Hi Jessica and welcome to emergingwriter. Thanks for letting me interview you. How did you first get into poetry?
Poetry was always something that was around, and
part of family life. My grandmother was a big influence – she loved literature.
She had to leave the civil service when she married and after having seven
children, decided to study at the Central School of Speech and Drama in
London. She was the first Irish woman to graduate from Central, and
she came back to Dublin and began teaching speech and drama in schools in the
inner city. By the time I came along, she was retired, but her house was full
of old speech and drama primers that had rhymes like ‘I Do Not Love Thee Doctor Fell’ and ‘Antigonish’ in them.
I
had a difficult start when it came to school and reading. I started young,
having just turned four, in a class of much older children and was told by the
teachers that I was stupid. My mum had to teach me to read at home, but once I
got started, I devoured everything I could get my hands on, including all those
speech and drama primers (skipping past the boring elocution bits to the
gorgeous, mysterious rhymes). I got really hooked when we started reading poets
like Robert Frost and Walter de la Mare in primary school –
it was the atmosphere of this kind of work that really appealed to me, that
sense of reaching towards something unspoken or unsayable. I was so excited by
these poems that I depressed everyone at a big family party at age eight by
replacing my usual (hated) party piece, ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ with a
poem about a man who comes back to a house full of Unseen Listeners in a Yellow
Wood after a long absence. The Listeners.
The Listeners is a poem that many people found inspiring. I remember it vividly and the picture on the page of the poetry book. Then you started writing?
I then started writing seriously bad teenage poetry
at about age sixteen, and sharing the poems with a boyfriend, also an aspiring
writer, who thankfully had the sense to tell me how terrible they were. This
actually kept me going, as without the challenge I might have lost interest. I
wrote all the way through college and then started sending stuff out after I
finished my Creative Writing MA in UCD.
Tell me about the Creative Writing MA? Did you go
straight there from college? How did you find it? What did you find hard? Most
surprising?
I studied English with History at Trinity and then
applied for a couple of Creative Writing MAs when I finished up. I’d developed
a small portfolio over the years with the visiting Writers in Residence in
Trinity (Éilís Ní Dhuibhne, Paul Durcan)
and it got me accepted onto the Creative Writing MA in UCD, where I worked with
Éilís, Harry Clifton and James Ryan. There’s a lot of
controversy over Creative Writing MAs – people seem to think writing is this
absolutely inherent talent that you either have or you don’t – but I think that
makes about as much sense as trying to play a piano concerto without ever
taking a lesson. Talent is essential of course, but craft is important. Many
writers with great talent who never have access to a programme which helps them
find their own writing structure and discipline don’t manage to stay the
course. I’ve also heard people say that these programmes churn out writers with
no individual voice, but I would say that aping the voices of others is a part
of the process of learning – you either get through it and transition to the
next level or you don’t. And people are going to tap into a zeitgeist simply by
reading what’s popular and successful at the moment in any case.
The Creative Writing MA was a fantastic time. I
won’t claim that these courses will make you a writer, but when else will you
have the space and time to spend a year reading and writing purely for your own
development in the company of intelligent, successful and generous writers? I
was lucky enough to get into my MA just before fourth level grants disappeared,
so it was a win-win situation for me. I feel I learned a lot and would
recommend a Creative Writing MA to any aspiring writer. It’s also a first step
in creating a writing community for yourself – meeting likeminded people in the
writing world who you can share ideas with. This community is such an important
thing for any aspiring writer – not because you sit around praising each
other’s dodgy poems, but because you are all at the same stage and can (and
should) be honest with each other.
The most difficult part of the MA is the leaving of
it – getting back to reality. But then, the onus is on you to keep writing and
stay a part of some kind of writing community. It’s this mixture of hard work
and self-motivation that seems to keep most writers going in the face of
countless rejections.
Do you remember your first published poem?
I do indeed. I had two poems accepted around the
same time. I can’t remember which was published first but they were ‘Moon
Snake’, published in the Western Writers
Centre newsletter, and ‘Black Horse of the Liberties’, published in the Stinging Fly. Both would have been late
2007, I think. It was really exciting to see them in print. They became these
strange artefacts that seemed to hold some intrinsic value bestowed on them by
someone else’s decision that they were worthy of publication – I think that’s
the feeling you get when you first publish. It’s a high you keep chasing.
Both of the poems made their way into my thesis for my MA which I take out and
cringe over whenever I’m feeling too big for my boots!
Oh well that demands a why (the cringing)
I think most of us look back on early work with
some sense of embarrassment. Although I did take out my MA poetry thesis after
I submitted the final draft of the manuscript of Liffey Swim to Dedalus and had a look over the poems. What was
interesting was that I could see that I was trying to tackle similar themes in
the poems I'd written in my early twenties, but in what was probably a very
artless manner. It's good to still have those poems as a reminder that your
voice may develop as a writer, but many of your preoccupations stay broadly the
same.
That’s very interesting. I’ll have to go back and
read some of my early poems.
So, next question. When I was struggling to choose
which poems to put in my collection and which to leave out, someone said to
look at each poem, and decide that if someone selected this poem as the one to
remember from the whole, collection, would you be OK with it? Which poem from
your collection, Liffey Swim, would you choose to be the one you would be happy to be the
only one that someone would remember?
That’s a tough one. One of the most surprising
parts of having the collection out there has been the reaction to certain
poems. One in particular – Egrets in the Tolka - that’s been singled out
for praise in every review is one I was sure wouldn’t make the cut and was
editing up to the last minute. Others have been criticised in one review and
praised in the next, which is always interesting. I think the poem that’s my
personal favourite, that feels the most successful to me is Scenes from a
Poor Town. It may not go down a storm at readings, but I think it’s the
poem in which I’ve got closest to presenting something imagistic, something
without authorial commentary. Of course, the choice of words and images are
essentially comments in and of themselves, but there’s less white noise here,
if that makes sense.
Yes, I can’t always tell which poems will go down
well at a reading and which won’t. I’ve a couple of poems I love that just
don’t work out loud. Having said that, some poems will work well in one
environment and not at all in another. The audience makes such a difference. I
suppose that’s why actors can do the same play every night and it come out
different. So what do you have coming up?
Well I'm currently working on my 2016 commission
for A Poet's Rising, a project led by
the Irish Writers Centre. I'm writing about Dr Kathleen Lynn, a fascinating woman whose positive influence on
the development of our state extends far beyond her involvement in the Easter
Rising. I want to make sure that my poem reflects her legacy as well as her
actions at City Hall. All of the poems will be filmed and will be part of an
app, so that'll be an interesting new experience. And of course the calibre of
the other poets involved - Eilean Ni
Chuillinean, Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill, Thomas McCarthy, Theo
Dorgan and Paul Muldoon - makes
it a daunting challenge, but one the I'm excited about nonetheless.
That sounds like a fascinating project, but hard. I
find it very tough to write a poem to order. Even to a theme, unless I can
adapt an existing poem.
Yes, it’s been a real challenge. I’m having to take
a really different approach to the work, and I think the poem I come up with
will be quite different from anything I’ve written before. I want to try and
tell a story that’s a little more complex than revolutionary glory, and yet I
want to write something accessible and communicative. There’s a first draft in
existence, but it needs a lot of work.
The next few events on the horizon after that are readings
at the Allingham Festival in November and at the Troubadour in London early
next year.
Angela Carr,
Dave Lordan and myself are also in the middle of our Autumn series of Double Shot at Books Upstairs. We're delighted to be
partnering with O Bheal and Over the Edge this series, and we even
have some great guests lined up already for next Spring. The September event
will be announced next week, so keep an eye on our Facebook page.
Tell me about Double Shot. What’s the thinking
behind it?
The idea was to try and create a regular
reading opportunity in Dublin for poets who may get fewer opportunities to read
here. There are lots of regular gigs in Dublin for spoken word, acoustic music,
performance poetry and this is a great indication of the health of the Dublin
scene, but I felt we were missing the chance to see poets read for a little
longer outside of book launches and festival appearances. There's a bit of a
gap there that we're hoping to fill.
Dave Lordan had originally approached me
about setting up a reading series, and now I curate and he MCs. After the first
series Angela Carr came on board and
does brilliant Web and PR stuff for us. It's been great fun so far and we've
some really excellent readers lined up for Autumn and next Spring. As we're all
pretty busy we only do seven readings a year - three in Spring, three in Autumn
and a special Summer event - so we haven't been able to say yes to everyone's
requests to read, but we're hoping to create a reading series with
longevity, so we'll get there in the end.
What do you personally get out of attending poetry
readings?
What I get is a totally different insight into a
poet's work. No matter how closely you've read the work in question, hearing it
aloud will bring some different aspect to the fore - a tonal quirk you hadn't
noticed, a music you hadn't quite caught on the page. And readings are
important for poets too - that unmissable chance to demonstrate the intended
tone and pitch of the work, to give your lines life and emotion.
Where do you write mostly?
I would love to tell you that I have a beautiful
dedicated writing space complete with desk surrounded by bookshelves stocked
with nothing but obscure contemporary classics, but in actuality I have my sofa
and a banjaxed laptop (I spilled coffee on it) which me and my husband share.
So I often fit my poetry writing in around sports live streaming or work away
with the TV on in the background. We’re thinking of trying to convert our
attic, but honestly I imagine I’d get lonely up there and would still spend
most of my time on the sofa. And we’d probably still only have the one banjaxed
laptop in any case.
In the photo you can probably just about make out
some of the books I’m reading at the moment balanced on the arm of the sofa – Shirley McClure’s gorgeous Stone
Dress is on the top of the pile at the moment.. There are also a few plays
in development there that I’m reading for work.
I too write on a sofa, curled up unergonomically.
For a change of perspective I sometimes sit on the other sofa.
The other sofa is my napping sofa so not sure how
much work I'd get done there!
Thanks Jess, I think we’ll leave you there on your
sofa, reading, writing and napping.
The
Lyrebird
All day
I have been practicing
small
sounds of annihilation.
In the
forest, not only the axe-men
hear the
sound of falling trees –
me and
the lyrebird stand in a clearing
mimicking
the dok-dok of hatchets,
the
banshee-wail of chainsaws,
speaking
their words back to them
in our
mangled patois,
because
when the end comes,
isn’t
some kind of conversation
the best
we can hope for?
Biog:
Jessica Traynor’s first collection Liffey Swim was
published by Dedalus Press in 2014 and shortlisted for the 2015 Strong/Shine
Award. She has been engaged by the Irish Writers Centre to write a poem on Dr Kathleen Lynne as part of ‘A Poet’s
Rising’, one of the Arts Council’s 2016 commissions. Poems have recently
appeared or are forthcoming in Abridged, The Penny Dreadful, Poetry Ireland
Review, The Irish Times and in the anthologies Hallelujah for Fifty Foot
Women (Bloodaxe) and If Ever You Go (Dedalus Press). Her poems have been
translated into Polish, Irish, Czech and Italian.
She was awarded the Ireland Chair of Poetry Bursary
in 2014, and was named New Irish Writer of the Year at the 2013 Hennessy
Awards. She works as Literary Manager of the Abbey Theatre. She blogs at https://jessicatraynor.wordpress.com/