Love poetry or hate it (btw, you don’t really hate it), Ohio Poet Laureate Dave Lucas is right there with you.
What’s it like to be a poet laureate? I asked Dave Lucas that–and more. Here’s what the author, teacher, and “poetry evangelist” had to say.
Dave, how much does it mean for you to have been chosen as Poet Laureate of Ohio, and what’s up next for 2019?
If you’d asked me this a year ago, I would have said how honored I felt by the selection and how excited I was for the two years to come. A year into my term I still feel honored and excited, but more than anything I feel gratitude. I’m grateful for the opportunity to see parts of my home state I’ve never visited before, to talk about poetry in such varied settings and with so many people for whom poetry is a way of making meaning of their lives.
In 2019 I hope to continue those travels, but I also hope to “meet” more Ohioans virtually through the “Poetry for People Who Hate Poetry” project. The project entails a monthly column syndicated in Ohio newspapers and media outlets; this year we hope to create a podcast version as well, so that we can promote poetry in whatever medium Ohioans get their information and culture.
As Poet Laureate, I imagine you’ve met many Ohioans in your travels around the state. What has surprised you most?
I’ve certainly been struck by the number and quality of poetry programs taking place at the regional and local levels. These are workshops, reading groups, recitations, slams, and more, and I’ve encountered them everywhere I’ve traveled in Ohio. The internet has of course been revolutionary for bringing people together around a common interest, but there’s something wonderful about seeing people gather in common physical space to talk about poetry.
In your Poet Laureate column on the Ohio Arts Council site, as well as in the classroom, you send the message that most of us love poetry, even if we don’t know it yet. Can you talk a little about how you define poetry and give us a couple examples of the kinds of poetic language we can find outside of what we traditionally think of as poetry?
Literary history tells us that anyone who attempts to define poetry today is about to be proven wrong tomorrow. That’s both the pleasure and challenge of trying to say what poetry is or isn’t. So I try to maintain as broad and flexible a definition as possible. I think that poetry is the aesthetic pleasure we take in language. Words are for play as well as work, as the groan-worthy puns of any good “Dad joke” will demonstrate.
So puns and jokes in general might be examples of the poetry we find outside of “poems.” So are the metaphors we use to describe the world. Riddles, jingles, lyrics, mnemonics, and more. For instance, I’ve just finished a column (my sixth installment) about the artistry of slang, which Walt Whitman treats as the democratic aspect of poetry. In this column I argue that even if you haven’t read a poem since high school, you participate every day in the artistry of language simply via the creativity of the slang you use.
One of the daunting things about poetry is the idea that we poetry readers think we’re supposed to read it “right” and find buried meaning. How can you assuage our reader-guilt at perhaps understanding a poem only on its surface level?
Too many of us seem to have been taught that poems are supposed to be solved, some “deeper meaning” discovered and extracted like a vein of ore from a mine. If we can’t find “it”—or if we find something that we’re told is not “it,” we feel inadequate.
Let’s change the terms. For example: you hear a song for the first time. You don’t get all the words, but you like it enough as a whole—its rhythm, its sounds, how it makes you feel, etc.—that you want to hear it again. You don’t feel guilty about not getting all the words; you just want to listen a second or even a third time. You keep listening. Eventually, you get all the words, often before you’ve realized it.
Your poetry collection, Weather, begins with place poems.
“River on Fire”
Stranger, the way of the world is crooked,
and anything can burn. Nothing impossible.
Who comes to send fire upon the earth may find
as much already kindled, may find his city
bistre and sulfurous. Pitched and grimed.
On those suffered banks we sat down and wept.
There the prophets, if there had been prophets,
would have baptized us in fire. Who says impossible
they fill his mouth with ash, they quench him
as if a man could be made steel. A crooked way
the world wends, and the rivers, and the prophets.
Go down and tell them what you have seen:
that the river burned and was not consumed.
…and your collection ends with a poem that examines the language we use for Northeast Ohio’s natural landmark of Lake Erie. How did you decide how to order the collection: as an argument for or against something, as a journey from one time to another, from the external to the personal–or something else entirely?
As you mention, the book begins and ends with the lake. (Of course, it shows up in the middle of the book, too.) For me, the lake—or my idiosyncratic idea or myth of it—is what Seamus Heaney calls “the first place in myself.” So I wanted to begin in that place and with local flora and fauna before moving into the human and even personal histories of (or in) the region. The whole book is an attempt to marry those different histories and mythologies into a coherent vision of place.
Your newer poems center around myth. Can you tell us how the new collection is shaping up and where we can find one of the poems?
The new collection has been “done” several times now. I assume the writers among your blog’s readers will nod and sigh in recognition of what I mean. I hope it will be “done”—again—soon.
You can read “About Suffering—,” my take on the myth (and on other takes) of Icarus and Daedalus at the online home of The Threepenny Review.
Do you see poetry changing along with our digital age, with the Instapoets (poets who feature their poems on Instagram), for example? What do you think about it?
The Instagram phenomenon is interesting to me because “Instapoetry” blends forms and genres: you experience the poem as a photograph of the poem. So you get an experience of the poem as a visual artifact, something different from what you might experience at a reading or a performance. It’s a reminder of just how many ways we can experience language, and the subtle differences between one experience and another.
What’s your best piece of poetry-writing advice?
The only piece of advice that I believe to be true for anyone who wants to write (poems, or anything else)—no matter who they are or what they want for their writing—is to read as much as possible, to read enthusiastically and omnivorously.
Thank you to Ohio Poet Laureate Dave Lucas for giving us a lot to read and think about! Hope everyone has a good Martin Luther King Jr. Day, wherever you are.
Find out more about Dave Lucas…
Dave Lucas is the author of Weather (VQR/Georgia, 2011), which received the 2012 Ohioana Book Award for Poetry. Named by Rita Dove as one of thirteen “young poets to watch,” he has also received a “Discovery/The Nation Prize and a Cleveland Arts Prize. In 2018 he was named the second Poet Laureate of the State of Ohio. A co-founder of Brews + Prose at Market Garden Brewery and Cleveland Book Week, he lives in Cleveland, where he was born and raised.
- ArtsOhio Blog column, “Poetry for People Who Hate Poetry,” by Dave Lucas, Ohio Poet Laureate
- Hear Lucas read “River on Fire” at the Ohio Poetry Out Loud State Finals, a poetry engagement opportunity for high school students and educators
- Purchase Weather, poems by Dave Lucas
- Find Dave Lucas on Twitter
*Photo credit: Courtney Kensinger