On February 19 I had the pleasure of interviewing former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins via telephone. Mr. Collins served two terms as Poet Laureate, from 2001 - 2003. He was also selected as New York State Poet for 2004.
Billy Collins has published several collections of poetry (bibliography below, from wikipedia.com), and he's been included in many anthologies.
LG: Were you an avid reader as a child? What were your favorite books?
BC: I was not only an avid reader but I used to pretend to read before I could read. I was an only child and that lead to a very rich reading life. When my parents would have people over I would pretend to be reading. I would have an encyclopedia on my lap and I'd pretend to be reading it. I knew which way to turn it because of the pictures.
Later, when I was able to read, I read all the Hardy boys, and the Albert Payson Terhune books about Lad and Lassie. They're basically all the same story, with the names changed. I read Black Beauty and The Yearling. Those I read a number of times and had them read to me.
My parents didn't have a TV until everyone else had a TV. We had the collected Dickens in the house, and my mother said, half-jokingly, if I read all of Dickens we could get a TV. I didn't read all of Dickens.
Mother Goose is the original inspiration for all poets. That's where they get an idea of rhythm and rhyme. My mother had memorized a lot of poetry as a schoolgirl. She went to a rural school in Ontario, Canada. She housed hundreds and hundreds of lines of poetry. If any occasion arose she'd have a few lines of poetry about it.
LG: When did you start writing poetry?
BC: I don't think anyone escapes childhood, or adolescence, without writing some really horrible, usually lovesick, poetry, poems of a misunderstood adolescent who was convinced no one in the course of history had ever felt this way before.
I didn't write my first book until I was in my 40s. It took me a long time to figure it out, or find my voice, or combine these different influences so it sounded like me. I was writing all along, kind of on the side. I went to grad school and began teaching literature in college. I've been doing that most of my life. I used to be a professor who wrote poetry. Now I'm a poet who happens to be a professor.
LG: How many hours a day do you write? Do you keep a strict schedule?
BC: I have no work habits whatsoever. I don't write every day, so often it would be zero hours per day. I kind of hold onto a romantic view. People say in order to be a writer you have to write all the time. The poem will come along when it arrives. I try to be on the lookout for creative opportunities, something that might trigger a poem, but I don't sit down in the morning and try to commit an act of literature before lunch.
LG: That sounds a lot different than writing fiction.
BC: It is very different from fiction writing. As Hemingway said you always knock off for the day in the middle of a scene, but poets have to restart themselves all the time. Poets return much more often to the blank page.
I heard about a survey once, the results of which are poets are more inclined to suicide because of the anxiety of starting afresh. Depression visits poets more frequently. You can write a lyric poem in a couple of hours. You don't know if the next poem will start the next hour or a month from now. Poetry's known for its brevity, but that's also the bad news for writers.
LG: Do you do a lot of re-writing?
BC: Less and less. I try to make it right the first time. The conceptual journey of the poetry is all done in one sitting, from beginning to middle to end. I hardly ever change the movement of the poem as it navigates itself. What I do change are matters of rhythm and sound, finding an adjective. But I never go back and say this is all wrong.
LG: Do you write on the computer or longhand?
BC: I write with a pencil, always longhand. I make a mess and scratch things out. A pencil seems very fluid. I put it on the computer at the very last minute, when I think it's done. On the computer it looks fixed in place and it's pretty much done. When you put it on a computer you see what it looks like. The look of prose is irrelevant, but the poem has a shape to it which is the result of line breaks and stanza breaks, so you can see what you couldn't see with the pencil. Shapeliness is one of the attractive aspects of poetry. When I get it on the screen I do some shaping to make it look right.
LG: Do any other genres, besides poetry, appeal to you?
BC: Not really. I think it's sort of like in music. It's enough to be able to play one fairly well. That's the question musicians never get, do you play any other instruments.
I write some prose, I write essays on poetry. Criticism. I wouldn't know what I was doing if I wrote a short story.
LG: What writers have influenced you the most?
BC: That's a tough question. There are too many to name. It's not even clear the degree of influence. Often people will spout names like Yeats, Coleridge, etc., but I think these are flags of convenience. It's hard to think of something that hasn't influenced me, positively or negatively.
I've taught literature in college for so many years. Every semester I re-read Emily Dickinson, Wordsworth, Marvel. I read them all semester after semester.
What I think of as an influence is a poet who makes you jealous. It's a polite way of saying other writers inflame you with jealousy. Driven by a jealous rage you go off and try to write something like that, or try to steal from them in order to exact revenge.
LG: I’ve read that you consider your poetry to be "hospitable," which some refer to as accessible. How do you distinguish between hospitable and poetry that’s considered difficult or obscure?
BC: I think I discovered that you can write clearly in clear language and still have access to areas of great mystery. To write doesn't mean to get stuck on a literal level. There are poets who follow etiquette. I write in sentences. I use standard punctuation, beginning with a standard note the reader can identify with. Once that engagement is made the poet can head off in less familiar directions and take the reader on an imaginative journey in which the writer doesn't know where he's going.
A poem begins in clarity and ends in mystery, if a poet is able to understand that distinction and knows when to be clear and when to be mysterious. It's important to know which cards to turn over, and which to leave face down. In the worst poetry all the cards are face down.
LG: Aside from writing, what are your pastimes?
BC: I play the piano. I have a dog I’m obsessed with.
LG: What kind of dog?
BC: She's a mutt, mostly collie. It goes back to those Albert Payson Terhune books. I live in New York City, on the Hudson River in the Village. That's a good opportunity for walking.
LG: What projects are you working on currently?
BC: I'm finishing a manuscript but I don't know if it’s done yet. I think the publisher would like it but I'm not sure it’s ready. I don't want to rush it into print. I don't know how many aces I have.
LG: What advice would you give to aspiring poets?
BC: That goes back to that influence question. Just read. Find poets that make you jealous. The only hope you have in what would be called originality is through a process of imitation. It's a matter of getting rid of the young poet's delusion that your experiences are so original that you're going to announce this in original language. What inspires poetry is poetry. It's not the muse. It's not nature. It's not emotion. It's other poetry that inspires poetry. When you write poetry you're adding your voice to this long historic voice. You need to listen to these for a long time before you even know what your voice would possibly add. Read widely and quickly. Don't waste your time on poetry that doesn't talk to you.
LG: Thank you very much. I appreciate it.
BC: Thank you.
Special thanks to Steven Barclay, of Steven Barclay Agency, for putting me in touch with Mr. Collins, and to Billy Collins, for his generosity in granting the interview.
The Trouble With Poetry and Other Poems, (2005, ISBN 0-375-50382-X)
Nine Horses (2002, ISBN 0-375-50381-1), named a notable book of the year by the New York Times Book Review
Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems (2001, ISBN 0-375-50380-3), named a notable book of the year by the New York Times Book Review
Picnic, Lightning (1998, ISBN 0-8229-4066-3)
The Art of Drowning (1995, ISBN 0-8229-3893-6), which was a Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize finalist
Questions About Angels (1991, ISBN 0-8229-4211-9), the winner (two years later) of the National Poetry Series competition
The Apple That Astonished Paris (1988, ISBN 1-55728-023-1)
Video Poems (1980)
180 More: Extraordinary Poems for Everyday Life (2005, ISBN 0-8129-7296-1)
Poetry 180: A Turning Back to Poetry (2003 ISBN 0-8129-6887-5)
The Best American Poetry 2006, Scribner Poetry, New York (2006, ISBN 0-7432-2967-9-8)
Copyright © 2007 Lisa Guidarini