” emotions. They're acquainted with the dark aspects of the soul–they tend to forget the light one.
So, channeling emotions into a poem is not a problem for us. Tweaking them in prose is not either, because we are intimate with emotions.
I think it's really fascinating because you've made me think about the reason why I like getting my poems published and speaking them going to open mic sessions. It's because then the collective experiences the emotion that I have not yet seen. It's so much part of me in the poem, but I haven't yet been able to identify it. Reading the poem [to an audience], the emotion shines back at me.
I think trusting a reader or an audience with your poem, and then having it shone back at you like a lighthouse [allows you to realize] what the emotion is. So you've really made me think about the intimacy of living with those emotions.
I am very uncomfortable with open mic poetry, not reading poetry. I love reading poetry with proper etiquette. There's this old romantic soul in me and I like things to be formal and beautiful. Open mics sometimes are just too messy. There are a lot of people and a lot of emotions, there. Having all these emotions thrown back at me is chaotic. How do you feel about that?
Interesting. I think the American attitude to open mics compared to the English way is very different, and the French Way, which seems to be an American expats way in a lot of instances, they're all very different.
The open mic I regularly go to, there are two really top named featured poets every time and they get half an hour to 20 minutes to half an hour to read. The open mic-ers are there as a support. So, each open mic-er has two minutes to read one poem, and there are only 16.
So, the whole evening is about an hour and a half to two hours because the open mic sessions are so tight. I really like that because it feels to me, like a shared experience and a salon. I feel that I'm at some kind of salon where there are top poets whom I really want to listen to, sharing their words, wisdom, and opening up the poems for me and telling me what their poetic intentions are. It teaches me. It inspires me.
Then the open mic-ers, we, are like the trainees. We are training, reading our poems and getting lovely responses and treating to these great poets. So for me, it's like a salon and a classroom.
But the open mic sessions that I've been to, which do last three or four hours, and where each open mic-er has quite a long session, maybe five or six minutes, I think they are really tiring because you're concentrating on other people's emotions.
Everyone is so different. The structure is very, very different. I used to be terrified by open-mics. The first one I did, I literally asked my friend afterwards if she could see my knees shaking.
Now I see them as a moment to play, educate and share. I love it. I love the community feeling. It feels like going to a really nice evening out with friends. We're all in the same boat. Yes, we all shift. So one week maybe I'm the featured poet. Another week someone I've admired for years is the featured poet. So we're all rolling and exchanging.
I have interviewed a young American poet, Shane Manier. She tells this story about how she walked on stage the first time and spilled coffee all over herself, because she was shaking. She was terrified but felt she had to do it anyway. Puzzling, isn't it?
In my opinion, the spoken word phase is just a phase. This intense, chaotic exposure to other people's emotions (=perception) has to stop at some point, because it affects the Poet's life and craft, something I also teach in the Polymath program with my Artist partner
Maria Linares Freire.
You came to a point where you feel at ease and comfortable with open mic-ers and reading poetry, and moved on to the cultural leader stage, and your poetry also reflects that. There's a lot of mastery in it. Reading your poems and thinking about them is a delight. This is how I recognize an excellent poem. Great poetry makes you think about it long after you read it. Sometimes the poem comes back and shines a light on something new and beautiful.
You are a mentor. How wonderful to have this conversation with you! The purpose of
QELP
is to show what’s possible, so that younger or junior poets realize they don’t have to exhaust themselves or cram their physical and creative freshness in open mic sessions, hoping for a little bit of recognition.
Of course, they are going to do that anyway because it is part of the poetic journey, but knowing when to stop is wisdom and mentor-poets are sages. Life beyond open-mic is so fulfilling. Experience grows, perception (=writing) refines and the teacher appears and becomes a cultural authority in their community. I am really delighted to have this talk with you. You are inspiring to us all.
Lovely thing to say. Thank you.
Stereotypically, men don't show emotion. So, perhaps male poets are somehow channeling their emotions into the poetry. Also, I've been given a lot of space. I don't have children. I've got a really supportive husband and I think I've had a lot of freedom. I wonder whether my poetic environment is what men have been privileged to have, over the centuries. I'm lucky enough to have it.
–Sue Burge
A poem is never finished, just abandoned
So how do you know when you're when a poem is over? Like when it's finished?
There's a saying that a poem is never finished, just abandoned?
I think I always finish my poems too quickly. Because of this kind of process where I think, “I don’t trust this poem because it came out so easily.” Such an easy birth! Where is the pain and the horror? And then, I go to a group or stanza group or a poetry critique group and people say little things, little tweaks, and I think, okay, maybe it is ready, maybe I should trust it.
I tend now to feel that a poem is finished when someone else has seen it and made a few suggestions. I take all my poems to critique groups. I belong to three critique groups because I am never sure. I don't think poems are ever finished, even poems I've had published in my earlier collections. I can easily go back and tweak them and take out word and craft them more.
I love the process of getting a poem ready to be seen by other people, to give it the confidence to its first steps. I get a strange feeling–I think smugness is too negative or word–but there's a smug satisfaction when I lean back with my pen and think, yes, it's done...although I know it's not, because it needs editing.
But there's a feeling of satisfaction that comes over me. There's a certain point in the poetic process where that happens. I never know when it's going to be. I just think, “Ah, yes.” That sounds overly mystical.
No, that doesn’t.
I think I overwrite. So part of the process for me is taking out a lot of words, I tend to be a bit too flamboyant, a bit too wordy. Then when I've paired it back to the point where I don't feel it's got anywhere else to go, that's when I get that kind of smug feeling.
I struggled when I arrived in America, and started writing poems in English. I don't know what happened. I mean, I just started writing poems in English. My poems were very wordy [so I was told] but it’s because French is wordy! Wordy doesn't work with Americans. A poem has to be efficient, short, straight to the point, vivid images. I struggled a lot with that. “Don't use Latinate words.” What? Why? Now I understand why.
I think that even French poets can learn from that approach because when you strip the poem from all the unnecessary, you are left with its beating heart, as poet
Fiona McKintosh
beautifully expressed. You only have the essence of the poem and this is what you want. This is what the soul wants. So that was my lesson.
Yes. I agree. Because too many words just take away the power from what you want to say.
In French, you can lose yourself in the musicality of the language, because it's very musical. So you're going to add a lot of words, but I think that French poetry has its own charm/chime. And there are things we can apply that come from American/British/English poetry, but French also has something to teach. I am talking about the lavishness, lavish music, lavish images, emotions.
And provocation.
Yes. Also a lot of depth. I am going to come out: I fell in love with Poetry because I fell in love with Baudelaire. I wrote something about it. I've been in love with Dead Poets for quite a while. It started when I was 16 and the first I read was a poem by Rimbaud. Voyelles.
Vowels.
Yes. In the poem, vowels have colors and smells.
Oh absolutely. Synesthetic.
That's the word I was looking for. Thank you. When I read that, I said, at last, someone understands how I feel, and I didn't know back then that I was a poet. Being able to associate things that are non associable is the beginning of the poetic experience. So reading that was love at first sight. I became completely
obsessed
with Arthur Rimbaud. It was a good obsession because boy, what a poet, what a Thinker, such an amazing poet! He stopped writing poetry too soon, and died too soon, like a lot of poets.
I was also blessed to have a French literature teacher who was this amazing lover of fine literature. And so we had a whole session (six months - 2 French "trimestres") on Baudelaire. And, I mean, that was the end of me. I fell in love with Baudelaire, too. I refused to date boyfriends because they didn't match to the standards of Baudelaire. (laughs)
Poets don't perceive reality like other people do. I don't know why. I may have an idea. I am a mystic and here's my explanation of this. We are all living in the same plane of existence while we can access other planes of consciousness as well, and there is a plane where everything is connected. This explains vowels having colors, or poems happening in music. I don't know if you’ve ever had that experience. It happens to me a lot. When a poem comes to me, I feel a music coming first in my head and suddenly, words arrive.
That’s wonderful. Because I see poets as alchemists. We're taking the base material of every day and we're transforming it into something totally extraordinary and what we're trying to do is bring others into our world and say, “look, look, look at this with a fresh perspective.” Look how words can make you see the world differently. Look at the alchemy of how these words describe this flower that you've seen so many times before, but now you can see it differently because of these words.
Eurydice, Persephone & Agency
Lovely. Speaking about the poet's perception. I have never met a poet, a poet wasn't into mythology, like really into it. This is awesome. We are the funniest people really. And so you told me that your favorite myth is Orpheus and Eurydice and Persephone. Can you tell us why and how they inspired you? I mean, why?
I've been thinking about this because I thought Why did I immediately think of your Eurydice and Persephone. It's something about agency and lack of agency. So Eurydice dies because she's bitten by a poisonous snake and Orpheus has the chance to take her out of Hades, hell but blows it at the last minute. I love that story. Don't rely on a man to get you out of a hole (laughs). Seriously.
I agree (laughs)
Why would you? Persephone…There's something about these two women and I think well, as a poet. I embrace darkness. I embrace pain in my life and the darkness in my life and I love examining it. I don't love it. I feel the need to examine it and to transform it. See Eurydice and Persephone? They're living that darkness. So perhaps it's not as dark as we feel. So Persephone becomes the queen of hell. I'd rather be the queen of hell than the Queen of Heaven because heaven could be quite boring. Hell sounds quite interesting.
So I'm interested in agency and darkness, embracing darkness, seeing what goes on underneath and the underbelly of the world. And for me, these women have the chance to do that. We don't really know what happens to Eurydice. Persephone, we know. She gets the best of both worlds. She's come up and gone back into the darkness. They just fascinate me, these women who live partly in darkness, and don't totally embrace the lines. I'm just fascinated by that idea, you know, what's their life actually like?
Perhaps they are making more choices than we recognize. Perhaps they're happier than we think. So I suppose it's that and whether there are universal truths in that.
I suppose it’s that, whether there are universal truths in that. I think myths attract us because we see ourselves in them and we see some kind of universal, a bit like Jung viewing the anima/union of archetypes.
And for me, Hades is the bad boy. We're always interested in the bad boys. So, I find it Orpheus like trying to get Eurydice back up to the sunlight and wonder why? Have you asked her what she wants? I find it fascinating to examine what women actually want. I find Eurydice and Persephone can teach me how to live with the darkness.
Yes. Oh, how insightful. That's a beautiful way of saying it and seeing it. About
darkness and the feminine. My spiritual life is really intense and it all started with mythology and the Goddess Kali. So Mahakali is this Hindu goddess and I was very puzzled by that one. I’ve asked myself countless times looking at her iconography, Who is this person? She's walking naked, disheveled and she doesn't care, she goes on a killing spree. She kills male demons, right? At the same time, she slays ignorance and grants seekers with enlightenment.
Mahakali has this darkness to her, so she is a very frightening archetype for a lot of people. Considering her on a very superficial level, on her appearance, you don't want to deal with that goddess. She's completely unpredictable. Mahakali has a pendant in Congo mythology. Her name is Ma Bouesso, which means “Mother Luck.” Her appearance is frightening, too.
What's fascinating with Mahakali is that Hindu mythology, spirituality, and philosophy say she is also the mother of the universe. So the mother of the universe is this dark figure or archetype, and completely free. She embodies the secret tension within us women, learning to juggle with our inner power, our freedom and the way people perceive us. There's the darkness, for me. A very feminine issue.
Sue, do you believe in feminine poetry?
Oh, isn't that interesting? I'm not sure. I used to ask myself, could I recognize whether a poem had been written by a man or a woman? A basic division. Feminine poetry? I'm attracted to poetry, which is in touch with a bigger world and an emotional world, and to me, that's feminine poetry and I think men can write, especially gay men, are able to write very layered poetry.
I suppose white male poets who are quite traditional and admire form and admire traditional subjects or maybe trying to use Latin words, or Greek words, and t's more about ego than it is about communication. I'm sure I shouldn't have said there are white male poets, but…
That's okay. This is a safe space (laughs).
Because I'm sure there are lots of female poets who might be more traditional and might be tighter and structured. But now I've said that I don't quite believe it.
I tend to be like that. My poems in French are very formal.
Feminine poetry as opposed to feminist poetry, and as opposed to male poetry… I mean, yes, men are capable of writing feminine poetry. There's something about what it means to be feminine. It feels that area today is more, not confused, but more conflicted than ever with a lot of young poets coming through who are having issues with gender and their sexuality and who are maybe looking inside a lot more than perhaps even my generation.
So I'm not sure feminine poetry is such an interesting question.
I wanted to ask, because, of course, there is this gender question nowadays that's becoming global. I'm also asking because beautiful poetry or poetry that serves its purpose is a mixture of both, the formal and emotional, emotions mastered and reason mastered. We hardly do that but that's genius. I think existential experience has something to do with that.
It's interesting, because now I know I'm thinking, Is my poetry feminine? And also the fact that you've just said, it's more. Its mastery comes from such a male space.
I don't think your poetry is feminine. I don't think it's masculine, either. I think it's yours. I have never read a poem like
Bagatelle before. [I think excellent poetry like that flourishes with existential exploration, deep-thinking: unique perception]
With all the poems Revue {R} received, I was able to observe a tendency in poets of the era. They often try to fit in a category which is supposed to tell everything there is to know about them. For example, I am the male poet with a gender issue and I am going to write about that. Well, yes, you can. But you don't have to. You can inquire that question in so many powerful images, using mythology, and even using the opposite of what is troubling you.
Poetic expression is an attempt to solve metaphysical, ie, inner obstacles. Symbols are powerful introspective tools for that matter, besides being absolutely fascinating. I am a reader, not only an editor-in-chief; I want to be intrigued, I want awe. Why bother writing something that has no mystery, no transcendence, no quest?
Poems we choose to publish are mysterious, captivating, transcendental, deep, surprisingly symbolic, unique. I have a specific poem in mind, Sharp Darts, from a Poet we’ve published in our spring issue,
Ben Nardolilli. His poem has breath-taking symbolism and imagery, a lot of nuances or rather innuendos,
des
insinuations as we say in French. How powerful that he gets to attract us in his own inner world and we get to explore our own psyche with his words?
Going back to this question of feminine poetry and feminist poetry, I don't know if poetry can be feminine or feminist. I think the poet can be a feminist, the poet can be very much feminine. But poetry is something else. Poetry is the unified perception of the poet. And that perception is immensely rich.
I have one last question. What would you say to a younger poet about fame and making a living out of writing?
Oh, I would say, it's very hard to make a living as a poet. I did have a couple of young poets who said, Yeah, can I make a living out of poetry? And you do need other other things in your life to support you materially? But I think that's good. I know someone who's a vet, for example, so she's operating on animals and that feeds into her poetry.
So I think in a way you can be a better writer, if you have a kind of day job as well where you're meeting lots of different people and having lots of different experiences. That will come to a point where you just want to write, but I think unless you've got a three book deal with a publisher, most of us are going to have to fit it around a paying job. But I would say don't give up. The most I've ever earned from a poem has been 25 pounds. That's the maximum I have ever earned from having a poem published. My books, I hardly get anything back from the books at all. I can make a little bit of money but it's not enough to live on at all. But you're not writing for that reason you're writing because you love it you're writing because it feeds you, it nourishes you, it gives you something that nothing else can give you.
So don't give up, fit it in at all costs to what you need to live materially and let it nourish you spiritually. So yeah, dealing with fame, I think very few. I know so many really good poets and sometimes when I talk to poets from a different region, they haven't heard of the poets I've heard. So fame is a very slippery thing. I think you might have your moments in the sun. But it's very, very brief. There are so many good writers out there. I think recognition and enjoyment.
Advice to a young Artist, Rilke style
I think if you're seeking fame, then you probably are jeopardizing the
richness
of your writing, unless you want to be a commercial writer.
–Sue Burge
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Revue {R}évolution
« Since time immemorial innumerable are the commandments about the beautiful. Whole kingdoms, whole civilizations were built by this great ordainment. To beautify, to ennoble, to uplift life means to reside in the good.» – Nicholas Roerich, Beautiful Unity
Cet entretien limpide avec David Capps, philosophe et poète auteur de "Silence Divine", a renouvelé ma foi d'éditrice. Oui, dans le noir, il y a encore des perles lumineuses (et rares, donc). En pensée et Parole claires, nous avons traversé bien des contrées obscures. Des vertus créatrices du griffonnage aux sempiternelles questions du génie et de la séparation entre l'homme et l'artiste, nous sommes passés par l'importance de la tradition en philosophie et en littérature. Chemin faisant...
In the midst of 30 podcast episodes and the hum of my own thoughts, I rediscovered the joy of engaging in lofty conversation. Joining philosopher David Capps in dialogue renewed my editor’s faith in discovering rare pearls amidst the chatter. Our discussion ranged from the unexpected creative value of doodling to the perennial questions of genius, distinguishing the human from the artist, and the importance of tradition in thinking and writing.
Myra Dunoyer Vahighene emerges as a visionary storyteller and fervent advocate for Africa, driven by an unwavering determination to unveil its rich cultural and historical tapestry. Beyond mere activism, Myra's eclectic journey serves as both a challenge and an inspiration, prompting us to reevaluate our own notions of success and self-worth—a cornerstone of the artist's persona.
Ambassadrice énamourée de l'Afrique et conteuse visonnaire, Myra Dunoyer Vahighene est déterminée à révéler toute la richesse culturelle et historique de ce beau continent. Par delà-l’engagement militant, son parcours éclectique interpelle, inspire, et questionne notre propre rapport à la réussite et à l’estime de soi, composante fondamentale de la personnalité de l’artiste.
Should poets write dedications today, or is it an outdated practice, a relic of the past, an archaism? The answer does not revolve around their perceived obsolescence. These ancient texts, enriched with dedications, have transcended time, becoming literary and spiritual canons. Those of us fortunate enough to have received an education in classical and religious literature still marvel at them.
The recurring juxtaposition of creativity, often associated with order (a nod to Kant), and mental illness raises concerns, in my opinion, and proves quite surprising. It is plausible that many scientists researching creativity, lacking a genuine creative inclination themselves, view it as an enigmatic internal phenomenon, thereby making a spectacle of it.
«I am asking the question. Please answer it for yourself first. It is very important to find that out because there is so little beauty in our daily life. Ask yourself, enquire very deeply what is this word used by poets, painters, and sculptors, and you are asking yourself now, what is this quality of beauty.»
Aux portes de l’Europe et de l’Orient, la guerre, barbarie totale, nous menace tous d’anéantissement. Une autre guerre plus discrète se joue dans nos esprits, cependant. Traditions, langues et cultures ancestrales se dégradent sous les assauts d’une modernité sans projet, une modernité dont le but est de tout cloisonner, de tout dé(const)ruire. Face à ce casus belli total, Revue Révolution invoque la Beauté toute-puissante, éternelle, l’expression mystique de l’effacement de soi devant plus grand que soi.
🤓 UPDATED Jan. 11th, 2024 - Genius is rare, but not only. Dive into our Archeology of Genius, from Ancient Greece to the Renaissance, from Kant to Vedanta, coming full circle.