Stonecoast Interview with Teri Elam

In an attempt to enlighten Bostonians and others about Stonecoast Review, which is the center of a big event at the end of October, I am posting this interview of one of the people behind Stonecoast, originally published on the Stonecoast Review website.

 Interview with Teri Elam, poet and new Poetry Editor of the Stonecoast Review, 

University of Southern Maine by Lo Galluccio

Where did you grow up and why did you start writing poetry?

It was at my neighborhood school, Terrace Manor Elementary, in Augusta, Georgia where I fell in love with my first poem, Langston Hughes’, “The Negro Speaks of Rivers.” My 6th grade English teacher, Mrs. Hettie Copeland, would gather us up in a choir and, literally, conduct us as we recited it. Every single time I hear that poem, I think of her. We were silly kids and would laugh at how dramatic Mrs. Copeland seemed as she waved her arms to let us know whether to speak soft or loudly—not knowing how dramatically she was changing our lives by introducing out young black minds to our first black poet. I also learned about Nikki Giovanni that year when Claude Tate came over from the high school to recite “My House” and later that year, my reading teacher, Mrs. Lula Francis, took another student and me so hear Ms. Giovanni at the local college. I still remember how giddy I felt at that reading. I wrote my first poem that year—it was about the first black Santa Claus, and it was published in a local independent paper. That was also the year I wrote down that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.  

I also have to mention my 90-year-old mother, Viola Elam—she used to randomly recite Joyce Kilmer’s poem, “Trees” a poem she had to commit to memory when she was in elementary school back in the 1930’s. So often when I’m walking and feeling whimsical (which is rare lately), I’ll think of that first line whenever I see an amazing tree like the Magnolia, “I think that I shall never see / A poem as lovely as a tree.” My mother also tells a funny story about how my favorite book for her to read to me was One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish every night and if she tried to skip a part, I would know it. In a way, I was learning rhythm, rhyme, and meter before I could even read or write.  So, truth be told, it wasn’t just my neighborhood school, Terrace Manor that was most impactful to me as a writer—it was also my mother. I’m just now really getting how much as I answer this question.

What makes you a poet?  What is it about the genre that captivates you?

 

That’s a great question—one I often sidestep. For some reason, I feel comfortable calling myself a “writer” but am usually shy about calling myself a poet—though I may say that I write poetry. I see poets as elevated beings, and I am still climbing the steps—which is why I’m studying the art form. I will get there.

In an interview in Mosaic Magazine, Lucille Clifton said poetry “is the... human heart speaking.”  That is what captivates me. In a poetry workshop I taught for a classroom of 5th-grade girls, one of the 10-year-olds eagerly pulled me aside at the end to read a poem she wrote about her best friend. I cannot recall the name of the little girl or entire poem, but never forgot that last line describing her best friend: “She is my rich and my poor.” Wow. I still get a little lump in my throat when I think about it. She was so young, but her heart so clearly spoke her feeling about her friend. You could only hope for that type of love with anyone.

I know in some of your poems, you play with space, can you talk about that?

Yes, space and capitalization are something I’ve played with. Initially, I think it was my silent protest, having worked in corporate America for almost 30 years in policy/compliance-based jobs. For art, I wanted the relief of releasing rules and writing unencumbered. As I continued, I realized I needed to be more consistent in how I used it, e.g., was there a difference between 2 or 3 spaces and an emdash in the poem, etc.?  A few of my professors have challenged my lack of punctuation and space, and I have become more intentional about whether I capitalize words or use punctuation or not. For instance, when I worked with Amanda Johnston, this was something we discussed and I feel that it has caused me to grow another dimension as a writer.  

Have you been influenced by any famous or major current poets? 

Definitely, in addition to Langston Hughes and Nikki Giovanni, my list shifts over time. I learned about Lucille Clifton's poetry 20 years ago; I am not alone in this admiration society. My mother is a writer of sorts (though she’d never call herself that)—she’s written countless speeches and introductions for different events that are all so beautifully expressed. However, I know she has a more in-depth truth that if she were a poet like Ms. Clifton, amazing stories might unfold. I wept when I found out she had passed away. I am regretful I never got to study with her but am fortunate to have heard her read once in Atlanta and got a few books signed, including my touchstone: The Book of Light. I’d like to think her energy is preserved in those pages. 

There are so many others like Nikky Finney whose poetry I first discovered in the pages of my mother’s Essence Magazine I used to sneak and “borrow” when I was in college and later Cecilia Woloch, Ruth Forman, and Terrance Hayes. Recently, three books I have been reading and returning to for various reasons are Forest Primeval by Vievee Francis, Millennial Roost by Dustin Pearson and Bestiary by Donika Kelly.

How has your experience been studying poetry at Stonecoast? 

Each semester, the writer-facilitators I get to work with, mentors I am assigned, and students I collaborate with remind me I made the right decision for this point in my life. I love the community learning experience and workshop-based learning. I appreciate being able to explore other genres, therefore having exposure to writers I may not otherwise have. In addition to growing creatively, working with facilitators like Cate Marvin my first semester provided a quick intro to writing academically.

Because we are such a small fraction of the students at Stonecoast, I feel the poetry students are close and will continue our connections beyond graduation. As a matter of fact, I have met one of my closest friends in the program and that alone is worth its weight in parchment paper.

Stonecoast works to encourage and create inclusive spaces; I feel my role is to challenge and question the space as well as contribute to it and help it grow.

Are there any forms, for instance, sonnet or villanelle, that you like to use? 

I love form poetry. Sometimes when I get stuck freewriting, I’ll switch to a poetic form. I heard about a study some years ago related to kids in schoolyards at recess. The study showed that when the school was not fenced in, children would play close to the school, but if it had a fence, kids would play near, on, and over the fence, etc. I see writing in a form as freeing in a similar way. I used to take piano lessons when I was a kid and my teacher, Mrs. Rosa Tutt, was strict about learning how to read music. So even though I played a regrettable “Moonlight Sonata,” I knew the difference between adagio and allegro, etc. and then Mrs. Tutt would allow for improvisation. Sonia Sanchez has also said learn and understand the poetic form first, then make it yours.  

The forms I’ve used include the pantoum, contrapuntal (that Tyehimba Jess gave life) and the anagram poem Terrace Hayes introduced. I’ve also experimented with the Bop poem created by Afaa Michael Weaver during a Cave Canem poetry retreat and the Gigan, a form crafted by Ruth Ellen Kocher named after the arch-enemy of Godzilla. Evie Shockley has written Gigans and architects her poetry on the page in fascinating and different ways in both the new black and semiautomatic. One poetic form I will be more intentional about working on are sonnets—my #lifegoal is working them as masterfully as Patricia Smith does, e.g., in her poem “Motown Crown” and others.

What inspires you to write a poem? 

Probably not much different than most writers, I am inspired by what hits me in the gut or heart. This past year I’ve written a lot about anger in some form or fashion and also about getting older. I've also been thinking about my family dynamics a lot lately and have written about my relationship with my mother more than I have in the past; mainly about how our relationship is kinda like the old movie, Freaky Friday, in a way—shifting and reversing itself. 

Can you say something about the jewel thief that you’ve written poems about? 

      Oh, I can say quite a bit, but I’ll try to control myself. I became fascinated with Doris Payne's story after watching The Life and Crimes of Doris Payne. I could not imagine how a Black woman, my mother’s age, could manage to travel all over the world and steal diamonds, even before Civil Rights were an assumption. Her story is more than her being a jewel thief—she was a jewel thief who subverted racial, cultural, social and economic limitations. Her first theft was unintentional and a result of how a jewelry store owner’s behavior changed toward her when a white customer came in his store—she became invisible to him which resulted in him forgetting she had the watch on he was showing her. She spoke about how this treatment hurt and embarrassed her, and I think this is the poetry of her story—its heart.

 

     I knew she lived in Atlanta because she had gotten arrested a few times, so I tried various avenues to meet her. I wanted to share the poem I wrote about her that had been published, but after two years I gave up. Well, one day I walked to the mall for lunch at an unusual time, and I come across two women, one young and one elderly that were lost. The young woman was helping the elderly woman who was quite lovely, smartly dressed, with a certain air. So I started giving her directions and looked into her eyes and froze, mid-sentence—saying in as calm a voice as I could muster, “I know you!” You guessed it, it was Doris Payne! Long story short, I walked her to the train station, told her about the poem, she said to me about one of her friends who had died and referenced the documentary about her life. She was just as I’d imagine her. She gave me her number, we hugged, then she got on the train, and I levitated on to lunch.

     Tessa Thompson landed a deal to star as her in an upcoming movie. I have high hopes she will get to the core of Doris Payne’s story—not just that she is a “jewel thief” but the why behind it all and why she has never really stopped.  I never did call her—but look twice whenever I see an elderly black woman near that mall. In the meantime, the moment we had is still surreal to me continue to live in the beauty of that space.

In what direction do you see your work going now?  What would like to explore? 

I’m at a crossroads in my work and life. I’m coming to the end of some things, in the middle of others, and hopefully at the beginning of many more. I identify as queer, and this outing occurred later in my life, so I intend to explore that in my poetry. I am also very interested in researching and writing about “mind health," a phrase coined by my good friend and Stonecoast classmate, Jennifer Brooke, in part to demonstrate the health of our minds is equal to that of the health of our bodies. For example, if we have chest pain or suffer from an illness like diabetes, we can seek help without fear of judgment, and we are not as concerned with sharing it with others. However, there are at times a negative connotation associated with “mental health" which complicates this invisible health concern. Using the phrase "mind health" could make the necessary conversations about this issue more relatable and will hopefully start being used widely to take one layer away from this severe and invisible health concern. 

My Aunt Dene, now deceased, had mind health issues throughout her life and was sent to what was once called Georgia State Sanitarium in Milledgeville, Georgia in the 60s. I am in the process of trying to obtain her records because I know she received electric shock therapy and I want to know as much about her treatment there as I can. Her life was cloaked in secrecy, and it was only in her death I learned she was creative—played the piano, painted, and volunteered at the small local theatre in Augusta. 

I want to write a series of poems and prose about familial, cultural, social, political and personal, etc. issues related to mind health and, of course, family secrets. I have started on them and hope to have quite a few done for my graduation thesis.

What are some challenges you have perceived in regards to writing as a poet in these politically charged times? 

I was at AWP in early 2017 when Terrance Hayes read several of his sonnets from his newest book, American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin. It was transcendent—the best I felt since the prior November. After the election, I was numb when after a few days, a good friend of mine, Ozell, said to me, “Teri it’s time to get over it—you must've forgotten that we already know how to do this." And I got over it in just that moment. He was right—the world on fire was nothing new for me as a black woman growing up and living in the south. My poetry is always informed by who I am as a whole and how the world around me is treating me as a whole. I was no longer sad or depressed about the election, but angry as hell.  However, my anger is also because a lot of well-intended people act like racism and sexism is something brand new. It ain’t new. The truth is that people can no longer turn a blind eye to it because it is slapped in your face every day. Turn one cheek, then here’s a slap on the other. 

So, admittedly, it is sometimes hard to write about it because I have to manage my anger every single day, it's something new from Charlottesville to Puerto Rico, to verbal attacks on black women to vulgar pictures drawn of Serena Williams, to microinequities, to plain-old old school fortified racism. I often ignore the news and social media sometimes to keep my blood pressure down and center myself and write. I believe this is why I’ve written more about the personal, like my family, etc. But, sometimes it just feels damn good to ‘cuss’ out loud in my home, then release my rage onto the page—in hopes to edit some art out of it. 

What do you feel is your unique contribution as poetry editor of Stonecoast Review?

Everything I am comes with me to this role and is what I will use to situate myself as a reader, writer, and listener of poetry. This is what I bring to the Stonecoast Review, and within those sensibilities, I will look for diverse voices that cross and intersect, that may be similar to mine or dissimilar. But mainly I will be looking for, as Lucille Clifton put it, the “human heart…speaking” because that is one thing that we all have in common. 

Teri Elam is a recent finalist for the Rita Dove Award in Poetry and honorable mention recipient of the Jeff Marks Memorial Poetry award. teri is a Cave Canem Fellow, aVONA Alum, and a Graduate Fellow of The Watering Hole and was, in a former life, the poetry editor for Generations Literary Journal. In this current life, she lives, works, and plays in Atlanta and, twice a year, Maine.