Photo Credit: Ayanna Muata
Michael Kleber-Diggs is a poet, essayist, and literary critic. His debut poetry collection, Worldly Things, won the Max Ritvo Poetry Prize and will be published by Milkweed Editions in June of this year. Among other places, Michael’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Great River Review, Water~Stone Review, Poem-a-Day, Poetry Daily, Poetry Northwest, Potomac Review, Hunger Mountain, Memorious, and a few anthologies. Michael is a past Fellow with the Givens Foundation for African American Literature, a past-winner of the Loft Mentor Series in Poetry, and the former Poet Laureate of Anoka County libraries. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net and has been supported by the Minnesota State Arts Board and the Jerome Foundation. Michael is married to Karen Kleber-Diggs, a tropical horticulturist and orchid specialist. Karen and Michael have a daughter who is pursuing a BFA in Dance Performance at SUNY Purchase.
What brought you to writing in the first place?
I've been writing off and on since fourth grade. Back then, I wrote short stories that were mostly based on things I'd heard or seen elsewhere. After hearing about Land Shark on Saturday Night Live, I wrote a story about a shark that was a door-to-door salesperson. I also wrote a story about a motorcycling mouse. I continued writing short stories. I took one creative writing class in college and loved it. In 1999, after a difficult break up the year before, during a time in my life when I was quite busy and more than a little agonized, I found myself writing poems, not only to process the end of that relationship, but also because, back then, I felt I could manage the time poetry seemed to required (I see it time it takes to write a poem differently now). During my first Christmas in my new relationship, my now wife gave me a gift certificate to take a writing class at The Loft Literary Center. I thought about a short-fiction class, but the best fit for my schedule was a poetry class.
What is your writing life like? Do you write every day or when inspiration strikes?
I don't write every day, but, if I had to guess, I write something like 300 days a year. Not always poems. I write essays too. Not always long things or finished things. I don't do well when I point myself in a particular direction. I like the idea of researching a fascinating thing and trying to extract as much out of it as I can. My preference is to stay active and attentive and trust that inspiration will come. So many of my poems are ignited by things I see or think about when I'm walking around my part of the world. In poetry, I would describe myself as oriented toward narrative and within the confessional tradition. I have found recently that essays are where I tend to go to process issues of the day, and poems are where I tend to work inward, to think about myself and my experiences.
Please share with me a poem you wish had written. What in particular do you admire about it?
So many poems came to mind in thinking about my answer to this question. I'll mention a few. John Murillo's "Upon Reading That Eric Dolphy Transcribed Even the Calls of Certain Species of Birds," a great poem about God and cities and faith or faithlessness depending on how you look at it, Dan Albergotti's "Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale," which Natalie Diaz taught to me and is a favorite in lessons I share about metaphor, "Faint Music," by Robert Hass which is a narrative gem, Beckian Fritz Goldberg's "Henry's Song," and Galway Kinnell's "The Quick and the Dead." I could have mentioned any number of African-American masters and the poems that mean so much to my heart - "Those Winter Sundays," for example. I'm currently obsessed with Cameron Awkward Rich's "Cento Between the Ending and the End."
But I choose Jane Kenyon's "The Blue Bowl." This poem means so much to me as a poet. With the exception of the "aquiline nose" that juts out of the poem, "The Blue Bowl" is constructed in plain language. The "meaning" of the poem is simultaneously clear and vast. 'How shall I write about marriage?' she seems to ask and answer. 'How shall I write about loss and mourning, dwelling in them and continuing on?' I prefer to write in plain language too. Although I admire poets who engage the mysterious in ways I do not. By my way of thinking, the topics I write about - race, for example - do not lend themselves to abstraction. I want to be absolutely clear in what the poem is about and, I hope, complex in the framing, structure, and ideas. I want to write to my friends and family who don't read a lot of poetry in ways I hope poets will admire. Early in my poetry reading, I encountered a lot of poets whose work is lyrical and dense and spectacular. I truly admire the depth and skill so many poets can manage in that mode. As a reader, I'm quite drawn to work that can seem elusive initially. That just isn't my authentic voice.
When I encountered Jane Kenyon, my life as a poet changed. I began to consider all the possibilities available through flour, water, salt, yeast, and heat. The specific and disciplined meter in "The Blue Bowl" inspired me to consider how meter could add energy and sonic depth in my work. That declarative tenth line - "There are sorrows much keener than these." - stopped me in my tracks when I read it. It still affects me in the center of my chest. The poem as a metaphor, and the specific metaphor at the end of the poem were like a masterclass for me. I also teach this poem as a way to encourage my students to be stubborn in workshop. I suggest that most workshop readers would circle that "aquiline nose" and suggest something less earnest or distracting. I point out that as artists, we have to stick to our ideas sometimes.
All to say, "The Blue Bowl" as a poem and Jane Kenyon as a writer, allowed me to see a place for my voice in poetry. Few things would mean more to me than writing a poem that would affect an aspiring poet in the same way.
But I choose Jane Kenyon's "The Blue Bowl." This poem means so much to me as a poet. With the exception of the "aquiline nose" that juts out of the poem, "The Blue Bowl" is constructed in plain language. The "meaning" of the poem is simultaneously clear and vast. 'How shall I write about marriage?' she seems to ask and answer. 'How shall I write about loss and mourning, dwelling in them and continuing on?' I prefer to write in plain language too. Although I admire poets who engage the mysterious in ways I do not. By my way of thinking, the topics I write about - race, for example - do not lend themselves to abstraction. I want to be absolutely clear in what the poem is about and, I hope, complex in the framing, structure, and ideas. I want to write to my friends and family who don't read a lot of poetry in ways I hope poets will admire. Early in my poetry reading, I encountered a lot of poets whose work is lyrical and dense and spectacular. I truly admire the depth and skill so many poets can manage in that mode. As a reader, I'm quite drawn to work that can seem elusive initially. That just isn't my authentic voice.
When I encountered Jane Kenyon, my life as a poet changed. I began to consider all the possibilities available through flour, water, salt, yeast, and heat. The specific and disciplined meter in "The Blue Bowl" inspired me to consider how meter could add energy and sonic depth in my work. That declarative tenth line - "There are sorrows much keener than these." - stopped me in my tracks when I read it. It still affects me in the center of my chest. The poem as a metaphor, and the specific metaphor at the end of the poem were like a masterclass for me. I also teach this poem as a way to encourage my students to be stubborn in workshop. I suggest that most workshop readers would circle that "aquiline nose" and suggest something less earnest or distracting. I point out that as artists, we have to stick to our ideas sometimes.
All to say, "The Blue Bowl" as a poem and Jane Kenyon as a writer, allowed me to see a place for my voice in poetry. Few things would mean more to me than writing a poem that would affect an aspiring poet in the same way.
The Blue Bowl
Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole. It fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
that grew between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.
We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows much keener than these.
Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.
What are you reading right now?
Contest submissions! So grateful for a chance to read for contests and see all the spectacular work that's being made. Outside of contest reading, for pleasure, I've gone into summer-reading mode. I just read and completely admired Katherine Heiny's Early Morning Riser. She has super sharp eyes like a raptor; she can take in so much. Early Morning Riser is smart, laugh-out-loud funny at times, profoundly truthful in its observations, loving, lovely, and expertly crafted. I also read Tayari Jones' An American Marriage, which I found to be fiercely provocative. It made me mad in all the right ways. And, right now, I'm reading Jo Nesbø's The Kingdom. I love his dark Scandinavian stories, and this one is super dark. I'm a huge fan of his work, but keep that a secret. As for poetry, almost all the poetry I'm reading, I'm reading on assignment for contest submissions. I've been blown away by and humbled by the level of talent I'm seeing. I have also been spending time with Kevin Young's anthology of African-American poetry - 250 Years of Struggle and Song. Before that, I read Victoria Chang's Obit and Reginald Dwayne Betts's Felon.
