Get to Know a Local Poet: Kevin Craft

In her review of Kevin Craft’s collection of poems, "Solar Prominence," in "Verse," Carrie Olivia Adams says of the local poet, “(Kevin) knows how to spin a metaphor and to disrupt what seems simple.” Case in point: any poet who compares their writing process with sculpting a beer stein from clay and filling it with ale has my immediate respect and admiration, both in terms of language and content. Along with his own creative work, Kevin is also the chair of the English Department at Everett Community College, and the editor of "Poetry Northwest," a position held by, among others, current Hugo House instructor and former writer-in-residence David Wagoner.

RM: What are you working on?

KC: I’m working on a second book of poems. It’s nearly complete, but there are a few holes here and there, mostly in the time I have to devote to writing new poems, right now. I’m really looking forward to the next big stretch of time. I’m haunted by that Rilke line in “Requiem,”: “You had just one desire: a years-long work— / which was not finished; was somehow never finished.” The only thing standing between me and my next book is unmitigated time, a “years-long” work.

RM: Please tell us a bit about your writing/revision process. Do you have times/places where you write best? Any obsessive behaviors?

KC: I write slowly. I work on poems for weeks and months, if not years. I’ll lay down a draft in a morning or two, then set it aside, and return to it when time and mood allow, when the barley’s had time to ferment. I like having old drafts to return to, some lump of clay to sculpt and reshape. Is that mixing metaphors? Let’s make a mug out of clay, and fill it with ale. Yes, beer always helps. The hoppier, the better. Did you know the ancient Egyptians were paid in beer? That’s how the pyramids got built.

I usually write on loose sheets of paper, by hand, not worrying too much about where I am. The world is one big distraction: I try to embrace that, and let the accidents into the room. I am a little obsessive about keeping old papers, because I never know what I might take from them in the future. I also can’t write when my neighbor cranks up the ABBA. I’m obsessive about not writing to ABBA.

RM: ABBA ranks pretty low on the “inspiring music to write to” list for me as well. You grew up on the East Coast, then came here to the University of Washington for your MFA, and have stuck around the Northwest since then. Besides the obvious reasons, like the glory that is Husky sports, why did you decide to come to Seattle for your MFA, and then stay?

KC: More specifically, I grew up in New Jersey. And if you grow up in New Jersey (a big if), Seattle seems like Shangri-la. The West—I wanted to go West. I’d never been west of Indiana. In the early '90s, there was that grunge-hungry buzz about Seattle; it was in the news a lot. After living in the D.C. area for several years, the land of manufactured consent, I was ready for something wilder: the big landscapes, the raw guitar, sports teams that dwell in mediocrity and obscurity… Remember—this was the early '90s. Championships are still hard to come by.

In any event, I’d heard good things about Seattle and the U.W. program, and was ready for a little cross-country adventure. When I got here, I simply fell in love with the city, the UW and this corner of the world. I hike and climb almost every week. The process of scaling a mountain, foothold to fingerhold, seemed physically akin to writing poems: slow and attentive, edgy and invigorating. I can’t get away from climbing metaphors, now. Can’t do that in New Jersey, unless you’re fixing smokestacks.

For awhile, my mom would ask, so when are you moving back? Soon enough she figured out the answer was in plate tectonics. Not in this lifetime. I love going back east, though, to be with old friends and family. My roots are there. I consider myself bi-coastal.

RM: How did the vision for your book, "Solar Prominence," come about?

KC: Over a dozen years, that’s how. Through trial and error. There’s both a dizziness and a dailiness to the book that I still like, which is accurate to the way I live.

After years of writing poem by poem, I began to recognize the patterns and polarities in my best work, the countervailing pressures of the acrobatic and the manual, the mythic and the physical fact, and so on, back and forth. A solar prominence is a flare that loops back into the sun, making a stitch in time, even as it discharges radiation by the astrological boatload. To us, they look like sunspots; they also cause magnetic storms and disruptions on earth—the kind that can produce anything from electrical blackouts to genetic mutations.

I was attracted to this deep space sense of contrast: there is darkness, even on the surface of the sun, the ultimate chiaroscuro. I also liked how the image, though remote, connected to the diurnal rhythms of life on earth. It’s the old song, really: Night and Day (Sinatra’s version, of course), infused with a longing for you, you, you, but with a twist. Everything—planet, evolution, consciousness, love—everything comes out of disaster. The etymology of that one word is the key to the book. We live, rather literally, on a limb of the sun.

RM: Local poet Ed Skoog, in his Hugo Blog interview with Kate Lebo, called "Poetry Northwest" "the new Seattle Post-Intelligencer.” Tells us what being editor has meant for you, and now that you are at the helm, what the future holds for Poetry Northwest.

KC: Ed Skoog is the new Seattle Post-Intelligencer. He is, in any event, news that stays news. I would be happy to find him on my doorstep every morning.

Being editor—that’s still very much a work in progress. So far it has meant a lot more reading! I’ve enjoyed the process of assembling a team and producing our first issue. It’s quite an honor to step into this role and work on something of value to the community, something older than me. I mean, "Poetry Northwest" began publishing in the era of Eisenhower. There’s an established tradition, then, and a chance to help shape that for the next generation. I feel lucky to be a part of that ongoing history.

Now that the first issue’s out, I think people can see for themselves what we’re hoping to do. We want to mix it up with the visual arts, for one, and to benefit from the wide range and mix of voices in our region, while producing a magazine with national and international appeal. I’m so grateful to artist Claire Cowie for giving us our “welcome home” cover. That image—it’s a “spit bite etching”—says more about where we’re headed than I could manage, here.

RM: What is the best thing about Seattle’s poetry scene, and what is the worst thing?

KC: I don’t think about this much. I’ve always tried to do the work I needed to do, and respect and take pleasure in the work of others, whatever that might be. Doesn’t mean I like everything I come across, but I respect those engaged in the good fight, those who live in the service of their art. Every poem is its own community, its own scene. That’s where I want to be.

Read more about Kevin Craft and "Poetry Northwest" at poetrynw.org.

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