This conversation focuses on Marthe Reed’s book, (em)bodied bliss, and Megan Burns’s book, Sound and Basin.
Megan Burns: As a starting point, I think of several things while sitting down with (em)bodied bliss this morning outside the coffee shop on what’s shaping up to be a hot New Orleans day: one, how we seem to have been at war or going to war all my children’s lives and, two, how over the weekend a one-year-old and an eleven-year-old died in shootings on the streets of New Orleans. I think a lot about how violence infects us, how its presence shapes our everyday even when we believe we escape it; and I wonder about our complicity and what it means. I think about how violence kills imagination.
The first poem in your book is titled “this doesn’t exist” and I think maybe we can start there. What is invisible? What do we know and not know or believe to know? And how does this reflect in our everyday lives and how is this part of our politics as a nation, as a society? “Resistance amid the rough chatter of definition.” How does the clear boundary of the poem shape our ability to define terror: “our tongues are tied”? And how do we reconcile two worlds, one where there is torture and unspeakable acts and one where we wake in the morning amid the blues and yellows of the day? “language translates into silence/babel (gate of god)/enters by means of/a language of flowers.” I see these motions in these poems. Can you talk a bit about how you got there? And how you feel these opening poems in the book begin to create a landscape for talking about these ideas?