Afric McGlinchey's The lucky star of hidden things

     Afric McGlinchey's debut collection, The lucky star of hidden things (copyright 2012 Salmon Poetry), is an unusual literary gem. lucky star is not a book to be read in one sitting. I can attest to this fact; lucky star contains poetry that is spare and lovely, yet, I found myself treating her work with reverence. The world McGlinchey offers the reader is dark, mysterious, and all-together accessible... however, if one is willing to revisit the sacred spaces McGlinchey has created, the reader, in this case, myself, finds the landscape deliciously altered – for the better.

     In the interview below, McGlinchey discusses her poetry collection, as well as other current literary matters. I would like to thank Afric McGlinchey for her patience, artistry, and honesty. I look forward to reading more of her work – with pleasure – in the future.

                                                    

   A-KP: Please explain the inception of The lucky star of hidden things.

   AM: Chance really had a hand in it. I won a prestigious award in Ireland, and soon afterward, Salmon offered to publish my collection.

    As I have lived in a number of countries, a strong impulse all my life has been trying to find a way to belong to wherever I am. Usually, however, as is the case with many writers and creative people, I have felt an outsider, and feel that I am often more of a witness than a participant. So I decided to make that the focus of my collection.

   As for the title, that came about by chance. Someone mentioned that they found my imagery very ‘celestial’ so I looked up stars, and discovered Sadalachbia, the nomadic star, which translates into English as The lucky star of hidden things, so I thought it fitted perfectly, as I sometimes use private coded symbols when writing about difficult subjects.

  A-KP: What part of your life influenced your poetry more, and why: your Irish heritage, or, your time in Africa?

  AM: Interestingly, I only began writing seriously when I returned to Ireland in 1999, when I discovered the Munster Literature Centre and started attending workshops. This is where I am creatively stimulated, where I read, and study the craft. But my image base is strongly influenced by my years in Africa (Zambia, Zimbabwe, South Africa, and time spent in Malawi, Mozambique, Namibia and the Transkei too). I also return regularly, as my father still lives there, and my daughter, who was born there, has returned to live there too.

So, both influence my writing.

   A-KP: Your poetry is quite arresting – cinematically - and, the language is immediately accessible, which gives your work broad appeal. Given your academic background and training, how do you feel about the idea of poetry being available for mass consumption? 

   AM:Interesting question. In his essay, ‘In praise of difficult poetry,’ Robert Pinsky argues for ‘difficulty’ as opposed to poems that are too easily understood, and I agree. It is infinitely more satisfying to read a piece of writing that offers itself up more slowly, where the reader is rewarded for his or her closer attention. Then again, there is a level of difficulty which can be alienating, where the writer, rather than communicating, is simply building walls. While accessible poetry can be dismissed by the academics, everyone gets offended by insular arrogance, although not everyone is brave enough to admit it. It’s a fine line. But I’d rather err on the side of clarity than perverse obfuscation – the act of writing is intended to communicate, after all. For my first collection, I felt the need for a narrative thread to run through the poems. Although, as you say, most are ‘accessible’, I wouldn’t say they are equally so. Ideally, I’d like my poems to communicate on a number of levels, and be open to more than one interpretation.

     A-KP: The Tokoloshe sequence (Late, Exorcism, Curse), a three-part narrative of an exorcism, is profoundly disturbing. I felt, while reading Tokoloshe, that this was a very brave piece to write, not in a confessional way, but, in a 'bring the fear out into the daylight so people can see it's for real' way. Was this based on real events, and, if so, what inspired you to write it?

  AM: Yes, the three poems were all based on true events, although the only factor linking them really is the spectre of the tokoloshe. They took place at different times. I lived on a farm where fear of the tokoloshe was a very real thing. I know of a perfectly healthy person who simply lay down and died after being cursed. The poem Curse refers to the time of land invasions, when a curse was put on us, in an attempt to scare us away; but we don’t believe in the tokoloshe, so it didn’t have power over us, although for the purposes of the poem I altered that detail slightly. 

The ‘Exorcism’ experience was amazing. We hired a n’anga (witchdoctor) to do the exorcism on our farm, as all our workers were convinced they had been cursed. So he did his ritual, with everyone watching, and just as it says in the poem, at one point, everyone screamed and ran. When I asked them later what had happened, they said, ‘but didn’t you see? Small men, knee-high, running out of all the rondavels!’ So the exorcism did the trick.

‘Late’ describes a tragic event, one that I’ll never forget. I find that I need to write about events that have affected me emotionally.

     A-KP: The current trend of modern poets is to employ the device of 'travels through life, both internally and externally', but none as distinctively as yours. Would you agree/disagree, and why?

    AM: I think a number of poets use this device as you say – I wouldn’t have thought my method was particularly ‘distinctive’. Perhaps you are referring to the clarity of my approach – the use of sections to allow for differing themes along the journey to date: my African life (In my dreams I travel home to Africa); returning to Ireland and taking on new challenges, as a mother, an individual, and, as a writer (The road); some witness poems (What we saw), and learning to trust again, after a long relationship had ended (Leaning into your world). My life has been more of a physical, literal journey than usual, so it was easier to chart the collection this way, and perhaps that’s what you mean by distinctive? Although I have seen divisions into sections used elsewhere, for example in Sujata Bhatt’s Pure Lizard, JohnFitzgerald’s The Mind, Jane Kenyon’s Constance, Harry Clifton’s The Winter Sleep of Captain Lemass, or Grace Wells’ début, When God has been Called away to Greater Things, to name a few.

     A-KP: There is an undercurrent of vulnerability that runs through your work, particularly in the poems “Totems,” “Invasion,” and “Wolf House.” Do you feel that it's necessary for a poet, in keeping with her work, to maintain, as well as cultivate, a constant state of openness? Why/why not?

   AM: I don’t feel it’s necessary to be open; it’s probably a matter of temperament. Some poets are open, others are more reserved. In some instances, it might be harmful to be too open. But when combined with a cool editorial eye, poetry that allows itself to reveal vulnerability, can be very effective.

   A-KP: What kind of feedback are you receiving from your poetry colleagues with regard to The lucky star of hidden things?

   AM: They’ve been pretty positive, on the whole. Certainly, they’ve been supportive. The book’s only been out since summer, but already it’s on its second reprint. My work has been described by reviewers as melodic, sensory, exotic, scattered with interesting non-Anglo language and imagery, and immersed in the flux of life.

     A-KP: I notice that many publishers are not yet offering poetry collections in e-book format, though I know that Salmon Poetry has an e-book category on the homepage of their website. How do you think the transition from physical books to virtual books will affect literature, particularly poetry, in the next five to ten years?

     AM: Salmon are good at spotting trends, and staying abreast of the market, and no doubt most books will end up as e-books too. But Salmon have also just opened a bookshop, so they obviously trust that there’s going to continue to be a market for the physical product. And as a book-lover, I agree. There’s something about turning the pages, the physicality and aesthetics of the thing, even the smell, that e-books just can’t compete with. There’s something intimate about a book. When I’m asked to review e-books, I always refuse, and say I need to read the hard copy – and then they send it to me. I’ve resisted getting a kindle so far – maybe that’s a little more tactile, and includes the sound effects of turning a page…I don’t know. But I’m hoping there are more people like me, who will ensure that physical books don’t vanish altogether. And you can’t sign an e-book!

     A-KP: What is one piece of advice you would share with a poet who is getting ready to put together a début collection of work?

    AM: Be able to stand over the integrity of every single poem.

     A-KP: Now that you have “arrived,” with your début collection, what are your future literary plans?

     AM: Well, while the début collection is the most exciting one of any poet’s career, the second is probably the most challenging! I’ve already been given a date for the next one, but plan to wait until I’m really ready. This time, I’ll work to a specific theme, and try out different voices and forms, I think. But so far, I’m simply writing the poems that are arriving, and am going to allow the theme to emerge organically.

Note: If you would like more information on Afric McGlinchey, you can visit her website: http://www.africmcglinchey.com/

The lucky star of hidden things, Afric McGlinchey, copyright , 2012 Salmon Poetry, salmonpoetry.com, ISBN 978-1-908836-083, 83 pages, $17.90 (USD).

Author photo and book cover photo © 2012 Afric McGlinchey and Salmon Poetry

Article content © 2012 Marie Lecrivain

John FitzGerald's "The Mind"

     JohnFitzGerald's new collection, The Mind (copyright 2011 Salmon Poetry), is one poet's journey through his internal cosmos. In The Mind, the poet wanders through the realms of life, beauty, truth, death, The Self, and possibility (or, prophecy), but... to what end? FitzGerald's, The Mind is a 21 Century companion to Rainer Maria Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus, but one endowed with an immediate, vibrant accessibility; a Hero's Journey not soon to be forgotten.

     FitzGerald, an attorney who fights for the rights of the disabled, took some time to answer questions regarding the inception, as well as literary process that went into his latest collection of work.

     Q: Please explain the what events led you to form the concept behind The Mind?

     A: A couple ideas collided. My father died unexpectedly at forty-two, while I was in Europe. It was ten days after his burial I first learned of his death. My own forty-second birthday was approaching, and I reached it. I felt it worthy of some memorialization. I had been working a long time on a piece that didn’t pan out, wherein I catalogued aspects of the mind, as if descended from one another genealogically. Those efforts transformed into this.

     Q: Your use of the article “The,” in the title is telling. Are you referring to the “universal” mind, as in shared global consciousness, or to your “own” mind, by removing yourself from The Center and placing yourself in the role of observer. Why/why not?

     A: I’m working on a non-fiction book, in which I answer that question like this: There was a time before language. Suppose you are a hunter, with nothing but your wits and a spear you made yourself. You don’t just wander aimlessly, hoping some piglet impales itself. You track. That’s what hunting is. Reading signs. And those signs speak much as any words. I may never have seen the particular creature I’m after, but it came through the brush here, scraped its fur against this branch, put its right front foot just here as it drank from the stream. I have no doubt it is an antelope, a heavy male. It marked its territory there, a sign for other antelope to read. But I speak antelope. It nibbled from those shoots then took off in that direction. This story told itself in my head. Earth spoke it directly to me in a voice no other can here. Once we have words to describe this process, that internalized voice of Earth is ‘The Mind.’

     

     Q: The first stanza, in poem “Three,” caught my attention:

     The mind could be a very long poem.

     It could pick up where you left off, so many years ago,

     before you became law abiding.”

     This could infer that the poet is an outlaw. Based on that, as an attorney, how do your reconcile your dual roles of lawmaker and poet?

      A: My forthcoming book of poetry addresses that question directly, with a ‘fictional’ poem about the conflict between an attorney and his inner poet. Actually, I think the selected lines not merely infer, but directly states the opposite: that I am not an outlaw now, but may once have been. I understand how disappointing this can be. My first poems were published before I began law school in 1993. Once law school began, I had to give up writing poetry.

     Completion of law school left quite a vacuum. I wrote four poetry books between 1998 and 2004, of which The Mind was the first. When they were done I adopted the notion I would not write more until I published these, so applied myself to that. The fourth book I wrote, SpringWater, was the first published in 2005. The third, TellingTime by the Shadows was published in 2008. The first, this one, was published in 2011. And the second book I wrote will be published by Salmon in 2014. I became an attorney to learn how far law could be stretched before breaking. Knowledge of law allows one to exist at its limits. Law school changes a person, makes one foreseer of liabilities. With these four books all published, I was freed to go back to writing again, and am now working on non-fiction.

     Q: There are many references to your own mortality, and the death of family (father, uncle), in your collection, particularly to the ages where both these men both passed on. Would you say that gaining a greater awareness of your own mortality is a gift, or a detriment, to your poetry, and, is it something that you will continue to foster? Why/why not?

     A: The men in the line I find myself die relatively young. The aforementioned uncle set a record reaching sixty. I would say I am acutely aware of the limitations. It makes me feel as if I never have enough time, or things are not getting accomplished quickly enough. Still, I consider it advantageous. There’s something intrinsically rewarding in fascination, at least for me. I love to be fascinated, and spend time making myself that way.

     Q: The Mind reads like a philosophical treatise, with you, as The Poet, hypothesizing/researching/and possibly concluding where He stands in the universal order of things. Did/did you not you intend for your book to be so?

     A: Absolutely. By the time I wrote The Mind, my father was dead longer than I knew him. His death was so unexpected. I have both his birth certificate and death certificates, as if they prove he ever even existed. Cause of death was retropharyngeal abscess dissecting into mediastinum with bilateral serofibrinopurlent empyema. His body produced its own poison, and he choked of unpronounceable words. Turns out that is just an infection, and had he gone to a doctor, might even be here now. The awareness became even more acute when, at age 42, I found myself in a hospital bed breathing through tubes, and I realized then how surprisingly death can come upon you.

     Q: The Mind contains nine lines per poem, all the poem titles numbered “One” through “Eighty-nine.” Why such specific structure?

     A: When I began, I did not expect to write such a long poem. That aspect just evolved. I set out only to write nine lines, and it grew from there. When I first finished parts one through ten, I considered it done, but couldn’t get that format out of my head, so just kept at it. Originally it had 111 parts, but was scaled down to this, with remnants found in Telling Time, which indeed takes its title from a line in The Mind. I find that establishing artificial rules for the poem provides a sort of frame into which a picture must be forced to fit. In Spring Water, for example, every poem is 32 lines, 4 parts of 8 lines each, with no line longer than 65 characters. In the mind, I wanted each tercet to stand alone, and each part to stand alone as they form a comprehensive whole. So when you’re reaching that ninth line you know you’re time is running short and you’d better get to the point.

     Q: Now that The Mind, is a published collection of poetry, what kind of feedback are you receiving from your readers?

     A: The Mind was completed in 2002. I have been reading it at venues since, so it’s been known to many for a long time before publication in print. It has an oral tradition. The feedback has been overwhelming. Everybody loves it.

     Q: As a poet with dual citizenship, where do you find your true inspiration, in the Irish poetry tradition, or in the American? Why/why not?

     A: I do not think I am inspired. There is a thing that makes me write and that is the need to record what seems to cross through my awareness. I am an avid note taker. Day to day life tends to become so routine, it’s rare to think something new and original. But I set that goal for myself, and have note pads everywhere, in my car and every room of my house. It’s not so much inspiration as a conscious effort to notice a good line when it occurs.

     Q: According to your bio, you have several literary projects: Primate, a novel and screenplay; The People of the Net, a work of poetic literary non-fiction;  and the poetry collection The Charter of Effects, currently in progress. Which one can we expect next to come to fruition?

     A: Well, Charter is scheduled for publication by Salmon Poetry in 2014. Most likely, that will be next, though it may have a different title. Primate is out there floating around. The other works continue to progress. I find that works I once thought complete tend to be absorbed by more recent writings until they’re basically sucked into a black hole and no longer exist in their former incarnation. So People of the Net no longer exists, it is part of something else now. All will be published at some point, it’s just a matter of making them known to the right people. 

Note: Jon FitzGerald's books can be found at Amazon.com, or at SalmonPoetry.com .

article content © 2012 marie lecrivain