I had sent the manuscript
out in 2008, I think, to just one contest, The Crab Orchard Series First Book
Award. Nothing came of that, and I didn’t send it out again until late fall
2010. That year I sent it to a bunch of book contests.
Tell me about the title.
Had it always been Rousing the Machinery?
Did it go through any other changes?
The manuscript went out
with the title Leda at Work in the World,
but once Arkansas took it, the series editor Enid Shomer and I went back and
forth about other possible titles, including Sleeping House,
Morning Sky; Blue Strobe; Offshore; and The Signs for Fire, Ocean, Air. I still
like all of those titles, but Rousing the
Machinery is the best choice for the book. I think it's a one-of-a-kind,
too. There are no other books out there with that title as far as I can tell.
It seems like there’s a
possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book
published that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a
contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book
out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?
Was I worried about
winning a contest? No, not worried. My feelings might be better described as resigned.
I knew that once I started sending out the manuscript, I would be competing
with many talented and original writers, all of us trying to find our way to
print. I also knew that this was a serendipitous and unpredictable process that
probably wouldn’t lead to publication right away, if ever. There’s so much
poetry out there! I felt like I was standing around the crowded gym at a high school
dance hoping to be noticed. Not a particularly pleasant feeling.
I am now a beneficiary of
the contest system, but the challenges of the contest system are obvious; for
example, it’s expensive both financially and spiritually. Yet winning a contest
equals publication, attention, a payday. I think an ethically run contest is
good for poets and readers because it makes public work that might otherwise remain
mostly unknown. So if you can afford the fees and the wear and tear on your
spirit, you should enter contests.
As for open reading
periods, I didn’t send my manuscript to any of those, but I would have if the
manuscript hadn’t found a publisher that year. My advice for those who are
sending manuscripts out to contests or open reading periods is to choose the
venue carefully and vet your work ahead of time with honest, savvy readers
whose judgment you respect. Then let the process run its course and don’t
obsess. It’s out of your hands.
What was the process like
assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were
sending it out?
The first version I sent
out back in 2008 was basically my MFA thesis with all the typos corrected.
Although I had begun to teach composition full-time by then—and there’s nothing
like turbid undergraduate prose to clog the pipes—I wrote new poems and
continued to tweak older poems. I kept the revision process going right up
until I submitted the manuscript to contests in fall 2010, and even after that.
Also, in 2009 I published
a chapbook, How to Leave Home, that
includes many poems from Rousing the
Machinery. Ordering the chapbook contents allowed me to develop a structure
for the full-length manuscript. Good readers and friends such as poets Kathy
Davis, Claudia Emerson, and Leslie Shiel read the full-length manuscript and
helped me figure out how to make it better. So, basically, there was really
only one version of the book, but I’d been hammering away on it for a while.
How involved were you
with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?
Graphic designer Liz Lester handled the project, inside and out, which made
sense to me since I’m not a designer. I saw proofs at each stage and had
opportunities to comment.
Did you suggest or have
any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?
Yes, I had a lot of influence
on this aspect of the book’s design. The painting on the cover, George Tooker’s
Bird Watchers, is one I brought to
the press’s attention and they obtained permission to use it from the museum
that owns it. I’ve loved Tooker and this painting for a long time, and I hope
it conveys some sense of the book’s concerns and its aesthetic.
What about the
publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book
being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the
poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?
I think maybe a third of
the poems had been published prior to the book’s publication. Frankly, I’m
terrible at sending out poems. Once a poem feels finished, I sort of lose
interest in it, and this means I’m not thinking about it any more or sending it
out to journals. The engaging work is figuring out the poem, not placing it
somewhere. (I know this is not a good business practice.)
How much work did you do
as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published
to its final proofing stage?
A month or so after the
book was accepted for publication, I had two long conversations with series editor
Enid
Shomer. She felt that the manuscript
was well ordered, so that didn't change, and we agreed to eliminate two poems from
the original manuscript. The editing process with Enid was both affirming and
helpful, and the manuscript benefitted from her attention and experience.
Further along in the
production process the astute copy editor at Arkansas, Brian King, asked great
questions that led to simple but significant revision on a couple of other
poems, including the change of a single word in the title poem. Then, during a
fellowship at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, I polished some of the
newest poems a bit more and researched possible cover art, before sending
everything off for production. Working with the press was a great experience
from start to finish.
What do you remember
about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?
You know, I don’t
remember feeling any special thrill in seeing it or holding it for the first
time. I was glad it was done; I thought it looked great. However, because I was
so involved with the production of the book—seeing two sets of page proofs and
several images of the cover—I knew it well long before I held a physical copy. Plus,
it’s a long process from the first poem to a published book, and I’d moved past
those poems in many ways.
Now getting the news that
the book won the Miller Williams/Arkansas Poetry Prize was exciting. On Valentine’s Day 2011 I got an email from the
University of Arkansas telling me that my manuscript was one of four selected
for publication, and that poetry series editor Enid Shomer would be phoning all
four finalists later that day to inform the winner of the of $5,000 prize. Needless
to say, I was stunned to learn I had won the prize. For a few days afterwards,
I was afraid that I had misunderstood the conversation.
If you struck up a
conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you
eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry
published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”
Although the question
hasn’t been asked of me on a plane, I have answered this question in other
settings, though never very well, I’m afraid. Rousing the Machinery is about men and women, work and class, resiliency,
and more broadly, history and inheritance.
How has your life been
different since your book came out?
No different in the
day-to-day, but knowing the poems are out there is at once unnerving and
satisfying. I’m married to a librarian and I love libraries, so I especially
like to imagine the book on library shelves. WorldCat is wonderful on-line tool
to see where the book has landed in the world.
One of the best things to
come out of winning the contest is that I was able to use some of the prize
money to go to Italy. I’d never been out of the United States before, three
weeks in Florence and Milan, thanks in part to the poems, felt very good.
What have you been doing
to promote Rousing the Machinery, and
what have those experiences been like for you?
Promoting poetry is very
humbling. Audiences are small and the external rewards are few. I’ve done the
usual readings and talked about the book with other writers who are studying
poetry. It’s especially fun to talk with students who are beginning to write
poems. Their responses to the book are sometimes surprising and give me insight
into how a poem is received by a reader who has no prior knowledge of my life
or me or even, sometimes, poetry. These conversations remind me to write as
well as I can, to do my part in the conversation as well as I can.
What advice do you wish
someone had given you before your first book came out?
For me, the process was
without serious bumps, and I suspect that the best advice comes from people who
have had a harder road than me. My advice is to take from the experience what
will help you move on to the next poems. Try thinking of it as just one very
interesting thing among many that will happen to you.
What influence has the
book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects
in the works?
I don’t think the
publication has affected my new work too much, though it may have improved my
work ethic a bit since intense revision appears to have paid off.
These days I am working
on a couple of things. One is a poetry manuscript tentatively titled The Unkept House. I’ve been reading Edith
Wharton’s early nonfiction about home and garden design as well as writing by contemporary
geographers such as Doreen Massey who think about how space and place shape us.
Other people’s housekeeping habits and domestic travails enter into many of these
new poems. I’m not really a project-centric poet, but these are the poems I’m
writing now.
I am also writing a
nonfiction piece about work I did as a guardian ad litem (an advocate for
abused and neglected children). I’m
messing around with a possible fictional treatment of this subject, too.
Do you believe that
poetry can create change in the world?
I can’t go so far as to say
it can change the world, but poetry has certainly deeply engaged and changed me.
As a reader I go to poetry for music, form, and content conveying precisely and
urgently something of another person’s singular experience. When a poem
delivers that, it’s a quite remarkable thing. Though some argue that the
culture has moved on, leaving poetry behind, I think there will always be an
audience. For the reader who is open to it, reading the right poem at the right
time can be, in that moment at least, transformative.
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Catherine MacDonald is the winner of the 2012
Miller Williams Arkansas Poetry Prize for her collection Rousing the
Machinery (University of Arkansas
Press). Her work has been published in Washington Square, Crab Orchard Review, Blackbird, Cortland
Review, Louisville Review, and other journals. She has also received scholarships and fellowships
to the Sewanee Writers' Conference, Ropewalk, and the Virginia Center for the
Creative Arts. She teaches writing at Virginia Commonwealth University.
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