Rusty Morrison with Barbara Claire Freeman

Barbara Claire Freeman
Barbara Claire Freeman

Small-press publishers have the lucky opportunity to talk candidly with authors about the downturns and updrafts of the creative process which brought them to the moment of completion that we call a book. As Omnidawn’s co-publisher and senior poetry editor, I’ve had that great good fortune. It finally occurred to me that the readers and reviewers of these books might enjoy hearing some of this talk, too. Of course, a book of poetry needs no introduction or liner notes. But I’m always interested in any stories about how and where authors’ intentions and the actual creative work tangle together. So I started asking each of our authors a few questions in writing, and then enclosing these “interviews” with our advance/review copies. When the book is published, I post the interview on the book’s web page. The Conversant’s editors have asked if they might select some of those interviews to publish. It is my pleasure to say yes! –Rusty Morrison

Rusty Morrison: I first read your poetry when you were a winner of the Boston Review/Discovery Prize. That piqued my interest and so I was glad to see your first collection, Incivilities, published by Counterpath Press, receive such impressive endorsements: Judith Butler and Timothy Donnelly. Impossible to convey substantively their claims for the book, but I’ll just highlight two of the issues raised that especially engaged me: Judith Butler’s astute perception that in your “extraordinary collection .… the syllables somehow stand [as] insistent scraps of language pushed beyond the possibility of narrative sequence by forms of destruction”; and Timothy Donnelly’s insight that “Freeman’s poetry carries with it the hope that we might restore to sense what experience’s avalanche undoes .… yet … [the poems] entertain, half-tragically, the possibility of such restoration only as long as the sentence proposes it.” Though the reader of Every Day But Tuesday will experience similarly searing insight into the injustices of economic, interpersonal, ecological crises, the constellating force of the form of this new work speaks to a reader in ways few, if any, other books of poetry achieve. I sense the work proposing syntactically, tonally, perhaps even etymologically in its diction choices, that while truth is transient, contextual, shifting, and not to be referenced or uncovered in the interrogations of event, it is, as Derrida suggests, contained in movement, only in movement. And the poems are indeed in constant movement even as they both alert me to, and alter continually, my expectations of arrival. It is the movement from word to word, line to line, sentence to sentence, the formal rigor and what it evokes, which stuns me, and illuminates so much more of the irresolvable in our natures than words themselves can articulate. Still, I want to ask you to talk about it! Can you speak to the crafting of these sentences and the evolution of this groundbreaking text, which mesmerizes as its music brings us to the brink of our lives’ implacable mayhem?