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January-March 2016
Interview David Ray, Tucson |
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David Ray. Photo by Patricia Palmer
In his long career, David Ray has published many essays, a memoir, and twenty-two volumes of poetry. Among his many awards are two William Carlos Williams Awards from the Poetry Society of America. He has taught at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Cornell University, Reed College, and as a visiting professor in India, New Zealand, and Australia. He is a professor emeritus, University of Missouri, Kansas City. His work has been published in Harper's, The Paris Review, The New Yorker and other noteworthy publications. Ray has also written commentary on political and social issues with particular attention to American militarism and warfare. He and his wife, poet and essayist Judy Ray, have lived in Tucson many years.
SAN: David, let’s start at the place where you are now rather than attempt to recap your illustrious career. What is the title and theme of your most recent volume of poetry? Please tell us a little about this work.
SAN: David, let’s start at the place where you are now rather than attempt to recap your illustrious career. What is the title and theme of your most recent volume of poetry? Please tell us a little about this work.
David Ray_Hemingway: A Desperate Life_
David Ray: My latest book is Hemingway: A Desperate Life, which deals with many of Ernest Hemingway’s experiences, including his participation in the Spanish Civil War, World War I and World War II. It was a dramatic life, too. He had been wounded several times and had an incredible amount of shrapnel buried in his body. He survived two airplane crashes in Africa, and it was reported all over the world that he had died there. Hemingway was married four times to very different women and spent a great deal of time in France and Spain, where he became a good friend of bullfighters. He wrote about bullfighting, wars, marital difficulties, romance, and hunting, and was admired by many celebrities including movie stars and other great writers such as F. Scott Fitzgerald. He was one of the most complicated and influential writers, especially for his spare style which has been imitated by many younger writers.
There have been thousands of prose books about Hemingway, but so far as I know, my book is the only one that dramatizes his life in poetry. I don’t use long narrative forms, though. These are short poems, mostly addressing incidents and relationships chronologically.
Hemingway won big (the Nobel Prize and his first wife Hadley) and he lost big (his other three wives and his horrible suicide).
There have been thousands of prose books about Hemingway, but so far as I know, my book is the only one that dramatizes his life in poetry. I don’t use long narrative forms, though. These are short poems, mostly addressing incidents and relationships chronologically.
Hemingway won big (the Nobel Prize and his first wife Hadley) and he lost big (his other three wives and his horrible suicide).
SAN: Do you find that your poetry and your concerns have changed over the course of your life, or do you revisit the same themes again and again?
DR: Good question. Yes, and no. I compose new work near daily, responding to a multitude of concerns in a rapidly changing world, including war, current events, environmental themes, as well as inspiration that comes without much provocation, except from reading and meditative walks, usually with our dog Zuni. Some of the themes do persist. I wrote a great deal about the Vietnam war and its results. More recently, I have addressed the current wars, as in my book The Death of Sardanapalus and Other Poems of the Iraq Wars. I am also an activist against the death penalty, and a Quaker by convincement.
Other themes that surface again and again are unfortunate childhood experiences, as described in my memoir, The Endless Search, and grief, primarily for my son Samuel Cyrus David Ray who was killed in a terrible accident when he was a student at Carleton College in Minnesota. A collection of those poems was gathered into Sam’s Book. However, many of my poems are about family and love, and they ameliorate the pain of writing about these other experiences. Much of the power of poetry’s therapeutic effects is in the sheer work of it. I also might mention that I write both free verse and formal, such as sonnets, and I am an obsessive composer of haiku.
SAN: Do you have a discipline or process that you follow as a writer? Do you write at the same time every day, or do you write in a state of intense inspiration no matter when and where it occurs?
DR: I write impulsively any time and any place when the spirit moves me. Mostly I write at my desk or the kitchen table at home, but also about any other place available. Cafes, libraries, outdoor picnic tables, classrooms. No matter where I work, I am always astounded by how much time it takes to write anything at all.
I try to have a little notebook handy at all times, but if I don’t I’ll write on any scrap of paper available. I’ll share with you a little poem about this:
Scraps
Along the roadside
I write on a curled leaf.
I write on a cardboard cleverly
folded for toting the beer.
I write on a sack flung
in the sun. I write
on a bluejay’s feather, the white
edge that he’s left me,
and I write on the air
because it too is blank
and invites words of despair.
DR: Good question. Yes, and no. I compose new work near daily, responding to a multitude of concerns in a rapidly changing world, including war, current events, environmental themes, as well as inspiration that comes without much provocation, except from reading and meditative walks, usually with our dog Zuni. Some of the themes do persist. I wrote a great deal about the Vietnam war and its results. More recently, I have addressed the current wars, as in my book The Death of Sardanapalus and Other Poems of the Iraq Wars. I am also an activist against the death penalty, and a Quaker by convincement.
Other themes that surface again and again are unfortunate childhood experiences, as described in my memoir, The Endless Search, and grief, primarily for my son Samuel Cyrus David Ray who was killed in a terrible accident when he was a student at Carleton College in Minnesota. A collection of those poems was gathered into Sam’s Book. However, many of my poems are about family and love, and they ameliorate the pain of writing about these other experiences. Much of the power of poetry’s therapeutic effects is in the sheer work of it. I also might mention that I write both free verse and formal, such as sonnets, and I am an obsessive composer of haiku.
SAN: Do you have a discipline or process that you follow as a writer? Do you write at the same time every day, or do you write in a state of intense inspiration no matter when and where it occurs?
DR: I write impulsively any time and any place when the spirit moves me. Mostly I write at my desk or the kitchen table at home, but also about any other place available. Cafes, libraries, outdoor picnic tables, classrooms. No matter where I work, I am always astounded by how much time it takes to write anything at all.
I try to have a little notebook handy at all times, but if I don’t I’ll write on any scrap of paper available. I’ll share with you a little poem about this:
Scraps
Along the roadside
I write on a curled leaf.
I write on a cardboard cleverly
folded for toting the beer.
I write on a sack flung
in the sun. I write
on a bluejay’s feather, the white
edge that he’s left me,
and I write on the air
because it too is blank
and invites words of despair.
David Ray_The Endless Search_
SAN: You are the son of an Oklahoma sharecropper who abandoned your family when you were a child. You and your sister experienced poverty and abuse at the hands of the foster care system at that time. Why do you think these early painful experiences led you to poetry rather to some other art form, or perhaps to an entirely different life in business or politics or some other venture?
DR: I literally, starting in my teens, had to write myself out of despair. And yes, my sister Mary Ellen and I were abused as children and survived some terrible experiences in foster homes and a place in Tulsa called The Children’s Home. The prose memoir I mentioned, The Endless Search, describes much of that history. Poetry, however, has sometimes meant survival and freedom from depression, and the encouragement to struggle in many ways. Poetry is the genre that expresses more accurately and powerfully the feelings of a writer. The great poet e. e. cummings wrote of poetry as “Since feeling is first…” Fortunately, I also write about love.
SAN: You and poet Robert Bly were founders of American Writers Against the Vietnam War. Since that war, you’ve written about other American wars, including Iraq. You are also an inveterate writer of Letters to the Editor about war and other social and political issues. Why do you think poetry a good way to approach the issue of warfare and other social concerns?
DR: A Poetry Reading Against the Vietnam War is a small book which Robert Bly and I edited, which printed short pieces by Abraham Lincoln, Galway Kinnell, Adolf Hitler, John F. Kennedy, William Stafford, Robinson Jeffers, Lyndon B. Johnson, Thucydides, James Wright, Walt Whitman, and from the Book of Ecclesiastes of the St. James edition of the Bible.
On the back cover of our small book, a description states: “This book is a collection of poems and prose pieces that have been chosen by various poets and read by the poets at the poetry readings against the Vietnam war held at many campuses and public halls in the United States during the spring of 1966. The poets have not gathered to read propagandistic poetry, but to testify by the presence of their bodies on stage that they were opposed to the United States pursuit of the Vietnam war. The American Writers against the Vietnam War was organized by Robert Bly and David Ray in March, 1966, to encourage writers and students to take a public stand on the war, and to encourage read-ins at all major campuses in the country.”
I don’t think poetry or any other form of protesting by writing is at all an effective way to end a war. W. H. Auden said way back at the beginning of World War II that “poetry makes nothing happen.” I think that we write poetry about these events we can do little or nothing about in order to forgive ourselves for not being effective in stopping the madness. A Victorian writer said that the morning newspaper is both an Iliad and an Odyssey. We can see that war is a tragedy in that it only provokes a bigger and more destructive war. All wars provoke retaliation and constant escalation. Our own current wars have been admittedly extended with no end in sight.
My book, The Death of Sardanapalus and Other Poems of the Iraq Wars, published in 2004, has a dedication, which reads: “This book is dedicated to all who speak out against war and to those who encourage dissent and artistic expression rather than crush unwelcome voices with every manner of censorship, official and covert.”
It seems that most of us in this country ignore much of what is happening day by day in the current wars after so many years of engagement. Those of us who would protest, whether by writing or other ways, have mostly quit doing so with any vigor and effectiveness. We simply give up spiritually and practically. But a big issue here is what I think of as the “over here/over there” phenomenon. We are at war, but the bombs are not raining on us daily. We have an illusion of safety.
There is certainly a long distinguished history of poets writing about subjects like war and other major social issues, but poetry does not seem to be as vital today in expressing these concerns. Some participants in war write poetry about the powerful experience, and maybe it helps to exorcise suffering and memories.
DR: I literally, starting in my teens, had to write myself out of despair. And yes, my sister Mary Ellen and I were abused as children and survived some terrible experiences in foster homes and a place in Tulsa called The Children’s Home. The prose memoir I mentioned, The Endless Search, describes much of that history. Poetry, however, has sometimes meant survival and freedom from depression, and the encouragement to struggle in many ways. Poetry is the genre that expresses more accurately and powerfully the feelings of a writer. The great poet e. e. cummings wrote of poetry as “Since feeling is first…” Fortunately, I also write about love.
SAN: You and poet Robert Bly were founders of American Writers Against the Vietnam War. Since that war, you’ve written about other American wars, including Iraq. You are also an inveterate writer of Letters to the Editor about war and other social and political issues. Why do you think poetry a good way to approach the issue of warfare and other social concerns?
DR: A Poetry Reading Against the Vietnam War is a small book which Robert Bly and I edited, which printed short pieces by Abraham Lincoln, Galway Kinnell, Adolf Hitler, John F. Kennedy, William Stafford, Robinson Jeffers, Lyndon B. Johnson, Thucydides, James Wright, Walt Whitman, and from the Book of Ecclesiastes of the St. James edition of the Bible.
On the back cover of our small book, a description states: “This book is a collection of poems and prose pieces that have been chosen by various poets and read by the poets at the poetry readings against the Vietnam war held at many campuses and public halls in the United States during the spring of 1966. The poets have not gathered to read propagandistic poetry, but to testify by the presence of their bodies on stage that they were opposed to the United States pursuit of the Vietnam war. The American Writers against the Vietnam War was organized by Robert Bly and David Ray in March, 1966, to encourage writers and students to take a public stand on the war, and to encourage read-ins at all major campuses in the country.”
I don’t think poetry or any other form of protesting by writing is at all an effective way to end a war. W. H. Auden said way back at the beginning of World War II that “poetry makes nothing happen.” I think that we write poetry about these events we can do little or nothing about in order to forgive ourselves for not being effective in stopping the madness. A Victorian writer said that the morning newspaper is both an Iliad and an Odyssey. We can see that war is a tragedy in that it only provokes a bigger and more destructive war. All wars provoke retaliation and constant escalation. Our own current wars have been admittedly extended with no end in sight.
My book, The Death of Sardanapalus and Other Poems of the Iraq Wars, published in 2004, has a dedication, which reads: “This book is dedicated to all who speak out against war and to those who encourage dissent and artistic expression rather than crush unwelcome voices with every manner of censorship, official and covert.”
It seems that most of us in this country ignore much of what is happening day by day in the current wars after so many years of engagement. Those of us who would protest, whether by writing or other ways, have mostly quit doing so with any vigor and effectiveness. We simply give up spiritually and practically. But a big issue here is what I think of as the “over here/over there” phenomenon. We are at war, but the bombs are not raining on us daily. We have an illusion of safety.
There is certainly a long distinguished history of poets writing about subjects like war and other major social issues, but poetry does not seem to be as vital today in expressing these concerns. Some participants in war write poetry about the powerful experience, and maybe it helps to exorcise suffering and memories.
David Ray_Sam's Book_
SAN: You have taught writing to hundreds if not thousands of students now both in university contexts and in workshops. Do you miss teaching? What is the value of teaching for an artist?
DR: Teaching is very stimulating because you read and discuss great literature, and some universities have the helpful policy of allowing you to discuss matters without any censorship. Yes, I do miss teaching, and I take advantage of most offerings to present poetry readings or other opportunities to engage in teaching. Creative writing workshops that I have conducted have always been a learning experience for me, too. But I have also felt ambiguous about sacrificing time to write when I had to work regularly as teacher and editor and other roles in universities (such as attending faculty meetings). I feel that my best contribution to society in the future is writing rather than devoting myself to the careers of other writers. Besides, I believe that writing itself is teaching, sometimes to a larger audience.
SAN: You take up the issues of grief and writing-as-therapy in your workshops and readings. Can you tell us a little about how writing poetry can help a person deal with grief, and how it can be a form of artistic therapy?
DR: Overwhelming grief needs to be expressed and that expression can be curative. Writing is among the most effective ways to vent emotions. It is not a feel-good kind of thing, but it helps over time. This immediate kind of writing is not done with literary ambitions. When our son Sam died, I immediately started expressing almost automatically my feelings about this loss. The biggest one in my life. I was not aware that the poems that accumulated this way had literary possibilities. They came to me without planning and simply poured forth. But when I shared some of the poems with my friend Robert Bly, he sent the manuscript to Wesleyan University Press and recommended that they substitute Sam’s Book for another book of mine that they were planning to publish. We never got back to publish the other manuscript.
Poets have often dealt with grief by elegiac poetry. Some of the great ones are Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” Shelley’s elegy for John Keats,” Dickinson’s “Because I Could Not Stop for Death,” Whitman’s “Oh Captain! My Captain!,” Edward Thomas’s “Anthem for Doomed Youth,” and Dylan Thomas’s “After the Funeral.”
I do think writing poetry is a matter of catharsis, giving some relief from painful experiences. When in the grip of these feelings, I don’t think one has a conscious awareness of the fate of the expression. Any formal presentation is simply incidental. Positive feedback was for me more than welcome, though, especially when a couple wrote to me saying that reading Sam’s Book had saved their lives, because after a child of theirs died they were going to kill themselves. What greater honor could a writer hope for?
DR: Teaching is very stimulating because you read and discuss great literature, and some universities have the helpful policy of allowing you to discuss matters without any censorship. Yes, I do miss teaching, and I take advantage of most offerings to present poetry readings or other opportunities to engage in teaching. Creative writing workshops that I have conducted have always been a learning experience for me, too. But I have also felt ambiguous about sacrificing time to write when I had to work regularly as teacher and editor and other roles in universities (such as attending faculty meetings). I feel that my best contribution to society in the future is writing rather than devoting myself to the careers of other writers. Besides, I believe that writing itself is teaching, sometimes to a larger audience.
SAN: You take up the issues of grief and writing-as-therapy in your workshops and readings. Can you tell us a little about how writing poetry can help a person deal with grief, and how it can be a form of artistic therapy?
DR: Overwhelming grief needs to be expressed and that expression can be curative. Writing is among the most effective ways to vent emotions. It is not a feel-good kind of thing, but it helps over time. This immediate kind of writing is not done with literary ambitions. When our son Sam died, I immediately started expressing almost automatically my feelings about this loss. The biggest one in my life. I was not aware that the poems that accumulated this way had literary possibilities. They came to me without planning and simply poured forth. But when I shared some of the poems with my friend Robert Bly, he sent the manuscript to Wesleyan University Press and recommended that they substitute Sam’s Book for another book of mine that they were planning to publish. We never got back to publish the other manuscript.
Poets have often dealt with grief by elegiac poetry. Some of the great ones are Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” Shelley’s elegy for John Keats,” Dickinson’s “Because I Could Not Stop for Death,” Whitman’s “Oh Captain! My Captain!,” Edward Thomas’s “Anthem for Doomed Youth,” and Dylan Thomas’s “After the Funeral.”
I do think writing poetry is a matter of catharsis, giving some relief from painful experiences. When in the grip of these feelings, I don’t think one has a conscious awareness of the fate of the expression. Any formal presentation is simply incidental. Positive feedback was for me more than welcome, though, especially when a couple wrote to me saying that reading Sam’s Book had saved their lives, because after a child of theirs died they were going to kill themselves. What greater honor could a writer hope for?
SAN: Please comment on how teaching in three countries colonized by the British (Australia, New Zealand, and India) interfaced with your own experience as a poet from a country colonized by the British? (the U.S.)
DR: These opportunities taught me a great deal about other cultures and led me to friendships and relationships I would never otherwise have had. Of course, thanks to the prevalence of the English language, I was able to teach in countries where brilliant people knew several languages as well as English.
I enjoyed teaching in situations where I could learn at least as much as the students. So when I got opportunities to go to these countries as a visiting professor, I jumped at the chance of living and working there. They were exciting learning experiences for me, and inspiration for much writing. My observations in each of these countries led to books of poetry, Kangaroo Paws, Wool Highways, and The Maharani’s New Wall. I also became familiar with the different literatures of those countries—very rich and varied.
SAN: What do you think is the state of poetry in America today? Has there been an increase in interest in writing and reading poetry? Or is it always going to be for a relative few?
DR: There is always an audience for poetry though it is hard to accurately gauge the interest in it. There has been a proliferation of creative writing programs in universities, starting with the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and in high schools. An untold number of successful contemporary poets have come out of those programs and usually inspire others.
No doubt, the popularity of computers and communication via the Internet have revolutionized the art of writing and availability of literature for reading. It’s easy to sign up on different websites and receive poems each day in your Inbox. Of course, this also provokes everyone to post their own creations in blogs and elsewhere.
As far as the rest of your question goes about the state of poetry, I refuse to answer on the grounds of incriminating myself.
SAN: Juan Felipe Herrera was recently appointed California Poet Laureate after winning a National Book Critics Circle award and other awards, too. Do you predict an upsurge in interest in writings by Hispanic, especially Mexican-American writers?
DR: Actually Juan Felipe Herrera already served as California’s poet laureate, and he has just recently taken up his appointment as U.S. poet laureate. The first poet laureate of Arizona, Alberto Rios, is also of Hispanic origin. I think there already is a vigorous interest in Hispanic writers.
SAN: If you got stuck on the proverbial desert isle with only one book of poetry or only one poem, what book or poem would it be?
DR: One book? The King James version of The Bible, very rich in poetry.
Although, actually, I wouldn’t go to a desert isle, because it will soon be under the sea, due to global warming. But should I go to a distant part of the ocean, I would probably go in a houseboat with a huge library of books of all kinds. And since there will be little artificial light out there, the deck of my houseboat will be perfect for stargazing and moonwatching which are always conducive to feeling poetic.
Learn more about David Ray on his website http://www.davidraypoet.com/
DR: These opportunities taught me a great deal about other cultures and led me to friendships and relationships I would never otherwise have had. Of course, thanks to the prevalence of the English language, I was able to teach in countries where brilliant people knew several languages as well as English.
I enjoyed teaching in situations where I could learn at least as much as the students. So when I got opportunities to go to these countries as a visiting professor, I jumped at the chance of living and working there. They were exciting learning experiences for me, and inspiration for much writing. My observations in each of these countries led to books of poetry, Kangaroo Paws, Wool Highways, and The Maharani’s New Wall. I also became familiar with the different literatures of those countries—very rich and varied.
SAN: What do you think is the state of poetry in America today? Has there been an increase in interest in writing and reading poetry? Or is it always going to be for a relative few?
DR: There is always an audience for poetry though it is hard to accurately gauge the interest in it. There has been a proliferation of creative writing programs in universities, starting with the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and in high schools. An untold number of successful contemporary poets have come out of those programs and usually inspire others.
No doubt, the popularity of computers and communication via the Internet have revolutionized the art of writing and availability of literature for reading. It’s easy to sign up on different websites and receive poems each day in your Inbox. Of course, this also provokes everyone to post their own creations in blogs and elsewhere.
As far as the rest of your question goes about the state of poetry, I refuse to answer on the grounds of incriminating myself.
SAN: Juan Felipe Herrera was recently appointed California Poet Laureate after winning a National Book Critics Circle award and other awards, too. Do you predict an upsurge in interest in writings by Hispanic, especially Mexican-American writers?
DR: Actually Juan Felipe Herrera already served as California’s poet laureate, and he has just recently taken up his appointment as U.S. poet laureate. The first poet laureate of Arizona, Alberto Rios, is also of Hispanic origin. I think there already is a vigorous interest in Hispanic writers.
SAN: If you got stuck on the proverbial desert isle with only one book of poetry or only one poem, what book or poem would it be?
DR: One book? The King James version of The Bible, very rich in poetry.
Although, actually, I wouldn’t go to a desert isle, because it will soon be under the sea, due to global warming. But should I go to a distant part of the ocean, I would probably go in a houseboat with a huge library of books of all kinds. And since there will be little artificial light out there, the deck of my houseboat will be perfect for stargazing and moonwatching which are always conducive to feeling poetic.
Learn more about David Ray on his website http://www.davidraypoet.com/