Doug Ramspeck

Artist statement: In the spring of 2008 when I taught a poetry writing class at The Ohio State University at Lima, a few of my students became interested in writing poems about zombies. Actually, they became obsessed with writing poems about zombies. One poem was about a zombie grade school crossing guard; another was a sonnet entitled "Zonnet." In the end these students produced a chapbook of zombie poems I printed for the entire class. Everyone had so much fun with the poems that, this past summer, I thought I would try my hand at one. "Voodoo Nights in Cleveland" is the result.

Bio: Doug Ramspeck was awarded the 2007 John Ciardi Prize for Poetry for his collection Black Tupelo Country. The book is published by BkMk Press (University of Missouri-Kansas City). Several hundred of his poems have appeared in journals that include West Branch, Connecticut Review, and Hayden’s Ferry. He directs the Writing Center at The Ohio State University at Lima. He lives in Lima with his wife, Beth, and their daughter, Lee.

Interview

“Voodoo Nights in Cleveland” does a great job of reinterpreting the familiar. You’ve taken the city’s misfortunes and enchanted them with superstition and attractive myths. Presented this way, a stroll through a coarser part of town seems a likely setting for two lovers to connect. Was this connection something you had in mind when you started writing this poem?

When I am hunting or gathering for a poem idea, I am often intrigued by ironic juxtapositions. A title might occur to me, or I might begin writing and discover a line that makes me sit up and take notice, and often I am propelled into the poem to find out how these seeming contradictions work together. One of my poems, for example, begins this way: “Exiled from the Garden, E. and A. sold / submarine sandwiches at the strip mall.” Once I wrote that line, I wanted to continue to find out how Adam and Eve would fare in their new business endeavor.

There are some terms in this poem that many readers may not be familiar with. For example, ‘peristyle’ has an entirely different meaning in the voodoo lexicon than it does outside of that context. Could you provide some definitions for those unwilling to do the research on their own?

I am going to resist this question a little. I am often made faintly uncomfortable when poets include “notes” at the end of their books of poems. This, to me, seems a little like trying to explain the punch line of a joke. Either the poem works on its own or it doesn’t. If someone wants to conduct some research after reading a poem, great; but for reasons I’m not sure I fully understand, I feel uneasy about supplying the information myself. Of course, I have no problem with literary criticism, and, indeed, often encourage my students to conduct research about literary works they have read. Still, when I put on my poet’s cap, I’m stubborn about such things.

You have a line about the pursuit of fatalism in the middle of this poem. Could you explain how that relates to the occult perspective you’ve chosen?

In much of what I write I seem to be interested in the ways we deal in our lives with those things over which we feel we have little or no control. People around us get sick, have miscarriages, divorce, and die. Although I am not myself particularly superstitious, I certainly understand the impulse to imagine we might find some solace in the occult. And how does it help? First, it removes our sense of responsibility: there are forces beyond us making these decisions. Second, it gives us some sense of control: maybe if we make this potion or bury this crow feather we might avoid disaster. These two longings are contradictory, I suppose, and that’s probably why they are so powerful.

There seems to be some antagonism between the concrete and uninspiring qualities of many American cities and the delicious abstractions that many citizens strive for, here represented by voodoo and love. Where does magic belong in an environment laden with strip malls, fast food, and dirty industries?

A simple answer, I suppose, is that being in love can make even the most dreary surroundings seem suddenly magical; but I suspect that this poem is too dark for such an easy interpretation. Again, what appeals to me here is the ironic juxtaposition: the magic connected to this uninspiring backdrop. The contrast creates, I think, an intensity: the longing burns more fiercely when it competes with refinery flames. Again, though, I am beginning to feel a little uneasy here. I’d hate to imagine anyone thinks I know what my poems “mean.” Once I kick them out of the house, they are on their own. I suppose it is a version of tough love for poems (though the truth is even worse than this: I’m not a great fan of many of my poems so am just as glad to kick them to the curb).

Do you believe poets and publishers today are doing an adequate job of keeping this magic alive?

Certainly poets and publishers have a lot to answer for in the marginalization of this endeavor we love, but I won’t accuse either group of ignoring magic. There are a lot of poets and poems out there that delve into mystery. Indeed, many readers of poetry (and certainly the non-readers) probably wish that we would leave mystery alone and strive for greater clarity. There are some writers, of course, who manage to have it both ways. One of my favorite books of poems in recent years is Averno by Louise Glück. It’s a miracle how she manages to create both clarity and mystery at the same time.

Can you name a few poets currently producing today who you turn to when you need inspiration?

This is double-edged: there are many poets I turn to for inspiration, though sometimes, when I read their work and compare its quality to my own, I despair. Still, I find myself reading and re-reading and re-re-reading Brigit Pegeen Kelly’s poems; and there are many other poets whose books are almost always on my desk: Robert Hass, Edward Hirsch, Jack Gilbert, Jorie Graham, Bob Hicok, Ralph Angel, and Kevin Prufer.

Ask any writer and they’ll likely tell you that putting together submissions and accepting rejection are an enormous part of the lifestyle. As a poet who has placed several hundred of his poems over the years, what have you learned about the pursuit of publication? Do you have any strategies or suggestions you’d like to share?

For many years I struggled as a would-be fiction writer. Eventually I wrote myself (or didn’t write myself) into near silence: I couldn’t write more than a single page of any story or novel without giving up in despair and disgust at the work’s inadequacy. Then it occurred to me one day (literarily) that if I wrote poetry I could call the work done at the end of the page. I knew, as well, that this plan wouldn’t work unless I made myself complete revisions quickly and send out the poems at once for publication. Because of my fear of returning to writer’s block, I have written very quickly and in such quantity that I’ve begun to see it as a kind of addiction. I have had somewhere between 400-500 poems accepted for publication since 2004 when I began writing poetry, yet that is just a fraction of the total number of poems I have written. In other words, I keep producing poems at a far more rapid rate than I can place them. As a consequence, I have about 125+ submissions out at any one time, and I average about two poems accepted per week and an 80% rejection-to-acceptance ratio. In other words, mostly it’s bad news, but volume helps. Usually I send out old poems within a couple of days of having them returned to me, so I spend a lot of time on clerical work. Clearly I can’t keep this up forever. I have tried retiring poems I don’t like very well, but I keep producing them more rapidly than I can retire them. In other words, I’m not sure I should be giving anyone advice.

You recently had a book of poems published by BkMk Press entitled, Black Tupelo Country. Could you talk a little bit about the book and how you chose which poems to include in it?

Because I was taken by surprise when so many of my poems began to be accepted for publication, I was uncertain how to go about collecting them into a book. And because I wasn’t very confident at first in deciding which (if any) of my poems were worth placing in a collection, I let editors “decide” for me. In other words, I looked at which of my poems had been accepted at the journals with the best reputations, and then I tried to figure out how to arrange them into a collection. At that point I removed and added poems to help make the collection “work.” I can’t say this was a consciously intellectual process: I worked more on instinct than anything else.

Are you currently working on another project or collection of poems?

Yes.

Zombies and voodoo aren’t exactly common subjects for poetry. At least outside of the Deep South. You mention some of your poetry students became enamored with these themes. How did this come about?

Most likely because of my own battles with writer’s block, I emphasize in beginning creative writing classes the importance of opening up as writers, in summoning the muse, in turning off the conscious mind and writing freely. In order to help students with this, I ask them to engage in writing exercises, freewritings, and various games. I try to get students to write a great deal, to experiment, and to enjoy the process. One exercise I used in this class was to ask the students to select a tabloid headline and write a poem using that as the title. Several students wrote about zombies, and we realized as we read the poems aloud that the poems worked together in surprising ways. Indeed, the students eventually combined these poems into a single poem for the chapbook. We also realized that this was some of the best work that had been produced in the class so far. The students were so excited by their success that they began writing more works on the same subject.

There are some educators out there who would have corralled their students into more traditional topics. I think it’s wonderful that you didn’t check their enthusiasm and even went as far in your support of their interests as printing a chapbook for them. What were your reasons for responding in this way?

It never occurred to me to discourage the students from the project. It was some of the best work produced in the quarter. I can’t, on the one hand, ask students to turn off conscious control over what they write and then tell them they can’t write about certain topics. My goal, I think, is to encourage students to write as freely and creatively as possible, and then, once a draft is done, to help them improve it…whatever it is.

In your experience as an educator, what have been the biggest obstacles you’ve come up against when teaching those less familiar with poetry? Do you have any advice for beginning poets?

This quarter I am teaching a freshman composition class, and when I asked my students to vote on which topics we might cover (I gave them a list), reading poetry came in last. Despite this, a surprising number of students on our campus seem interested in writing creatively, including writing poetry. The largest problem beginning poets face, I think, is that they aren’t reading enough poetry, especially contemporary poetry. Trying to be a poet without reading poetry is an uphill task. Of course, you have to enjoy the poetry you are reading, and many people are resistant to poetry’s charms.

Certainly you must get some inspiration from your students. What are some of the things you’ve learned about poetry from them? Are there qualities that some beginning poets have that they are at risk of losing as they become more familiar with poetry and its culture?

I am always impressed by the willingness of young poets to open up and to take risks. Often they are fearless. I do find that inspiring.

These days it seems like people have to come to poetry. Aside from city programs like poetry on buses and the occasional verse of graffiti, it’s unlikely that many citizens will come into meaningful contact with a poem if left to their own devices. Do you have any ideas on how poetry can reach new audiences outside the classroom?

Too many people see reading as “work.” I love to read, am inspired by what I read, but I understand that most people see it as a chore. I think those of us who teach are partly to blame for this. From a very young age we ask students to read…and then we test them on how well they’ve understood the content. That’s certainly not what I enjoy about reading. I think we need to teach reading in a different and more inspiring way. The more we become a culture of readers, the larger an audience poetry will find. At this point, of course, we have been moving in the opposite direction.