Interview Series: Writers

Interview with Writer Holly Pelesky

This interview was conducted on February 21, 2020 by EIC Sarah O’Brien for Boston Accent Lit. This is the fourth in a 2020 Boston Accent interview series with writers.



Holly Pelesky holds an MFA from the University of Nebraska. She teaches poetry workshops through the Nebraska Writers Collective. A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, her essays have appeared in Roanoke Review, The Nasiona, and Jellyfish Review among other places. She recently released her first collection of poems, Quiver: A Sexploration. Learn more on her website.



Boston Accent Lit: Why did you become a writer? Have you always been a writer? 

Holly Pelesky: I was one of those kids, you know. The kind who read a lot of books and found solace in worlds that weren’t my own. I started writing my own stories on church bulletins, then on my mother’s typewriter. The process of writing made me vibrate with creation. Story gave room for my imagination. I remember once my dad ruffled my hair after reading one and said, “That’s my little writer!” and I had never been prouder. 

Boston Accent: Your book of poetry, Quiver: A Sexploration was published by Picture Show Press in 2019. What I love about this collection is its simultaneous sass and tenderness that is achieved largely due to the poetry’s honesty. In “Shapes We Make,” you write, “When I fucked a woman / no shaft thrust inside / me spilling my blood / on the sheets, no empty eyes / looking up at me from the dark.” How have you grown to understand your sexuality, and how does this identity play into your writing? 

Pelesky: I grew up in a sheltering household. We did not have a television. We could not listen to secular music. I attended a Fundamentalist Baptist church and was homeschooled until tenth grade. My view of the world was not an accurate depiction of this broad world I know now. I knew of a world where women marry men and bear their children. I got married my first year out of college to a man and later bore his children. 

My adulthood has been a lot of unlearning. A lot of opening up what I was afraid of, peering inside, writing and speaking about what I had once believed was taboo. I have been attracted to both men and women all my life but only a few years ago began to let it live out here in the air as a part of me. By embracing my identities rather than hiding them, I discovered my most honest and vulnerable self. Those happen to be the two traits I’m most proud of in my writing. 

Boston Accent: You recently finished writing your creative nonfiction manuscript. Can you describe this work and your writing process?  

Pelesky: My manuscript is a collection of letters to my daughter I placed up for adoption in 2005. It has been my unzipping. It is me burrowing past my exterior and finding my viscera. It has been so hard to write. My desk, many nights, was littered with Kleenex and empty cups once filled with vodka. But I also think it is my most important project to date. It is all I didn’t know I wanted and needed to say.      

Boston Accent: You’re originally from Seattle, WA, but you live and work in Omaha, NE. Do you consider yourself primarily a Nebraska writer? What does “home” mean to you?

Pelesky: I am nearing the halfway split: I have almost spent as many years in the Midwest now as I did in the Pacific Northwest. But I still don’t know that either is home. They are places I’ve lived. “Home” is a word I’ve never fully grasped because I’m not sure that I’ve ever known it completely. I believe it to be somewhere you can stand tall inside of and also sink deep into. But if that’s what a home is, my home is in the people who matter to me and in the words I am able to string together because of them.   

The process of writing made me vibrate with creation. Story gave room for my imagination.
— Author Holly Pelesky

Boston Accent: You are a slam poetry coach to teams of high school students, and you recently began to perform in slam tournaments yourself. Does participating in this form of poetry shift the way you view your role as a poet?   

Pelesky: Absolutely. It has forced me away from my desk and out into the literary community for one thing. It has also reinforced, again and again, the force our words can have. To see a poet step onstage and move an entire audience in three minutes reminds me again and again of the power words have and the power they give us, as wielders of them. 

Boston Accent: You have a Master of Fine Arts degree in Writing from the University of Nebraska, where you focused mostly on the craft of fiction. You write and publish work in all genres, however. How do you choose which genre is most appropriate for a particular story? Do you usually know before starting to write, or do you ever find the genre switching midway through?   

Pelesky: When I sit down to write a story, I know it’s a story. I have a character, a place and time, and a situation I want to explore. But poems sometimes turn into essays or stories and essays sometimes distill down to poems. Little scrawlings on receipts can become anything. I let the words naturally find their shape as I write deeper into them. 

Boston Accent: In an alternate universe in which you are not a writer, teacher, or slam poetry coach what are you doing? (No choosing waitress or barista either, since you’ve lived those lives…)   

Pelesky: Running a little establishment like a coffee shop or deli where everyone knows your name. A place you could come to every day if you wanted that becomes a community. I spent some years as a barista and I loved getting to know people in daily parcels. I would love to create a home for people who don’t feel they have one. 

Boston Accent: What is your favorite current writing project?  

Pelesky: I’m working on a collection of linked short stories about a character I wrote into one story and then decided I want to get to know more fully. It might have come about when someone in my writing group said, “What’s Janice’s deal? I want to know more about that,” and I agreed. 

Boston Accent: You have a writing group that meets regularly to workshop pieces and inspire new ideas. Can you talk about how building relationships with writers has affected your writing life? 

Pelesky: I don’t want to discount the value of “writing group” by talking about them like they’re just a handful of people who come together once a month to talk about writing. Because they are so much more than that to me. These people and I email edit suggestions to each other and encourage each other to submit and pass books around. But also, Jen makes us chili and sometimes forces me to take medicine. They all let me cry when I need to and we even travel together on writing excursions. My writing group is my Midwest family. They have reminded me over and over of what is important, to get back to writing. They have kept my writing life from tanking underneath the demands of daily life. Being mixed up with the people who are pursuing their writing keeps me pursuing it too. 

Boston Accent: Where do you derive energy and inspiration to write? 

Pelesky: Honestly, inspiration could be anything. The curve of an unusual door handle, the melody of a stranger’s laugh at Qdoba, the structure of a sentence I read in a book, a phrase from a song. I am constantly paying attention to details in the world that make me want to create and jotting them down in my ever-present notebook. 

The energy is a bit harder. I have two boys who are always needing to be fed or read to or bussed around or quizzed on how to spell “weather.” By the time I get them to sleep each night, I make myself a pot of tea and think I’m going to sit down and write but many nights I fall asleep instead. My best writing time comes in the day, when they’re at school. Sometimes I’ll meet with a friend and write so I’m not in my apartment because I have a tendency to prioritize cleaning over writing. I’m not sure if it’s energy I’m seeking or discipline, but I’m constantly struggling to find both. 

Boston Accent: You have an extensive personal library and you say that you like to “interact” with your books, marking them up and making comments in the margins. How does this help you to develop and refine your voice as a writer? Do you hope that people will interact with your books in this way? 

Pelesky: I love to mark up my books. I underline particularly impactful sentences or details, circle surprising word choices, write, “lol” when something makes me laugh. Reading is both an enjoyable pastime to me and the study of writing. I would love for people to interact with my books in the same way. It is a hopeful sign that we’ll return to it sometime and see what was inspiring before. 

Boston Accent: What are you reading right now? 

Pelesky: I tend to read multiple books simultaneously. Right now I’m reading A Boy’s Book of Nervous Breakdowns by Tom Paine, Post Office by Charles Bukowski and The Small Backs of Children by Lidia Yuknavitch.  

Writer and Editor Holly Pelesky has mastered every genre and will likely create some of her own.

Writer and Editor Holly Pelesky has mastered every genre and will likely create some of her own.

Interview Series: Writers

Interview with Writer Tyra Jamison


This interview was conducted on January 22, 2020 by EIC Sarah O’Brien for Boston Accent Lit. This is the third in a 2020 Boston Accent interview series with writers.



Tyra Jamison writes from the intersections of Black, woman, artist, and student. She's Pittsburgh born, and Hill District raised. She performs her work as Mant¿s and freelances. She was the Poetry Editor for the Underground Pool (issue no. 9), and is currently an Editorial Assistant for Paperback Literary Journal. Tyra has facilitated writing, performance and community organizing workshops in with the Bill Nunn Theatre Outreach Project, 1hood Media, and the Tuesday Night Monologue Project with a focus on creative liberation for Black youth and Black femmes. You can check out more of her work at www.mantiswrites.com


Boston Accent Lit: What is the background of your pseudonym, Mant¿s? Why did you choose it for your writing and performing?

Tyra Jamison AKA Mant¿s: Three words: Empathy, nerdiness, misandry. 

Mant¿s is definitely a shoutout to the Marvel’s Mantis, a superhero whose main powers are empathy, healing, and astral projection. It’s also a really tongue-in-cheek reference to misandry (seeing that a female praying mantis *decapitates* her male sex partners). I also grew up watching Avatar: the Last Airbender and loved how Toph, a blind 12-year-old Earthbender had a fighting style called Southern Praying Mantis (Chu Gar Tong Long). She taught herself Earthbending by feeling the vibrations from her opponent on the ground, she’s taken sensitivity and transformed it into a superpower. As someone that has grown up sensitive, my writing is how I turn all of these feelings (yes I’m a Cancer sun) to a superpower. It’s how I become ferocious. 

I chose Mant¿s because when I was performing I felt like I needed a Sasha Fierce. Because my poetry performance is a heightened expression of who I am and what I’m feeling. 

Boston Accent: You are “Pittsburgh born, and Hill District raised.” How does this inform your art? Do you often include imagery from these places in writing pieces? 

Mant¿s: When considering the writing tradition and subject matter I’m working with, Pittsburgh is a very Midwestern place. To be “Hill District raised” means that I come from one of the most dynamic, creative, self-sufficient Black American communities that is abundant in cultural and creative resources. As a result of this, the community has been punished for daring to be an autonomous cultural center. Its residents are repaid by corporations and universities attempting to displace an entire Black planet in one rapid swoop (they have not & will not be successful at this). “Pittsburgh born and Hill District raised” means this: 

a.)  A shorthand for the messy, ridiculous Pittsburgh intersections where my identity exists that navigate by 

b.)  crossing through my favorite underpass, an underground Sistine Chapel covered in street murals as you can

c.)  I romanticize the F*CK out of my hometown in my writing, any chance I get.  

Boston Accent: You once wrote, “The best thing about rock bottom is you can find your feet on the ground. Plus I seem to make it look good.” That is profound positive thinking. How have you navigated negative feelings toward writing, and do you have any advice for writers who struggle with their mental health at times?

Mant¿s: (CW: suicidal ideation) To writers struggling with their mental health… do what you can with what you have. Do not abandon yourself to “be okay.” I’ve been aware of my anxiety and depression since my sophomore year of college. 2018 was a year where everything that could have possibly fallen apart… did and 2019 I was picking up the pieces from that damage. Eventually I checked myself into an E.R. for suicidal thoughts. Rock bottom for me was having to sit down with my parents and tell them that I was having trouble functioning because I was trying not to kill myself. I’m in a much better place mentally because I’ve been working on trusting a support system (family, friends, therapist, and super late into 2019, my partner) to be just that. Support systems are everything. I went to therapy for a full year before having that depressive episode. A lot of folks think that therapy is supposed to solve these issues, when truly it equips you with the tools. I wouldn't have been prepared to handle it, if I hadn't already been working through it. 

I know that folks have barriers to gaining a full support system. So what helped me whenever I was at rock bottom was completing low-effort tasks to get through the day. The next step was to identify what circumstances were taking joy from me and, in whatever way that I could, to get it out of my life. And I cannot stress the importance of an emergency plan. 

As far as negative feelings towards writing, I had to get comfortable with revision. I also had to focus on other skills and hobbies for awhile. There’s so much I want to learn all the time so if writing is irking me, I take a break. To remember that I’m a whole person outside of it. 

Tyra Jamison is featured in a photo series called “The Blacks” by Vanessa German (a Pittsburgh-based poet and sculpture artist), installed for Art in Focus at Rockefeller Center until April 5, 2020.

Tyra Jamison is featured in a photo series called “The Blacks” by Vanessa German (a Pittsburgh-based poet and sculpture artist), installed for Art in Focus at Rockefeller Center until April 5, 2020.

Boston Accent: Do you become inspired in a different way to write speculative fiction than when inspired to write poetry? Give me a tour of your creative process.

Mant¿s: Poetry often feels spiritual to me. More expressive and focused on building a voice with a heightened, textured rhythm. I love music so poems often feel like songs. When writing in form, I do have to flex some linguistic muscle to fit the form.  

My fiction is driven by absurdity. Even though I’m often imagining a hectic future for this Western experiment, I am truly writing in the headspace of The Boondocks. It’s funny to me because I have a really dark, dry sense of humor, so a lot of the dystopian qualities and events from my fiction were written with a nervous laugh. 

Boston Accent: In an alternate universe in which you are not a writer, performer, or website designer, what are you doing?

Mant¿s: I’d be practicing holistic medicine, full time. Imagine a little old lady living in the woods, in a cottage with a huge herb garden and lots of candles, journals, and jars. That’s how I’d like to grow old. It’s not completely out of the cards, but I want to get my flowers as a writer before I take that on full-time. The alternate universe is waiting for me to choose it. 

Boston Accent: You changed your Twitter handle from “mantiswrites” to “mantiswins”—explain that slight shift in persona. How has your social media presence affected your writing, if at all? 

Mant¿s: That was Twitter’s fault. They randomly locked me out of my @mantiswrites handle and I was like “aight I guess I’ll start over or w/e.” Much like a web domain, you can’t have two of the same Twitter handles, so I made @mantiswins out of necessity and spite for Twitter’s algorithms.  

My social media presence is something I’m still trying to figure out. I’ve been spending 2019 transitioning my IG and Twitter to be spaces where I share what I’m working on, where I share my growth. I *really* miss the Instagram I made specifically for my writing because early in the year I received the *worst* advice regarding that, which was to combine them for a larger audience. I’ve learned that more followers doesn’t necessarily mean more tangible support. Algorithms and web visibility can be really tricky, so I see social media as a place where I can check what’s going on in artistic, spiritual, and tech communities. It also helps me keep an eye out for opportunities. If social media’s affected my writing at all, it’s been more of the community aspect than anything. 

Boston Accent: Are there any changes that would you like to see in the technology community as you delve into web design and coding?

Mant¿s: More praxis around “race critical code studies,” a term coined by Dr. Ruha Benjamin to describe the body of work studying race and technology. As someone who is Black and queer, I’m really fascinated at how the tech industry has been a double-edged sword. On one hand, these lucrative skill sets are allowing marginalized people to access resources and material stability very quickly. On another hand, some tech giants are selling algorithms to corporations that create tools of surveillance, military violence, and displacement. 

I really love the work of organizers like Data for Black Lives because it creates that space for social change. 

Boston Accent: You begin your poem “Out of the Atlantic Ethiopian Ocean” with the powerful line, “Do not confuse my silence for consent.” In this piece, you personify the Atlantic as a goddess who is angry with the way she has been disrespected “for centuries, maybe eons.” You write, “My currents cannot carry all the corpses you cast into me” and “I’ve been listening to funeral songs that have caused the taste of my own salt to repulse me” and “my vengeance will consume you.” This poem gives me chills; it’s so vivid and necessary. I’m reminded of J.M.W. Turner’s painting The Slave Ship and the evils of slavery and of killing people by drowning them. It is astonishing to hear the sea’s perspective in your poem. How do you feel anger can be used as a writing tool; how can writers channel this energy in their creative process?

Mant¿s: I wrote that poem my senior year of high school and was blessed to have it published in Whirlwind Press in 2017! That poem was more of a possession. When writing, I was thinking about August Wilson’s Gem of the Ocean, where characters reference a “City of Bones,” which represents how many enslaved Africans jumped or were thrown into the Atlantic Ocean during the Middle Passage. I was also considering how many crimes against the Earth and crimes against humanity that the Atlantic Ocean had to absorb. I think that writers can look at the teachings (and purchase her current course on this) of Joy KMT (a monumental poet and priestess) where she defines rage as a tool of alchemy. 

That being said, I think that writers can use anger to identify where they want to see change creatively, or otherwise. 

Boston Accent: What are you reading right now?

Mant¿s: Aside from looking at the texts within race critical code studies, I’ve been revisiting all about love by bell hooks. It’s like a foundational life text for me. I’m also working through TENDER, an anthology independently published by Vanessa German and Deesha Philyaw consisting of Black femme voices from Pittsburgh, including my own! 

Writer, Artist, Performer, and Editor Mant¿s will change the literary world and look good doing it.

Writer, Artist, Performer, and Editor Mant¿s will change the literary world and look good doing it.

The Revolution Issue

Boston Accent Issue 19: The Revolution Issue

Issue 19 of Boston Accent—The Revolution Issue—will be released shortly after Issue 18 (our “Anniversary Issue,” at last). #19 will be our first-ever themed issue, and maybe our only themed issue. We’ll see.

 

We want to feature your words and art of protest. This isn’t exclusive to the activism in the USA, and can include artwork and writing inspired by revolutionary actions happening anywhere in the world. We want to focus on how to achieve peace and justice through speaking our truths, exposing any corruption and abuses of power.

 

The deadline for submissions is AUGUST 2, 2020. Please put “Revolution Issue” in the subject line of your e-mail, and include a third-person bio and photograph of yourself. Check out this page for more detailed submission guidelines.

 

Send writing and art to bostonaccentlit@gmail.com

 

We ask that former Boston Accent contributors allow new voices to be heard.

Photo by Sarah O’Brien. Omaha, NE

Photo by Sarah O’Brien. Omaha, NE

Interview Series: Writers



Interview with Writer J. David


This interview was conducted on December 16, 2019 by EIC Sarah O’Brien for Boston Accent Lit. This is the second in a 2020 Boston Accent interview series with writers.


J. David is a Ukrainian-American writer and laboratory geneticist from Cleveland, Ohio. They identify as non-binary as well as asexual and live with the symptoms of Schizoaffective Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. A member of the Sad Kid's Superhero Collective, Editor-in-Chief for FlyPaper Lit, Art and Media Editor for BARNHOUSE Journal, ​and Chief Poetry Critic for the Cleveland Review of Books; their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Salt Hill Journal, Passages North, The Journal, Lunch Ticket, Blue Mesa Review, Frontier Poetry, Cosmonauts Avenue, Puerto del Sol, Reed Magazine, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, and others. They released their debut chapbook, Hibernation Highway, in March 2020 from Madhouse Press. Learn more about J. David on their website.

Boston Accent Lit: Why did you become a writer? Have you always been a writer?

J. David: My writing life began after reading Eragon by Christopher Paolini. Up to that point, I was an avid reader with a lively imaginative life, I had so many stories and ideas inside my head that I never knew what to do with. When I found out Christopher was 15 when he wrote the book, it gave me the permission I was looking for. I started writing fantasy novels when I was 9, 10, 11 years old, around there. Although I only ever finished one of them, it was the incidence of opportunity and license that catapulted me into writing. There was such a deep love of the creative aspect in writing, it was pure freedom to imagine the self and the world as I saw fit.

Boston Accent: Describe the intense feelings you have for Cleveland.

J. David: Cleveland is by far the best city on the planet, I will spend collectively about 34,732 hours a year defending this statement and will die on this hill gladly. I have numerous threads on twitter praising Cleveland that happen pretty frequently so just watch out for those, I guess. What truly elevates Cleveland in my eyes is the density of talented writers living here—Megan Neville, Daniel Gray-Kontar, Nikki Zielinksi, Jason Harris, Matt Mitchell, Mary Biddinger, Noor Hindi, Phil Metres, Leila Chatti, Akeem Jamal Rollins, Geramee Hensley, Naazneen Diwan, among others. The truly magnificent part about all of these humans though, is the community. They’re not just writing there, but they’re hosting readings, workshops, panels, running lit journals and festivals together, hanging out together. The community here is the best in the world, everyone is supportive and jazzed to be around each other, and the community drastically improves the work produced. A special shoutout is in order, to Kevin Latimer and Alex DiFrancesco, two of my favorite humans alive and two of the most exciting writers, they make this city truly special.

Boston Accent: You recently completed a full-length manuscript. What is the book about?

J. David: This year [2019], the sixth of my friends committed suicide. This year, my partner left me—my schizophrenia worsened and they could no longer navigate our relationship. To cope, I spent the year writing. These poems are an obsession with grief and its many flavors. They consider the process one goes through in deciding upon suicide and meander through the shape of loss in an attempt to come out on the other side of sorrow intent on joy. These are the most honest poems I’ve ever written. They construct a narrative around characters I’ve used to represent different emotions and weave symbolism throughout a life history. Within, they reminisce about the past, intent on making meaning from hardship. Also considered is the cost of mental illness upon ourselves and those around us. I attempt to weave a fairy-tale dream-state with reality and use imagination as a catalyst for understanding. The poems together constitute an argument for staying alive, finding joy, and choosing to heal.

Boston Accent: You write a lot of essays in addition to your poetry work. How do you choose which genre to use for each creative piece? Does most of your inspiration come from your lived experiences and from music? (We all know about your love for Julien Baker.)

J. David: Most of my creative pieces begin as poetry, usually in the general blob of a prose poem for the first few drafts before I begin to play with form and language. Some pieces resist poetic language or line breaks, or require more space to negotiate the subject, and these ones I’ll begin drafting as an essay from there on out. Also, whenever I write about music I want it to be an essay because the form allows me more space to unspool the song/artist on the page. Most of my inspiration does, in fact, come from my personal life. I love the Oscar Wilde quote “be yourself; everyone else is already taken,” it often times reminds me of just how unqualified I am to tell any story that isn’t my own in some shape. I am constantly learning myself and it is a truly miraculous journey. I think all folks discover themselves in much the same way and grow into their humanness, like buying shoes a few years early in anticipation. I think by talking about ourselves and unpacking the density of our lives we build bridges to other people to show truly how similar we are, and the ways in which our differences should engender love.

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Boston Accent: How does serving as Editor of the literary magazine FlyPaper Lit affect the way you approach your own writing? 

J. David: It allows me to be in conversation with more writers, to see what conversations the literary community at large is engaging in. I want my work to be contending with as many systems of power as possible, and this serves as a pillar of my education in that area. It also puts my work in perspective, helping me realize that there are hundreds of reasons a poem might not be accepted for publication, very few of them having to do with the quality of the work—a lot of great poems don’t get accepted for publication. Being an editor has taught me to weather rejections graciously and without discouragement.

Boston Accent: You are originally from Kharkov, Ukraine. How does this identify inform your writing or your writing life? 

J. David: I am carrying not only my history, but the history of my people—these are big shoes to fill. I no longer call Ukraine home, and never belonged to the country in many ways, I am an American. I carry this too. I negotiate both stances in my work at large and extricate the meaning of home. I am searching for my belonging. I ask myself every day the meaning of home. 

Boston Accent: In an alternate universe in which you are not a writer or editor, what are you doing?

J. David: Easy, I would be an MLB closing pitcher. I love Cleveland Baseball and I daydream daily of playing for them.

Boston Accent: You have a poem called “The Asexual Boy Buys Roses for the Entire Strip Club.” Would you like to share anything about the process of writing this piece? To me it feels very personal, especially with the use of the first-person perspective. I keep going back to this piece for its title. After reading the poem, this title breaks me both for its unapologetic claim of identity despite past traumas (“The Asexual Boy”) and for its desire for acts of selfless love, even if absurd (“Buys Roses for the Entire Strip Club”). How do you come up with titles for your poetry? 

J. David: At this time in my life I still identified as a cissexual male, though I was questioning. I knew however, that I was asexual. It was my first time ever going to a strip club, and I was really uncomfortable. During this period I was still finding healthy ways to navigate sex and sexuality. At some point I was so overstimulated and anxiety-ridden that I left the club to get some air. While I waited outside for my friends, a homeless man approached me selling flowers. I bought a dozen and returned inside to pass them out. The poem itself is attempting to grapple with the violence we inflict on ourselves while learning ourselves. Specifically, in this poem, the ways I’d harmed myself by engaging in sexual acts before I understood my sexuality in full.

Boston Accent: Many might be surprised to learn that you are also a laboratory geneticist. What do you like about this career? Have you ever found inspiration for poetry or creative nonfiction while in the lab or while traveling for work? 

J. David: I love science in much the same way I love poems. Frequently, I misquote, what I am told is originally one of Carl Sagan’s quips, “I am the student of a cosmic curiosity.” The fiercest desire I have ever encountered in this life is my own, the one in which I, above all else, wish to learn everything I can about as many things as possible before I die. This includes both the exterior world, which I achieve through science; and the interior world, which I achieve through poems. Both my poetry and my research contends with my current curiosities. After I finish my MFA I want to go onto a PhD program in Genetics. I also have a debilitating penchant for particle and theoretical physics.

Boston Accent: What are you reading right now? 

J. David: I am rereading, for the third time, Julia Kolchinsky-Dasbach’s The Many Names For Mother, while also encountering She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo. The next few books in my pile are Houseboat Days by John Ashbery, All City by Alex DiFrancesco (for a second time), and Space Struck by Paige Lewis.

Be sure to add J. David’s debut book, Hibernation Highway, to your reading list. Out now from Madhouse.

Be sure to add J. David’s debut book, Hibernation Highway, to your reading list. Out now from Madhouse.

Interview Series: Writers

Interview with Writer Kevin Clouther

This interview was conducted on December 6, 2019 by EIC Sarah O’Brien for Boston Accent Lit. This is the first in a 2020 Boston Accent interview series with writers.


Kevin Clouther is the author of We Were Flying to Chicago: Stories (Catapult, 2014). His stories have appeared in The Gettysburg ReviewThe Greensboro ReviewGulf CoastThe New Orleans Review, and Puerto Del Sol among other journals, and he has contributed essays to The Millions, NPR, Poets & WritersSalon, and Tin House. He holds degrees from the University of Virginia and Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is the recipient of the Richard Yates Fiction Award and Gell Residency Award. He is an Assistant Professor at the University of Nebraska Omaha Writer’s Workshop, where he is Program Coordinator of the MFA in Writing.

Boston Accent Lit: Why did you become a writer? Have you always been a writer?

Kevin Clouther: People have asked me how, but I’m not sure anyone has asked me why. The answer, I suppose, is that I don’t like anything—people, okay, but not things—more than I like books. The possibility of one day having my book in a library, of entering a conversation going back thousands of years, was enough to motivate me through all the failed stories, the curt little rejection slips, the hours at a time when I couldn’t get a comma right. I don’t know about always, but I’ve been a writer for a long time, longer than I haven’t been a writer—I feel fortunate to say that.

Boston Accent: You were born in Boston. Do you feel any connection to the city?

Clouther: I fly into Boston two or three times a year—most of my family still lives in Massachusetts—and I settle into the rhythms and mannerisms of the place easily. I lived in Mass until I was thirteen, but I haven’t lived there since, meaning I’ve lived two-thirds of my life someplace else. In Nebraska, where I live now, I talk and walk faster than most people; I seem more abrupt; my vowels remain unchanged (in the spirit of this publication, I’ll note that I had a strong Boston accent once upon a time). 

My hats—this might sound odd—are a big thing. I’m always wearing a Red Sox cap in the summer and a Patriots snow hat—I have one with the little poof, which horrifies my wife, and one without—in the winter, which means people regularly ask me if I’m from Boston, and that’s what feels right, that I’m from there, though I’m not sure I’ll ever live there again.

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Boston Accent: What role does intuition play in the writing and publishing process, if any?

Clouther: I try neither to undervalue nor overvalue intuition. In higher ed, there can be an emphasis on craft that strikes me as too workmanlike, even puritanical. I believe in putting in the time, to be sure, but there ought to be an element of mystery—this is art, after all, not bricklaying (well, maybe there’s mystery in bricklaying—what do I know?). That said, I get nervous when students tell me they only write when inspiration hits or that they have no real sense of why their characters do what they do. I’m happy when I surprise myself—I have a better chance of surprising the reader then—but, in the end, everything is in a story because I put it there. 

As for publishing, I think so many of the good things that happen to writers happen from a combination of producing strong work and getting lucky; I’m not sure how much intuition comes into it.

Boston Accent: You earned your MFA at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. How did that program influence your writing life, process, or style? If you could have changed something about your experience there what would you change?

Clouther: Iowa showed me how much you could care about writing and how hard you need to commit yourself to write something worth reading. The level of discourse among the teachers and students was very high. That, more than anything, was inspiring. Seventeen years after graduation, all my outside readers—not counting my agent and wife, who are valuable readers of my work—are from Iowa. 

If I had a time machine, I’d discourage graduate student me from wanting everything to happen so quickly. I’d assure myself that doing good work takes time. I try to stress this to the students I have now, but patience is a hard sell.

Boston Accent: How does serving as Program Coordinator of the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s MFA in Writing affect the way you approach your own writing?

Clouther: Serving as Program Coordinator gives me frequent opportunities to talk with talented people about their writing, which helps me to think about my own writing differently. At the last residency, I sat down with Jim Peterson to ask how he’d accomplished something in a story, and that conversation helped me to re-conceptualize a stretch of my novel. But what’s really rewarding about directing the MFA in Writing is seeing the work that students produce. Helping other people to actualize their imagination and ambition might be the most gratifying work of my life.

Boston Accent: You often incorporate humor into your work. Do you have any advice for fiction writers hoping to add moments of comic relief or a humorous tone to a piece? 

Clouther: Humor enlists the reader. If the reader is laughing, then the reader is necessarily engaged. If writers are funny in their lives, then I think it’s a mistake to shy from humor on the page, as I did when I was younger, erroneously conflating serious literature with humorlessness. Both Flannery and Frank O’Connor were funny; Shakespeare, as anyone who has seen one of his comedies performed well knows, was funny. 

Dialogue, in particular, presents channels for humor—I’m thinking of Sam Lipsyte’s novels and Lorrie Moore’s stories. Their timing is as good as a comic’s, though there’s much to be learned from listening to comics. When I studied with James Alan McPherson at Iowa, he played us Richard Pryor records. One of the best conversations about writing I ever had was in a swimming pool full of comedians in Southern California. Comedians respect process.

Boston Accent: In an alternate universe in which you are not a writer or professor, what are you doing?

Clouther: I’m a lefthanded starting pitcher for the Red Sox.

Boston Accent: What is your favorite current writing project?

Clouther: Favorite! I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use, but I’m close to finishing a draft of a novel; excerpts have been published.

Boston Accent: Where do you find inspiration for your stories, and particularly for your characters?

Clouther: People tend not to believe me, but I make my characters up. The protagonists aren’t lightly disguised versions of me; I’m not interested enough in my own experiences. I’d rather use my imagination, which seems to me tragically minimized in the lives of people over the age of ten. The one thing I don’t make up is emotion. All the feelings my characters have are feelings I’ve had or observed in others. But the people having those feelings and the situations those people find themselves in are almost entirely the result of my imagination.

Boston Accent: What are you reading right now?


Clouther:
I always try to read something canonical, usually something I missed (there’s so much I’ve missed), and something contemporary. The former is Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys, and the latter is In Praise of Wasting Time by Alan Lightman, whom I’ll be interviewing soon in Omaha [Editor’s Note: the event happened prior to this interview’s publication, on February 20, 2020]. He teaches at MIT, so he’ll be flying in from Boston, which brings us somewhere close to full circle.

Author and Teacher Kevin Clouther. Among other things. He wears many hats.

Author and Teacher Kevin Clouther. Among other things. He wears many hats.

Bookshelf Banter

Creatives in Quarantine

Welcome to Bookshelf BANTER. we have bards, storytellers, and artists weighing in on some key questions. Ease your stress, wash your hands, and join the conversation!


Meet… Trelana Daniel

Trelana Daniel is a student enrolled in the University of Nebraska at Omaha’s MFA Creative Writing Program. As a student of the MFA program, she has participated in four writing residencies at the Lied Lodge in Nebraska City with mentoring authors such as Tom Paine, Jim Peterson, Teri Youmans, and Patricia Lear.  She had the opportunity to engage with the University of Wisconsin-Madison’s Writers’ Institute as well as take continuing education classes at Northwestern University in creative writing. View her website here.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

Game of Thrones

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

I really need to get this thesis done... so the thesis.  I’d like to be writing something more uplifting.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Mandarin oranges were on sale at the end of the shelves being empty so I have two bags of cuties.  

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

God, I need some suggestions. I’ve been in a movie rut.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Where the fuck did all the TP go?

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Meet… Michelle Quick

Michelle Quick is a human from the Midwest, who is writing her way through several existential crises. More at michellekquick.com

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

Fifty Shades of Grey

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

Nothin' knocking on this door, girl. #socialdistancing 

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Leftovers. Ration yo shit. 

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Reality Bites 

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Save the World From the Comfort of Your Couch 

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Meet… Alexandra Kesick

Alexandra Kesick grew up in the Hudson Valley in New York and now lives in the Boston area. She is the assistant editor for The Cantabrigian literary magazine and she does too many things. Her work has been featured in Honey and Lime LitGhost City Press, and 24hr Neon Mag, among others. Learn more about her at https://www.alexandrakesick.com/

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

After reading her incredible essay titled "The Crane Wife" in The Paris Review, I'm looking forward to reading Family of Origin by CJ Hauser. The hard copy has been sitting on my bookshelf and calling. 

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

I am currently working on my Master's thesis, a short story collection with themes pertaining to millennial culture, subculture, and complexities. Some of these themes include vlogging, generational divides, commodified feminism and self-care, and dating. 

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Trader Joe's super sour Scandinavian swimmers

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Call Me By Your Name and Jojo Rabbit and Ladybird and Tully. 

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

I think we should just recycle the WWII motivational posters and the former British government can keep the creativity credit: "Keep calm and carry on," and perhaps even better: "Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory." 

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Meet… Heather Sweeney

Heather Sweeney, she/her, lives in San Diego where she writes, teaches, and does visual art.  Her chapbooks include Just Let Me Have This (Selcouth Station Press) and Same Bitch, Different Era: The Real Housewives Poems (above/ground press).  Her collections, Dear Marshall, Language is Our Only Wilderness (Spuyten Duyvil Press) and Call Me California (Finishing Line Press) are forthcoming this year.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

I am looking forward to reading a hefty book about five female abstract artists: Ninth Street Women.

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

Right now I am finishing a chapbook manuscript called The Book of Likes.  I am thinking about starting a series that has been brewing for a while called Poems from Trader Joe's.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Best snack? Great question! I have had chips and salsa for the last three days…

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

I am planning on watching The Virgin Suicides later.  I can't believe I never saw it.  I love Kirsten Dunst, plus I miss the 90s.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Manic frailty

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Meet… Suzanne Guess

Suzanne Guess, an old kazoo with sparkle, lives and writes in Des Moines, IA. She is the founder of the Raccoon River Reading Series. Her work has appeared in Brevity, Intercom, Concurrence, Collectors Journal, and the Journal of Business and Technical Communication.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

Mansfield Park

2. Which writing project is knocking at your door?

"Where'd You Go, Eyebrows?" — the idea I just pitched

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Blue Bunny Bunny Tracks ice cream

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Gone with the Wind (always), The Lady Eve (Barbara Stanwyck), All About Eve (Bette Davis)… where my motto came from: "And me, an old kazoo with sparkle."

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Naps... the new normal.  

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Meet… Annie Shalvey

Annie Shalvey is a communications professional based in Rhode Island. She writes professionally on a variety of topics including education, career and professional development, travel, current events, and social media trends. She also serves as a freelancer content writer for a number of national banks. Annie is currently pursuing an MBA with a concentration in executive communications. Her dream job? Professional storyteller, dog mom, and world traveler. More at https://annieshalvey.com/.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

IT by Stephen King

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

A DIY pillow project I started and immediately stopped.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Dill pickle cashews... I can’t stop eating them!

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

I’m still trying to get through the Marvel movies so I think that’s my goal for quarantine. 

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan? 

Make hand sanitizer great again! 

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Meet… Shyla Shehan

Shyla Shehan is an analytical Virgo who was raised in Iowa and has spent most of her life living in the midwest. She currently works as an engineer for a Healthcare IT company and studies poetry in the MFA program at the University of Nebraska. Shyla is also a mom to two amazing humans and three wily cats. She likes to garden, blog, travel, and she takes a lot of pictures. More about Shyla can be found on her website at shylashehan.com.



1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

I'm reading “Nine Gates, Entering the Mind of Poetry,” which is a collection of essays by Jane Hirshfield. 

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

Mostly just trying to work on my thesis n stuff.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

The hot-commodity snack around here is Cheez-Its and we are fully stocked and ready to hunker-down. 

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

I don't have any must-see films but we are currently watching the docudrama “Manhunt” about Ted Kaczynski.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.  

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Meet… Alexandra Naughton

Alexandra Naughton is the founder and editor in chief of Be About It Press. She is the author of a place a feeling something he said to you, as well as ten other published books. She is on Patreon here.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

I've got a huge stack of books that I've been meaning to read. I might start with The Lover by Marguerite Duras. I've also got We Can Save Us All on my desk and I keep glancing over at it like, maybe I should start this. Even though I'm confining myself at home, I haven't had much time to myself. I work in the live event industry and work has been nuts with all these major events being postponed and canceled, so I've been distracting myself with staying busy with that. 

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

I'm wrapping up the new Britney Spears themed Be About It zine. Pieces from the zine are being published online on the Be About It Press blog, and I hope to have the zine printed in early April, after quarantine. 

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Popcorn, obviously. *insert Michael Jackson Thriller gif* 

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Night of the Comet, to start. The last time I self-quarantined (because of the flu) I watched all the available episodes of The Good Place, and that was a nice distraction. The time before that I found a list of Alfred Hitchcock films ranked by the British Film Institute and went through most of the list by finding films streaming online on various sketchy sites. Honestly not sure how many movies I'll be able to watch, especially with my wonky internet connection.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

COVID-19 2020: I hope we survive.

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Meet… Paul Rowe

Paul Rowe is guest-editor of the upcoming Boston anthology (Dostoyevsky Wannabe 2020) and video games editor at Queen Mob's Tea House. Paul writes music and television reviews for PopMatters and lives with his wife Jessica and cat Clementine on the north shore.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

I can now turn to Stanislaw Lem's Solaris. 

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

Knocking at my door are essays, interviews, and reviews.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Mac n' cheese is the best apocalyptic snack.

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Must-see movies might be Uncut Gems, Godzilla (1954), Casablanca, Last Action Hero, The Mothman Prophecies, Rushmore, The Vanishing, and John Carpenter's The Thing, in any order.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

"I'll have a Corona. Hold the virus."

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Meet… CS Taylor

CS Taylor was raised on fairy lit paths somewhere between the backstreet alleys of Jackson, Mississippi, and the jazz infested avenues of New Orleans. Currently, she’s settled in the open meadows of Iowa, where the tulips grow thicker than the grass. She graduated with her terminal degree in Writing and Editing from University of Nebraska (Omaha) in 2018, and now she delegates her writing efforts to mentoring young authors, providing editing services to Indie writers, and grumbling at her uncooperative characters. CS Taylor can be reached at her email: thefoldedworld@gmail.com. You can also reach out to her through Instagram, Facebook, GoodReads, Pinterest, or on her blog: https://thefoldedworld.wordpress.com.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

Summer of Salt by Katrina Leno.

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

So many projects, so little time. Currently, I have three novels, a short story, and a blog series in the works. 

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Pretzels and cheese solve literally anything. 

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Mission Impossible. Lord of the Rings. All of them. 

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Why 2020

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Meet… Sarah O’Brien

Sarah O’Brien is a writer from Massachusetts, USA. She’s a poet, a painter, an editor, a teacher, a photographer, tarot reader, and the founder of Boston Accent Lit. Learn more at www.sarahobrien.org and follow her @fluent_saracasm.

1. Which book have you always meant to read that you can turn to at this time?

I can finally read Sally Wen Mao’s poetry collection, Oculus.

2. Which writing or art project is knocking at your door?

I’m writing and editing poems for my WIP book. It’s untitled as of yet.

3. Best apocalypse snack?

Chocolate chip cookies.

4. Pandemic movie marathon: what's on your list of must-see films?

Love stories are my favorite. I’m your friend who talks during the movie. Sometimes I cry. I’m probably going to watch Call Me by Your Name again soon. That was a hot one.

5. You have been selected to create a motto for the Coronavirus crisis. What's the slogan?

Kindness is Contagious

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Thinking About Poetry

Mood Lighting:

Ocean Vuong Sets Poetic Tone Through Specification of Color

By Sarah O’Brien

Writers can manipulate mood and tone of their poetry by specifying color, by alluding to color, or by merely mentioning the word “color.” Since people have been socialized to associate certain colors with broader feelings, they can experience an almost visceral reaction to colors in poetry. There is, of course, a fine line between lazily reaching for a color to set the tone of a piece of writing and crafting imagery that transports your reader, but here’s the thing: writers have been lazily and effectively reaching for colors throughout history. Take, for instance, poet William Carlos Williams’ iconic piece “The Red Wheelbarrow”: “so much depends / upon / a red wheel / barrow / glazed with rain / water / beside the white / chickens.” So much depends, in fact, on the use of color within this work. Williams, a doctor familiar with the importance of precision, pairs “red” and “white,” placing them right beside each other in one simple sweeping motion (Connaroe 147). This intentional pairing of color grants the poem its energy and allows people to connect to the piece, to say, ‘I’ve been there. I’ve felt that way.’ In American poet and fiction author Ocean Vuong’s debut poetry book, Night Sky with Exit Wounds, he explores emotional intimacy using evocative language, including crucial descriptions and specificities of color used to define the tone of his work.

In his piece, “Homewrecker,” Vuong illustrates a first love using language that draws its momentum from an introduction of the colors “white” and “red.” He writes, “& this is how we danced: our mothers’ / white dresses spilling from our feet, late August / turning our hands dark red. & this is how we loved: / a fifth of vodka & an afternoon in the attic, your fingers / through my hair—my hair a wildfire” (Vuong 32). He implies a sense of innocence and purity through use of the qualifier “white” before dresses. Then, by introducing the color “dark red,” there is suddenly the implication of passion, a loss of innocence in late August. After the red comes into the poem, Vuong is able to say simply: “my hair a wildfire” without using specific colors, since the red is still sitting vividly in the reader’s mind. He continues the fire imagery: “In the museum of the heart / there are two headless people building a burning house. / There was always the shotgun above / the fireplace.” The energy created from the white darkening to red gives the poem the momentum needed to ignite in readers an emotional connection to “a burning house” that is not their own. This is not an easy feat, and yet by the time the reader reaches “the shotgun above / the fireplace,” they have already claimed that fireplace as their own and feel the impact of the image and its implications. Vuong writes later in the piece, “If not the attic, the car. If not / the car, the dream. If not the boy, his clothes.” Again, ever since the mention of “dark red,” there is no need to specify the color of either the car or clothes, as the reader is now all-in emotionally and can picture “his clothes,” and even an abstract image such as “the dream” for themselves. The most emotionally intense lines are its final ones: “Which is to say: / this is how we loved: a knife on a tongue turning / into a tongue.” The “dark red,” still close to the reader, now creates a shocking and bloody scene. It becomes clear that this love was a violent infatuation, of the physical and transformative variety. So much depends on just “dark red,” and Vuong is a painter who knows just how much white space to incorporate.  

In “Of Thee I Sing,” Vuong presents an exasperation with the façade of the American Dream against a retelling of John F. Kennedy’s assassination, in which the tone is almost entirely carried on the backs of carefully-selected colors. Vuong begins, “We made it, baby. / We’re riding in the back of the black / limousine. They have lined / the road to shout our names. / They have faith in your golden hair / & pressed grey suit” (Vuong 33). Vuong has artfully set the stage for his poem with “black” and “grey,” allowing the colors to do his foreshadowing. His phrasing “They have faith” before “golden” casts an ominous shadow over an otherwise hopeful or beautiful color. Vuong then writes, “I’m not Jackie O yet / & there isn’t a hole in your head, a brief / rainbow through a mist / of rust. I love my country / but who am I kidding?” (Vuong 33). The rainbow imagery is replaced at once with an image of “rust,” evoking a reddish hue that seeps beautifully into the next striking image including color: “Your hand letting go. You’re all over / the seat now, deepening / my fuchsia dress. But I’m a good / citizen, surrounded by Jesus / & ambulances.” Now, the red is everywhere; readers cannot avoid seeing it: on the seat, staining the “fuchsia dress,” and flashing from atop the ambulances. This all-encompassing color creates a great sense of urgency and desperation in this piece. Vuong brings the tragedy to a final image, again using color to evoke emotion: “The twisted faces. / My country. The blue sky. Black / limousine. My one white glove / glistening pink—with all / our American dreams.” There is a sharp contrast throughout “Of Thee I Sing” between the hopeful illusion of the American Dream and the dark reality of the nation’s past. This juxtaposition is echoed with Vuong’s phrasing “blue sky. Black / limousine. My one white glove / glistening pink,” in which the hopeful hues are interrupted by the capitalized reminder of a dark memory: “Black / limousine.” The readers are taken on an intensely emotional ride in Vuong’s limousine due nearly solely to his use of color throughout. 

Vuong is a painter who knows just how much white space to incorporate.
— Poet and Editor Sarah O'Brien

Unlike in “Of Thee I Sing,” Vuong sets an immediate emotional tone for his piece “Untitled (Blue, Green, and Brown):oil on canvas: Mark Rothko: 1952” by selecting an existing visual artwork as a canvas on which to paint his words. In titling his poem after this particular Rothko piece, Vuong allows the many shades of blue to introduce a profound sense of sadness, loss, and despair. He starts with an arresting image in simplistic language; Vuong writes, “The TV said the planes have hit the buildings.” American readers, and many others as well, can instantly recognize this historical reference, especially given that the Rothko piece has already set the mood going into the poem. The next lines develop a relationship between two people: “& I said Yes because you asked me / to stay. Maybe we pray on our knees because god / only listens when we’re this close / to the devil. There is so much I want to tell you” (Vuong 49). With these lines, no colors are presented, and yet the “green” and “brown” referenced through Rothko appear to come through with the insinuation of the friends or lovers being close to the ground. Thus, the title is bringing color into this scene of some hope—god is presumably listening because the devil is definitely involved or to blame or, at the very least, close at hand. 

Then, subtly, Vuong shifts the tone of “Untitled (Blue, Green, and Brown):oil on canvas: Mark Rothko: 1952” again several lines later: “They say the sky is blue / but I know it’s black seen through too much distance.” Although “blue” is being used in a hopeful manner here, that it is prefaced with “They say” negates any potential optimism. This is drilled home by his phrase “black seen through too much distance”; the poem’s speaker is stating that perspective can be deceiving, and that only once you are up close and personal with tragedy do many see the cruelty in the world. This “black,” evoking somewhat of a black hole and swallowing any remaining hope, is reflected in the following lines: “There is so much / I need to tell you—but I only earned / one life. & I took nothing. Nothing. Like a pair of teeth / at the end.” The repetition of the word “nothing” is felt more strongly by readers due to the previous use of the color black; they feel suffocated by the words. The effect of this carried through to his final lines: “I stood waiting in the room / made of broken mockingbirds. Their wings throbbing / into four blurred walls. & you were there. / You were the window.” Again, these lines are devoid of color, which means that “black” is still the color dominating the emotional landscape of the piece. However, there is one last tonal shift with the phrase “& you were there. / You were the window.” Vuong directs his readers to a window at the end in order to let his readers breathe. This image returns the color and air to the “four blurred walls” while reverting once again to the earthy green and brown hues of hope in the metaphoric form of someone loved. 

In Vuong’s piece, “Daily Bread,” the first line consists almost solely of color, and yet is emotionally-intense and somehow relatable, drawing the reader into the work. He writes, “Red is only black remembering” (Vuong 75). This opening line is jarring in its simplicity. Readers cling to the colors, lacking much else to go on, and yet are through this transported to memories of their own. Vuong follows his chosen colors with colorful imagery, describing, “Early dark & the baker wakes / to press what’s left of the year / into flour and water. Or rather, / he’s reshaping the curve of her pale calf / atmosphered by a landmine left over / from a war he can’t recall.” Here, rather than a particular color, Vuong has chosen to evoke color through the words “dark” and “pale.” These two opposite images create a wonderful tension within these lines, preparing the reader emotionally to encounter “atmosphered by a landmine.” This phrase matches the effect of dark paired with pale: there is an image of an atmosphere despite that it is serving as a verb in this context (“atmosphered”), and that ethereal transparency creates tension against the following physical, violent landmine and war imagery. As German poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wrote in his Theory of Colours, “If we keep the eyes open in a totally dark place, a certain sense of privation is experienced. The organ is abandoned to itself; it retires into itself. That stimulating and grateful contact is wanting by means of which it is connected with the external world, and becomes part of a whole” (Goethe 2). Due to Vuong’s initial description of “Early dark,” the reader experiences this “sense of privation” acutely, especially given the intimate scene of the baker making bread alone as he reminisces his past. The reader feels like an intruder on the baker’s private yearnings, and as Vuong goes on this nostalgic tone only becomes emphasized: “When heaviness / was not measured by weight / but distance. He’ll climb / the spiral staircase & call her name.” The act of calling out for someone who is not there instills a shift from wistfulness to desperation. 

This tonal shift and increase in urgency at that “spiral staircase” moment in “Daily Bread” is echoed in the lighting and colors Vuong later presents. He writes, “Because in my hurry / to make her real, make her / here, I will forget to write / a bit of light into the room.” This forgotten light darkens the scene, and thus the tone, even further as Vuong then begins a litany of memories from this baker’s perspective. Later in the piece, he illustrates, “Marvin on the stereo / pleading brother brother & how / could i have known, that by pressing / this pen to paper, i was touching us / back from extinction? That we were more / than black ink on the bone / -white backs of angels facedown / in the blazing orchard.” This inclusion of soulful music leading into mention of “black ink” and “bone-white backs” allows for yet another change in the poem’s tone. There is a return from “extinction” and the use of “angels” evokes some hope, even though they are facedown and even in “the blazing orchard.” With that word “blazing,” Vuong has aroused shades of red and orange at the exact moment he wishes to create a tone of passion: “Ink poured / into the shape of a woman’s calf. A woman / I could go back & erase & erase / but I won’t.” Readers encounter the “calf” here, followed by “mouth” and “teeth” in the following lines, bringing them into the lustful memories of the baker; they can right away feel the fiery energy of this scene due to the “blazing” orchard and the colors that suggests. The sense of desperation is still expressed as well, and Vuong hammers that home by removing color by the poem’s end. He uses phrases such as “windowless room” and “cigarette smoke swirling / into the ghost of a boy” in these final lines, allowing the passion to fade into a melancholy inability to grasp flesh. There is darkness, and there is “smoke,” so the tone is very much in place to create an emotional impact for readers with the words “ghost of a boy.” Vuong is masterful at using language of color and lighting to hold readers’ hands through the ever-changing emotional landscape that his poems explore.  

The aforementioned poems only brush the surface of the depths to which Vuong plays with color’s influence on tone and mood in his debut book, Night Sky with Exit Wounds. On a final note, it should be appreciated that the overall title of his poetry collection stands out for its seeming lack of color. The “night sky” evokes a black hue, and while this might typically indicate the presence of stars or planets, the “exit wounds” refute this idea and replace any potential light with instead a bloody image. Vuong intentionally gives his book a black-and-red tonal introduction, hinting that there will be much darkness in store for readers. Yet, there is a strange sort of hope associated with notion of the bullet at least being out of the body, and, against the image of a “night sky,” the grotesque becomes lovely. Vuong thus forces readers to feel conflicted and emotionally entangled with his book before they even open it, simply in conjuring a collection of curated colors.  

 

 

 

Works Cited

 

Connaroe, Joel. Six American Poets. Random House, 1991.

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von., and Eastlake. Theory of ColoursTranslated from the German with Notes, by C.L. Eastlake. John Murray. 1840.

Vuong, Ocean. Night Sky with Exit Wounds. Copper Canyon Press. 2016.




Sarah O’Brien is the author of the poetry book Shapeshifter, as well as the Founder and EIC of Boston Accent Lit. She earned her MFA in Writing from the University of Nebraska-Omaha. Sarah currently writes poems, makes art, and teaches preschool in Massachusetts, USA.

Nonfiction Contest

The Boston Accent 'Wicked Short' Nonfiction Prize

We're looking for creative nonfiction that is fast and powerful yet thoughtful and structured. Work that has the immediacy of poetry or memes. Submissions don’t have to be pure narratives or memoir; experimental or essayistic approaches are encouraged. Whatever form you can imagine should suffice, as long as it's nonfictional. 

Guidelines:

DEADLINE EXTENDED: Submissions are open until March 20, 2019, 11:59 p.m. EST.

Send your piece to bostonaccentlit@gmail.com (limit one entry per person).

Suggested length is 500-1,000 words, but up to 2,000 words is okay.

Original work only (no reprints).

Submissions will be read anonymously. Please don’t include names or other identifying information on your document or in its file name.  

The contest will be judged by Editor-in-Chief Sarah A. O'Brien and Nonfiction Editor Alexander Castro.

Prizes:

Two pieces will be published online in Boston Accent Lit.

First place winner receives $75.

Runner-up will receive a book of their choice (list price $25 or less).  

Best of luck! Happy writing.