Amy Gerstler in Conversation with Trinie Dalton
By FAMILY
Photographed by Sarah Soquel Morhaim
(L-R) Amy Gerstler, Trinie Dalton.
The beautiful and talented Amy Gerstler, author of 13 books of poetry including her latest, Dearest Creature, is indescribably important to me -- as my muse, friend, writing ally and general good advice-giver. I was turned onto her poems 15 years ago, and they are what inspired me to devote my life to writing. Gerstler's work -- her language worship -- ranges from playful to sardonic, mundane to metaphysical. Underlying her treatments of myriad topics and themes is an undeniable love of animals and an interest in a universe larger than our own small, human pocket. After reading Gerstler's Bitter Angel, which won a 1990 National Critics Book Circle Award, Nerve Storm and Crown of Weeds, I rented myself a cabin in Joshua Tree, hauled an old couch and typewriter in there to write on, and said to myself, "I'm going to be a poet from now on." Gerstler's poetry often has a satirical kick, but it's not bitter. She makes grace look easy, even though what she pulls off on the page is incredibly brave and formally accomplished. She is one of the most admired poets in America and is not lacking in accomplishments -- try reading the Best American Poetry 2010 edited by Gerstler, which is to my mind the most mind-bending edition of this esteemed anthology yet. Here is a mere slice of the conversation we had over goat cheese snacks in her Echo Park home. --T.D.
AMY GERSTLER: I'm the kind of person who has to remember to get up and go outside. It's good to have a dog. They remind you there's a world out there beyond the little screen and page, that there are things to be gleaned out there.
TRINIE DALTON: Yesterday I didn't even leave the house. It was such a luxury.
AG: Maybe in cold places, people use winter as an excuse to stay in, to lead an enforced, monkish life.
TD: That's what winter is all about, especially if you don't drink. I've returned to writing shorter texts so I can have an excuse to collaborate and to get me out of the house.
AG: I didn't know that! The last thing I saw of yours was a full-on short story, not
Lydia Davis-style short-short. More like prose poems?
TD: I may even call it poetry.
AG: I'm always completely perplexed that poetry isn't more popular now because it's
like a tweet. It's so with the cultural ethos. Why isn't this poetry's moment in America?
TD: That's exactly what I was thinking. So tell me a bit about the prayer poems you're currently generating.
AG: One of my favorite definitions of poetry is that it can be a fusion of prayer and play. I need secular prayers in my life these days, and I don't feel members of organized religions have a corner on the prayer market. Poems and prayer are a way not only to connect perhaps with higher and larger forces for good and compassion and mercy and love, but also a way for souls to communicate across cultures, across the divide between the living and the dead.
TD: I've been on this kick to remember to use my body as a writer. You're one of the healthiest people I know. You're my role model for living a healthy lifestyle. When did you start yoga?
AG: I grew up a depressive kid who never exercised and who read all the time. I started exercising in my mid-20s because I was told that exercise would cheer me. If you sit on your butt and write and read a lot, you won't be able to do those things much longer if you don't move around a bit.
TD: For my upcoming lecture, I quoted from a Joyce Carol Oates essay in which she compares writing and jogging. This is surprising, because she's so prolific that I picture her always writing, barely breaking to eat meals.
AG: I just saw a lovely photograph of her and her late husband; in it she looks like a pussycat.
TD: She reminds me of Shelley Duvall.
AG: Those big, dark, luminous, woodland animal eyes.
TD: Oates discusses how she solves writing problems while running, and the similarities
between running and dreaming. She wonders if jogging taps into our atavistic remnants,
reminding us that we need exercise.
AG: It's not good to forget that you're an animal and that you have a body. Remember Robert Walser and his walking obsession? Walking, swimming -- any rhythmic, repetitive, natural human locomotion during which the mind can go a lot of other places.
TD: Dream yoga taps into that. It's like lucid dreaming, training to progress spiritually during sleep as well. Ideally, you're making choices while you're asleep that will benefit your karma. In my elementary understanding of Tibetan Buddhism, it's about preparing you for death.
AG: I know some people say they can problem solve in their sleep. Some scientists say they dreamed a connection of ideas that allowed them an intuitive leap.
TD: I had two experiences like that. First, I memorized the QWERTY keyboard in my sleep, and that's why I can type without looking. The other time was when I was doing lots of beadwork involving sewing patterns. I dreamed I was a fisherman making nets. Upon waking, I knew how to make nets, because I remembered the knots. Did you ever keep a dream journal?
AG: I have in the past, but not for a long time. I had a dream I was in a writing workshop and I read a poem and everyone held up these pieces of paper that said, "Lost cause." Then I thought, "I don't know if I want to keep writing these things down."
Trinie Dalton's books include Wide Eyed (Akashic), Mythtym (PictureBox) and Sweet Tomb (Madras Press). Her next story collection, Baby Geisha, is forthcoming.
Family Bookstore Takes Us to L.A.
The beautiful and talented Amy Gerstler, author of 13 books of poetry including her latest, Dearest Creature, is indescribably important to me -- as my muse, friend, writing ally and general good advice-giver. I was turned onto her poems 15 years ago, and they are what inspired me to devote my life to writing. Gerstler's work -- her language worship -- ranges from playful to sardonic, mundane to metaphysical. Underlying her treatments of myriad topics and themes is an undeniable love of animals and an interest in a universe larger than our own small, human pocket. After reading Gerstler's Bitter Angel, which won a 1990 National Critics Book Circle Award, Nerve Storm and Crown of Weeds, I rented myself a cabin in Joshua Tree, hauled an old couch and typewriter in there to write on, and said to myself, "I'm going to be a poet from now on." Gerstler's poetry often has a satirical kick, but it's not bitter. She makes grace look easy, even though what she pulls off on the page is incredibly brave and formally accomplished. She is one of the most admired poets in America and is not lacking in accomplishments -- try reading the Best American Poetry 2010 edited by Gerstler, which is to my mind the most mind-bending edition of this esteemed anthology yet. Here is a mere slice of the conversation we had over goat cheese snacks in her Echo Park home. --T.D.
AMY GERSTLER: I'm the kind of person who has to remember to get up and go outside. It's good to have a dog. They remind you there's a world out there beyond the little screen and page, that there are things to be gleaned out there.
TRINIE DALTON: Yesterday I didn't even leave the house. It was such a luxury.
AG: Maybe in cold places, people use winter as an excuse to stay in, to lead an enforced, monkish life.
TD: That's what winter is all about, especially if you don't drink. I've returned to writing shorter texts so I can have an excuse to collaborate and to get me out of the house.
AG: I didn't know that! The last thing I saw of yours was a full-on short story, not
Lydia Davis-style short-short. More like prose poems?
TD: I may even call it poetry.
AG: I'm always completely perplexed that poetry isn't more popular now because it's
like a tweet. It's so with the cultural ethos. Why isn't this poetry's moment in America?
TD: That's exactly what I was thinking. So tell me a bit about the prayer poems you're currently generating.
AG: One of my favorite definitions of poetry is that it can be a fusion of prayer and play. I need secular prayers in my life these days, and I don't feel members of organized religions have a corner on the prayer market. Poems and prayer are a way not only to connect perhaps with higher and larger forces for good and compassion and mercy and love, but also a way for souls to communicate across cultures, across the divide between the living and the dead.
TD: I've been on this kick to remember to use my body as a writer. You're one of the healthiest people I know. You're my role model for living a healthy lifestyle. When did you start yoga?
AG: I grew up a depressive kid who never exercised and who read all the time. I started exercising in my mid-20s because I was told that exercise would cheer me. If you sit on your butt and write and read a lot, you won't be able to do those things much longer if you don't move around a bit.
TD: For my upcoming lecture, I quoted from a Joyce Carol Oates essay in which she compares writing and jogging. This is surprising, because she's so prolific that I picture her always writing, barely breaking to eat meals.
AG: I just saw a lovely photograph of her and her late husband; in it she looks like a pussycat.
TD: She reminds me of Shelley Duvall.
AG: Those big, dark, luminous, woodland animal eyes.
TD: Oates discusses how she solves writing problems while running, and the similarities
between running and dreaming. She wonders if jogging taps into our atavistic remnants,
reminding us that we need exercise.
AG: It's not good to forget that you're an animal and that you have a body. Remember Robert Walser and his walking obsession? Walking, swimming -- any rhythmic, repetitive, natural human locomotion during which the mind can go a lot of other places.
TD: Dream yoga taps into that. It's like lucid dreaming, training to progress spiritually during sleep as well. Ideally, you're making choices while you're asleep that will benefit your karma. In my elementary understanding of Tibetan Buddhism, it's about preparing you for death.
AG: I know some people say they can problem solve in their sleep. Some scientists say they dreamed a connection of ideas that allowed them an intuitive leap.
TD: I had two experiences like that. First, I memorized the QWERTY keyboard in my sleep, and that's why I can type without looking. The other time was when I was doing lots of beadwork involving sewing patterns. I dreamed I was a fisherman making nets. Upon waking, I knew how to make nets, because I remembered the knots. Did you ever keep a dream journal?
AG: I have in the past, but not for a long time. I had a dream I was in a writing workshop and I read a poem and everyone held up these pieces of paper that said, "Lost cause." Then I thought, "I don't know if I want to keep writing these things down."
Trinie Dalton's books include Wide Eyed (Akashic), Mythtym (PictureBox) and Sweet Tomb (Madras Press). Her next story collection, Baby Geisha, is forthcoming.
Family Bookstore Takes Us to L.A.
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