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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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permission by Donna Spruijt-Metz for this CRC Blog Post only unless otherwise
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#97 Backstory of the
Poem
“The New Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz
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? The poem I would love to share is the title poem for the chapbook. The poem is entitled “The New Science of Slippery Surfaces,” and it was published in Poetry Northwest. Here is a link to it online
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? The poem I would love to share is the title poem for the chapbook. The poem is entitled “The New Science of Slippery Surfaces,” and it was published in Poetry Northwest. Here is a link to it online
According to my hard drive, the first version of that poem was written on
March 5, 2017. It was inspired by this blog that I read – I have no idea how I
found the blog, I honestly don’t read a lot of blogs, but for my day job I do
read a lot of science so I must have been looking for something. And I found
this delight. Here is the blog: https://www.wired.com/2016/07/super-slippery-coatings-good-way-ketchup-bottles/
It just brought this poem bubbling up—it reminded me of past things, and
taught me new things, about our world, and about myself. At the time I was putting together the first
draft of the chapbook, and it just had this gaping hole in it, and Maggie Smith
was going to read it and had a specific slot in her schedule so I had to get it
to her within a set timeframe.
Again, according to my hard drive, which is what I use as a brain – I
plunked the first draft of the poem into that first draft of my chapbook (which
has, by the way, been through a gazillion drafts) on March 8, without any
edits. Unlike me, but there was this hole that had to be plugged. Maggie took
it out of the chapbook, felt it wasn’t ready or right, but she was kind enough
to edit it. She suggested a major reordering of the poem, and did some serious
magic with line breaks. I took her suggestions into account and revised the
poem and sent it back to her. This time she liked it, and made a few more
suggestions. I revised it a final time and I put it back into the chapbook.
I workshopped the poem at Bread Loaf in the summer of 2017 with Rick
Barot, who is a marvelous teacher. Some interesting arguments ensued in the
group about whether science belongs in poetry. Rick and one other participant,
Preeti, defended it with vigor. It stayed itself. No more changes. The chapbook
went through several revisions, though, just me tinkering and tinkering and
tinkering, having poem emergencies, sending poems back and forth to good poet
friends, in particular Crystal Stone and Roy White, and in the end, this became
the title poem for the chapbook. So, four revisions in all.
Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great detail. I was at home, in my study. It was right before we revamped the interior. For years, my study had been home to my mother’s Steinway B baby grand piano. I don’t play piano but I was a professional flutist in my first life, and so I used it for understanding harmonies, other people accompanied me sometimes, or we jammed.
But after we re-immigrated to the United States from the Netherlands, and I was working full time at the university as a scientist and writing poetry in earnest, I finally put down the flute, the demanding task mistress that she is. And then I finally let go of the piano—and along with her, my mother. But when I wrote this poem I was at my big white desk overlooking my mother’s big black piano, windows looking out over our green back yard in Southern California.
Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great detail. I was at home, in my study. It was right before we revamped the interior. For years, my study had been home to my mother’s Steinway B baby grand piano. I don’t play piano but I was a professional flutist in my first life, and so I used it for understanding harmonies, other people accompanied me sometimes, or we jammed.
But after we re-immigrated to the United States from the Netherlands, and I was working full time at the university as a scientist and writing poetry in earnest, I finally put down the flute, the demanding task mistress that she is. And then I finally let go of the piano—and along with her, my mother. But when I wrote this poem I was at my big white desk overlooking my mother’s big black piano, windows looking out over our green back yard in Southern California.
Were there any lines in any of your
rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share
them with us? There were several lines that got chopped. The one that I was a bit sorry
to see go pertains to the student wrestling with the siracha, but it really didn’t
fit any more. The line was: ‘does he know what I know?’
What do you want readers of this poem to
take from this poem? How precious and slippery time is—how it slips through
us—how science is making everything faster and more slippery—and how precious
and slippery time is with whoever we love—in this case my child—but slippery
also in another sense—the sense of how I have to be vigilant, always vigilant,
to find the balance between what I want and what my loved ones need.
Anything you would like
to add? Poetry is necessary!!
Thank you again for paying attention to it.
The New
Science of Slippery Surfaces
is revolutionizing containers.
Oil will slide through pipelines,
glue will flow, bacteria will be unable
Oil will slide through pipelines,
glue will flow, bacteria will be unable
to find purchase in stents and IV lines.
Through my one summer
as an incompetent waitress
Through my one summer
as an incompetent waitress
I watched people trying to slap
ketchup out of bottles, then
use a knife. Here in the coffee shop,
ketchup out of bottles, then
use a knife. Here in the coffee shop,
I wait for you and watch
a student at the next table wrestle
with the Sriracha. And you,
a student at the next table wrestle
with the Sriracha. And you,
my daughter, in your doctor’s coat,
your wedding ring, sit down
across from me. I try not to want
your wedding ring, sit down
across from me. I try not to want
too much. Consider all the ways
we try to get things out
that seem to want to stay in,
we try to get things out
that seem to want to stay in,
as if there were a will to it.
Donna Spruijt-Metz is a poet, translator, and Professor of Psychology and Preventive Medicine at the University of Southern California, where she directs the USC mHealth Collaboratory. Her first career was as a professional flutist. She received two MFAs in Flute, one from California Institute of the Arts, and the other from the Royal Conservatory in Den Haag, The Netherlands.
After her family re-
immigrated to the United States, she received an MFA in Creative Writing from Otis College of Art and Design. She started Rabbinical School, but finally abandoned it for poetry.
Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in venues such as Vinyl, The Rumpus, Occulum, Naugatuck River Review, Juked and Poetry Northwest. Her chapbook, Slippery Surfaces, is from Finishing Line Press in March, 2019.
www.donnasmetz.com
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
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