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Interview with Celia White

By Debbie Ridpath Ohi


Celia White is a Buffalo poet and librarian. White was named Best Poet in the "Best of WNY" Buffalo Spree poll and Artist of the Week in Artvoice. Her poems have been published in the last and the forthcoming issues of Not Just Air and her first collected book of poems, Letter, will be published by Ambient Press in Spring, 2006. If you'd like to be put on her mailing list, please let her know.

She has a personal Web site, a blog, a poetry Weblog and and a place she occasionally posts writing prompts for other writers to use for inspiration.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I've been writing poetry since I was very young. The first poem I recall actually writing was an homage to the Easter Bunny. I remember a very particular mood which would come upon me, which would inspire me to do things like trying to fly down Royal Avenue under the power of a purple umbrella, or sip rainwater from the roses that grew through the fence at the end of my street. These experiences were, for me, poems, and I began to try to put them into words.

I think I, like most writers, had no one to talk to at a certain age and so began talking to myself through writing...from which, eventually, poetry began to emerge.

I love your interpretation of experiences as poems. Were you aware of what poetry was at that age?

I was always a voracious reader, and had a habit of narrating to myself. I kept a journal, and wrote every day from about age 11 until recently. Poetry really came alive for me, and something I felt I could do, when I first read e.e. cummings at age 12. I got a typewriter that year, and began.

Did studying poetry at school have any influence on how you felt about poetry in general?

I always hear people say that studying poetry in school ruined it for them. It's one of the reasons I feel so strongly about being a teaching artist, now. I do understand that what people like in poetry is often very personal; also that there's plenty of bad poetry in print.

As for myself, I loved, or at least went deeply into, every scrap of literature fed to me. Spending a month on T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland in junior year - bliss.

Who are your favourite poets?

e.e. cummings, Patti Smith, Robert Hass, Sharon Olds, Alice Notley, Eileen Myles, Shakespeare, Jack Gilbert, Kim Addonizio, Rilke, Rumi, Allen Ginsberg, and many of my students. Buffalo poets such as Dianne Gilleece, Kristi Meal, Jack Shifflett (now in Montana), Kazim Ali (now in Shippensburg), Anna Walsh, and the late Robert Creeley also make the list.

Do you devote regular time to writing poetry, or write poetry when the inspiration and mood strikes?

This has changed a great deal over time. My method of making poems has become more collage-like (I make collages of images, as well), a process of gathering phrases and fragments into a single piece, less of a beginning-to-end piece of writing. I still strive to write whenever I am inspired; I teach and participate in writing workshops to keep the wheels greased; I also regularly sit down to do writing practice a la Natalie Goldberg, and go through my current notebook to see what can be culled.

What is the biggest mistake that new poets tend to make?

To assume that poems must rhyme. This is an easy habit to break. A harder one is to realize that poems need images and metaphors to draw in the attention of a reader. Some people think that writing about one's feelings is all that is required. I tell my students, "It's okay to write about being sad, but you can't simply say, "I am sad." You must give the reader a place to relate, through image: "My heart is a garbage can lid full of rain." Or, "The sun abandons the city, and I mourn all night."

What advice do you have for young poets?

Keep doing it. Imitate those you admire, write lots of garbage so that you can get to the good stuff. Writing, like any other art, takes practice. Look around every day and ask yourself, where is the poetry in this day, this place? Seek to find your own voice and the things that you have to say. Don't be afraid to share with others - it almost always brings them some insight.

How can young poets tell when they get to the "good stuff"?

It is good to share and get response - this helps light shine on the good stuff, and mostly, any poet knows when they strike gold. It's the moment when you connect, though the poem, with another person. It's a feeling like the sun coming out, or seeing someone you really dig coming down the street toward you, smiling.


Devotion

Once I believed
hope was just a blessing.
The certain hum inside an already strong conviction.
What I felt growing wings, hurrying liberation.
And once I thought I could be the whole
wind & whirl of it, love: ocean, tree, symphony.
The ever upturned face of the word.
The whole city made sky, each ambition a bird.
Each thing in my mind, heavy and true as if held
in the crooked cup of my hands.
The truth in every touch.

Hope, like poetry, makes the world bigger,
easier to live in. It makes me say yes, the sky is a blanket,
a bowl, an eye: simultaneous, miraculous.
And I gape open like a wing, too, like a word.

This is real life, finally, the realm where there is no success,
only this climbing, this falling.
This is what is forever. Not what you feel, but this, this:
these vespers & vows, not always how much you can believe but for how long,
how much truth as well as song in that wind, trembling
the long white branch of your young voice.

But poetry, like hope, is the gift of the past to the future, and the present
has no part but to be the hollow. The space
in the lungs between breaths, that moment, that place:
the transformation, the beat, human heat, the great change.

I have changed.

Now I know: the mind must be as specific as the hands.
Now I know: by the time the ocean reaches the shore,
she is on her knees.
I know: I am the limb along which the wind whispers,
      and then the stillness, the second after. Now I know: I am here to love, and to learn. And I do. The hope in me is naked now, is unafraid, is singing.

Copyright ©2006 Celia White.

17

My mother pushes me aside
while I'm cooking dinner.
She thinks I don't know how quickly
things burn.

She doesn't know about you.

Copyright ©2006 Celia White.

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Copyright ©2006 Debbie Ridpath Ohi. E-mail.