Interview by Zoë Brigley
“The more men that can look inside themselves and be comfortable with this the better. It enables us to be better humans, to take better care, both of ourselves and others”
In Time I’ll Fade Away
i) Mount Jupiter or thrown shadow. Mist as sentinel haunting guillotined sun equivalence. Young cub. Eight feet in unison upon the ferns; dewy, orbed. Upon my torso painted northeast; written word of compass. This musk of soil beneath stomach’s matted fur, this lament of earth. Little woodland runner, keen as hawk, soft as tears, keep close to me. ii) Raspberries; hazelnuts in Autumn. An anxiousness of chocolate. Nothing changes, I still eat at night. Fascinate on the berries of an English yew, the sorrow of broken promises hung around your neck. To reach inside my chest, investigate the strength of walls; of moonlight reparation, the cacao, the dance of end ceremonies. Watch you grow strong bathing in the ice melt, hanging upside- down from the trunk. Pride lumps in the river of my throat. iii) Snapped branch; silver muzzle. Fill nostrils with the blackness of powder as flesh is zippered open. Run far away. Rounding teeth, one ton eight feet tall. Explore ribcage from back to front, redeem punctured neck vein affluence. Emulsified; our blood as oil. Stood upright to crush death’s head. The orbit wield of a hunters sword. iv) Oranges, reds; Heron on the bank. A concertina of silk folded into wooden baskets. Pine scented. Eyelashes stood upright with migrating birds, your face; its gentleness. Story written as scar, healed as vow ascending skin. A thistle seed guided through air. Within sadness. Eternal love. Or both.
This poem is full of juicy, delicious images and word combinations. I am struck by the lines in
the middle of ii): “To reach inside my chest, investigate / the strength of walls”. It feels like
some boundaries are being negotiated here and there is some play between interiority and
the outer world. Do you think that’s something important in your work?
I think that I’m always looking for the meaning in things and how this relates to the self, both the one that is hidden internally and the one we present externally to others. In a way, I’m probably negotiating and understanding the boundaries that exist within me as a human. This is one of the reasons I write poetry really, it’s a way of unpacking and understanding worlds, both inner and outer. It’s definitely important to me, particularly in relation to masculinity, that these things are laid bare, that we can be vulnerable with it as way of creating dialogue.
On the subject of masculinity, this poem centres predominantly on Fatherhood, and uses the imagery of a bear walking with his cub, only to be hunted and killed in order to save his child. I used a lot of the imagery from the Alejandro G. Iñárritu film, The Revenant, as I think the bear scene in that is really powerful. I wanted to get across the duality of Fatherhood, that on one hand we are expected to be the strong protectors, but on the other that Fatherhood renders us incredibly fearful, guilty, emotional, and deeply loving. These are the inner and outer boundaries that I’m exploring.
You wield the mighty tercet in this poem. I like how you move between longer and very short
lines. How do you decide what form to use in a poem? Is it instinctive or more purposeful?
Honestly, each of my poems goes through three of four different forms before I settle on the right one. In the first instance, the thing just gets written in one big splurge of text, and then I spend time finding line breaks, feeling for the right form. Once I’ve settled on it, I’ll complete the poem, sleep on it, and then completely dismantle it the next day, and then the next, until it just finds its way! I never set out to write in a certain style or form. In fact, this is the first time I’ve heard of a tercet! So it’s a happy accident that it ended up this way! I definitely go by feel and instinct. It has to look right on the page and that’s probably more of a defining factor than ensuring correct line breakage etc.
There are many moments of tenderness in this poem, and I know you are currently editing an anthology of writing about masculinity. Maybe it is still radical for tenderness to be presented as part of men’s stories though obviously many men are tender, many men tend, and many men seem to be need of tenderness?
I do think it’s radical for men to be openly tender, although I also think that it exists within most. I still think there is incredible pressure for men to behave or act in certain ways that they don’t feel able to challenge, that is maybe so deeply engrained that it has become unconscious. This doesn’t absolve toxic behaviour on any level, but I think that by exploring it poetically I’m trying to make it visible, and when it becomes visible it can perhaps become a catalyst for change. I think that’s what is exciting about the anthology, which will make this visible on a much bigger collective scale and across a real diverse range of voices. Proceeds will also go to frontline men’s mental health charities which will also help to some degree. Part of the call out stated that “it’s ok to cry, it’s ok to tell your mates that you love them.” The more men that can look inside themselves and be comfortable with this the better. It enables us to be better humans, to take better care, both of ourselves and others.
