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***This is the ninety-eighth in a never-ending series called BACKSTORY
OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one
specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem. All BACKSTORY
OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece.
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Title Photo Below Left- Alyse Knorr in February of 2019.
#098 Backstory of the
Poem
“Tennessee
Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr
Can you go through the
step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first
conceived in your brain until final form?
During the summer of 2014, it seemed like everyone I knew was getting married, and I tried to write a poem or a song to celebrate the weddings of all the couples in my life. One of those couples were my friends Katherine and Asad, who live in Nashville, Tennessee (hence the poem’s name). I’ve found that when I’m writing an occasional poem, if I think too hard about the people the poem is for, I feel too much pressure and am too worried about what the recipients will think of the poem. So instead, I try to start with what I know, which in this case was my love for my now-wife Kate. I figured that a love poem for Katherine and Asad would feel most authentic if I created it out of the love I know best.
During the summer of 2014, it seemed like everyone I knew was getting married, and I tried to write a poem or a song to celebrate the weddings of all the couples in my life. One of those couples were my friends Katherine and Asad, who live in Nashville, Tennessee (hence the poem’s name). I’ve found that when I’m writing an occasional poem, if I think too hard about the people the poem is for, I feel too much pressure and am too worried about what the recipients will think of the poem. So instead, I try to start with what I know, which in this case was my love for my now-wife Kate. I figured that a love poem for Katherine and Asad would feel most authentic if I created it out of the love I know best.
The summer of 2014
also marked the longest time Kate and I had ever spent apart since getting
together in 2010 and moving in together in 2012. Kate is a poet, too, and we
were apart doing residencies all summer in different locations. We had started
discussing whether or not we should get married and whether or not we should
have a wedding, which were already complicated topics but made even more
complicated by the fact that in 2014, marriage still meant something different
legally state by state. We lived in Alaska, where same-sex marriage, at that
time, was not yet legal, but if we wanted to, we could travel to Washington and
marry. (Above Left: Kate and Alyse in Alaska)
Most of the images in the poem are the things I was seeing living alone in the woods of Minnesota (Right): the crow, the deer, the veins of leaves, the spider, the delicious blueberry pie of the local diner. And my new friend Pam (with Alyse Below Left), who lives in New York Mills, has a wonderful habit of “yarn-bombing”(Below Right) the lamp posts and stones around town by knitting them little sweaters. I also included in the list items from my own personal experience—memories that I wish I could directly share with my beloved, like the light rain on your face awakening you (that was teenage me waking up in the back of a flatbed one Georgia summer) or the staked dogwood learning to grow (a tree I planted with my father at the house where I grew up). I also tried to include some really massive items, like entire planets, or impossible stars visible during the day.
I scribbled all these
list items down in my notebook in no particular form and then typed up the poem
and started working on line and stanza breaks, and on an ending (more on that
below!). (Below: Alyse's papers on the floor while in New York Mills)
Where were you when you
started to actually write the poem? And
please describe the place in great detail. I wrote this poem during a month-long residency called the
New York Mills Arts Retreat in New York Mills, MN. New York Mills is a
beautiful small town (population 1,224) in the heart of Minnesota, about 3
hours northwest of Minneapolis. While I lived there, you had one option for
lunch—the Eagles Café diner—and one option for dinner: the grill at the local bowling
alley. The town had grocery store, one gas station, and one main street full of
beautiful old Midwestern architecture. The town is bisected by train tracks,
and you can hear the trains at regular intervals throughout the day and night.
The citizens of New York Mills are very kind and very dedicated to their community.
On several occasions I watched all the volunteer firefighters in town run from
their places of work to their cars to go and fight a fire.
The New York Mills Regional Cultural Center (Right), which sponsors the Arts Retreat, puts residents up in a beautiful old yellow house (Below Left) only a short walk from Main Ave. The Retreat hosts only one visiting artist at a time, so I was on my own in the one-bedroom house, and spent my days alone reading, writing, and thinking.
The weather was still
pretty cold when I first arrived, but warmed up as the month of May went on.
The day I wrote “Tennessee Epithalamium” was bright, warm, and sunny, and I
took advantage of that by sitting in the backyard of the house with my
notebook.
How many drafts of this
poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph
of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) I rarely compose by hand—I usually start drafts on
my laptop because I like how quickly I can cut and paste to rearrange lines, or
break lines and play with form. Or hit “undo.” Or delete a line and never have
to see it again. But if I want to work outside, or if I’m feeling stuck working
on the laptop, I’ll grab my notebook and draft longhand. That’s what I was
doing the day I started “Tennessee Epithalamium.” After the handwritten draft
in the photo, the poem probably went through five or six drafts on my laptop,
mostly playing with form and the order of the items in the list.
I also revised “the moose opening her eyes in the morning” to “the red fox opening her eyes in the morning,” because the fox felt more elegant and elusive than the moose, and because I liked having a small homage to Lucille Clifton’s fox poems.
What do you want readers
of this poem to take from this poem? The items in the list are meant to evoke sensory experiences, so I hope
the reader can taste the blueberry pie and the cream, feel the rain on her
face, and smell the salt on the breeze. I hope that the images provide pleasure
and delight, and that the reader feels connected to the earnest, urgent love at
the core of the poem, which is what occasions the speaker offering this list to
the beloved.
Which part of the poem
was the most emotional of you to write and why? While I wrote this poem, I mostly felt joy and love
and delight. It’s fun to imagine all the things you’d give the person you love,
if you could, and writing it made me feel simultaneously more connected to
Kate, Katherine, and Asad. List poems are fun to write, too, because they start
to create their own momentum, and composition becomes a kind of exhilarating, cascading
process. I also had fun coming up with very different types of items to offer
as gifts—things that maybe wouldn’t actually make great gifts (like the spider)
or that would be impossible to give (like the planets). But I probably felt the
most excitement and satisfaction when I wrote the final couplet, “But I will
give you one thing today,/this first of all the days.” I didn’t write this
couplet in the first draft; I just wrote the long list and didn’t really know
how to end the poem. That came later, with the form.
Then I thought about what would negate or subvert or complicate the big long list of gifts that preceded the “but,” and the answer was to give just one thing. In the final couplet, I could have stated what that “one thing” is, but I wanted the poem to be subtler and more complex, and I also wanted to turn into the idea of marriage—the idea that today is a special day because today is the day of the wedding.
I wanted the poem’s final line to explain why we’ve been talking about gifts and giving this whole time, and to offer the idea that the gift is the wedding, which is the self, the commitment, the promise of marriage. In a way, wedding vows are just lists of promises, which are gifts, so this poem, to me, reads like a set of wedding vows (which is why I put it last in the chapbook). In addition, the caesura at the end of the couplet’s first line set up a feeling of heavy closure for the final line, and I liked the idea of the poem’s final line sounding like both an ending and a whole new beginning (like what a wedding represents).
Has this poem been
published before? And if so where? This poem appeared in my chapbook Epithalamia,
published by Horse Less Press in 2015.
Tennessee Epithalamium
I
want to give you:
the
tiny black spider trembling
on
my shoulder
stars
you can see
in
the daytime
the
crow at the very tip
of
the tallest white oak
blueberry
pie so blue it’s purple
and
the cool rich cream
every
long night before I met you
every
long night when I wanted you
staircase
that creaks perfectly
when
you come home and meet me
a
freedom that glistens brilliant as you
walking
up the path from the lake
stones
wearing crocheted sweaters
the
parts of my history
I
haven’t yet found
fire
and water
the
mundanity of joy
light
rain on your face awakening you
veins
of leaves translucent in sun
far
inland from the ocean
the
smell of salt on the breeze
staked
dogwood learning to grow
a
room of the house entirely for thinking
the
planets, freely given in love for eons
garden
to feed us and two deer
warm
grapes on the vine, perfect orbs
the
red fox opening her eyes in the morning.
But
I will give you one thing today,
this
first of all the days.
Alyse Knorr (Left - December 2018) is an assistant professor of English at Regis
University and editor of Switchback Books. She is the author of the poetry
collections Mega-City Redux (Green
Mountains Review 2017), Copper Mother
(Switchback Books 2016), and Annotated
Glass (Furniture Press Books 2013), as well as the non-fiction book Super Mario Bros. 3 (Boss Fight Books
2016) and the poetry chapbooks Epithalamia
(Horse Less Press 2015) and Alternates
(dancing girl press 2014).
Her work has appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Denver Quarterly, Columbia Poetry Review, The Greensboro Review, and ZYZZYVA, among others. She received her MFA from George Mason University, where she co-founded Gazing Grain Press.
Her work has appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Denver Quarterly, Columbia Poetry Review, The Greensboro Review, and ZYZZYVA, among others. She received her MFA from George Mason University, where she co-founded Gazing Grain Press.
BACKSTORY OF THE POEM
LINKS
001 December 29, 2017
Margo
Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”
002 January 08, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake
Café”
003 January 12, 2018
Barbara
Crooker’s “Orange”
004 January 22, 2018
Sonia
Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”
005 January 29, 2018
Ellen
Foos’s “Side Yard”
006 February 03, 2018
Susan
Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”
007 February 09, 2018
Leslea
Newman’s “That Night”
008 February 17, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”
009 February 24, 2018
Charles
Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”
010 March 03, 2018
Scott
Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”
011 March 10, 2018
Anya
Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”
012 March 17, 2018
Angela
Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”
013 March 24, 2018
Jan
Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”
014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim
Honjo’s “Colors”
015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn
Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”
016 April 27, 2018
Beth
Copeland’s “Reliquary”
017 May 12, 2018
Marlon
L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”
018 May 25, 2018
Juliet
Cook’s “ARTERIAL DISCOMBOBULATION”
019 June 09, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”
020 June 16, 2018
Charles
Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”
021 July 05, 2018
Marla
Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”
022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s
“Studying Ariel”
023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus
Zombie”
024 July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag
2016”
025 August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only
Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”
026 August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In
the Details”
027 August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen
Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”
028 August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two
Deaths”
029 August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s
“Faces in a Crowd”
030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The
Risking Point”
031 September 24,
2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After
We Drove”
032 October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s
“Astral”
033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have
A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”
034 October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache
Peaches of Heaven”
035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s
“Sobriety”
036 October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The
Second Breakfast”
037 November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s
“Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”
038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s
“Women of the Fields”
039 November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”
040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My
Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”
041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s
“Dog Sitting”
042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s
“Mountain”
043 November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”
044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s
“This poem is too neat”
045 December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo
for our Dead Father-in-Law”
046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in
the Throat”
047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial
Day”
048 December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”
049 December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s
“Anniversary”
O50 December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s “For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in
the Texas Desert, June 2014”
051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of
Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov
052 December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry
053 December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan
054 December 29, 2018
“Aftermath”
by Gene Barry
055 January 2, 2019
“&”
by Larissa Shmailo
056 January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz
057 January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy
058 January 11, 2019
“BLOCKADE”
by Brian Burmeister
059 January 12, 2019
“Lost”
by Clint Margrave
060 January 14, 2019
“Menopause”
by Pat Durmon
061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler
062 January 22, 2019
“Views From the
Driveway”
by Amy Barone
063 January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her
haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky
064 January 30, 2019
“Shiprock”
by Terry Lucas
065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The
University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille
066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn
Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro
067 February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown
068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island,
Early June”
by Christine Potter
069 February 12, 2019
“Singing”
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum
070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke
071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper
072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm
of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh
073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A
Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera
074 February 26, 2019
“Anthem”
by Sandy Coomer
075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell
076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear
077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke
My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall
078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother
at 19”
by John Guzlowski
079 March 10, 2019
“Paddling”
by Chera Hammons Miller
080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water
and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings
081 082
083 March 14, 2019
“Little
Political Sense” “Crossing Kansas with
Jim
Morrison” “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey
Martin-Bowen
084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To
Remember”
by Anna Evans
085 March 19, 2019
“At the
End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey
086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of
Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill
087 March 21, 2019
“Letters
From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman
088 March 26, 2019
“HAT”
by Bob Heman
089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for
the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois
#090 March 30, 2019
“The Pose”
by John Hicks
#091 April 2, 2019
“Last
Night at the Wursthaus”
by Doug Holder
#092 April 4, 2019
“Original
Sin”
by Diane Lockward
#093 April 5, 2019
“A Father
Calls to his child on liveleak”
by Stephen Byrne
#094 April 8, 2019
“XX”
by Marc Zegans
#095 April 12, 2019
“Landscape
and Still Life”
by Marjorie Maddox
#096 April 16, 2019
“Strawberries
Have Been Growing Here for Hundreds of
Years”
by Mary Ellen Lough
#097 April 17, 2019
“The New
Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz
#098 April 19, 2019
“Tennessee
Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr
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