An Interview by Poetry Editor Emily Thomas

Redivider: In several of your poems you trace a link between the natural world and the particulars of human relationships, and more specifically, familial relationships. In “Cowrie” the speaker re-writes the birth of her daughters, transforming this moment into an experience even more deeply connected with the larger nascent processes of nature. In “Sand Dollars” the speaker evokes a similar balance by comparing sand dollars to stories, which are both essentially relics of experience. How do you see the relationship between the natural world and human relationships playing out in your work? Are you particularly conscious of this trend in your writing?

Janet Jennings: I have always found solace and joy in the natural world. Most of my life has been spent in Northern California, and that landscape is my spiritual home. The rolling, summer-brown hills, the Sierra, the Pacific Ocean, Mount Tamalpais. Motherhood intensified that relationship. There is a heightened concern, a new urgency, for the future of our world, what we will leave for the next generation. In addition, pregnancy and caring for my children has given me a deeper, more primal connection with the rhythms of life. Birth and death, the turning of the seasons, plant and animal life cycles, the movement of a day. My daughters give me the gift of being able to see the world new, because it is all new and full of wonder for them. A spider spinning, squirrels burying acorns, the night sky, vegetables forming in the garden. Walt Whitman was an early influence, and his poetry brims with the interconnectedness of humans and the natural world.

RDR: You also have a very keen sense for constructing imagery in your poems, and many of your images, although they are mostly connected to the natural world, produce some sort of supernatural effect on the reader. Who are some of the poets you’ve been influenced by? And what are some of the movements in the history of poetry, if any, that have influenced your writing?

JJ: For a number of years I have been interested in the prose poem. Its hybrid quality allows tremendous freedom. I love Killarney Cleary and Tomas Transtromer. The French Surrealists have been a strong influence, particularly Pierre Reverdy, Francis Ponge, and Robert Desnos. I also love the fabulist tale, and the magic realism of Borges, Marquez and Italo Calvino. These styles tap into a deeper reality, into powerful myths and archetypes, the liminal world. I love the political edge and deceptive simplicity of Wislawa Szymborska’s poetry. Charles Wright is another poet I love. David St. John, a marvelous poet and teacher, describes Wright’s poetry as “secular prayer”-such a gorgeous idea! Wright’s poetry is full of spiritual yearning, enacted in the natural world. Recently I have been reading H.D.’s poetry-she was ahead of her time, so in touch with the mythic world.

RDR: One of the other things I notice about your work is the strong sense of place that is evoked. Even when the exact physical location of the poem’s action is fragmented, or disguised, you manage to provide the reader with a solid vision of the moment, or experience within which the poem is taking place. Are you particularly concerned with a sense of place in your poems, and if so, how does this concern manifest itself in your writing process? How much do you see your own experiences with the places you’ve lived and visited inhabiting your poetry?

JJ: I think place is central to poetry, whether it is a physical or emotional landscape. When my daughters were very young, we lived in Bolinas, California, a small town on the Pacific Coast. We lived four houses from the beach and spent many, many afternoons there. We also spent time at the nearby Bolinas Lagoon, a tidal estuary teeming with migratory birds, herons, egrets, harbor seals, bat rays, small fish and plankton. The moon, the tides, seasonal migrations and breeding cycles, storms coming off the Pacific, were all part of the daily fabric of our lives.

A sense of place grounds me whether I am writing a poem, or reading the poetry of others. Physical and emotional connection to a landscape provides a way in, concrete particulars, a backdrop that holds the concerns of the poem. Where I have lived and traveled has made me who I am, exerted its power in conscious and unconscious ways. I carry those places with me and they inevitably spill onto the page.

RDR: And finally, how do your other personal experiences find a place in your writing? How do you view the relationship between the work that has influenced you, and your own experience in the world? What, or who do you consider to be the biggest influences in your life that inspire you to continue writing poetry, and what advice would you give to writers who have just begun taking their writing to the next level?

JJ: Poetry is an ongoing conversation, a continuous stream. In some ways, the poems I write are conversations I am having with both fellow poets and readers, and with the poets who have influenced me. Just as my daughters have allowed me a fresh view of the world, so have all the poets I’ve read and loved given new understandings, perspectives, illuminations, jewels where I had not seen them before.

I have been fortunate to have some wonderful poetry mentors and teachers over the years. Both David St. John and Terry Ehret would be at the top of the list. Also, Susan Terris, C.B. Follet, Tom Clark and Gloria Frym. Workshops, readings and poetry organizations are a great way to connect with the local poetry community. Being part of a greater community with a shared passion for poetry-finding one’s tribe– is enormously helpful. Forming or joining a writing group with a regular meeting schedule is beneficial as both support for one’s work and external pressure for producing new work. The most important advice I hear from other poets, and heartily agree with, is to read widely.

Thank you so much, Emily, for your interest in my work!