Schoenberger, Nancy

English

University of Montana

CutBank Volume 1 Issue 23 CutBank 23 Article 45 Fall 1984 Living like the Grasshopper Nancy Schoenberger Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/cutbank  Part of the Creative Writing Commons Let us know how access to this document benefits you. Recommended Citation Schoenberger, Nancy (1984) "Living like the Grasshopper," CutBank: Vol. 1 : Iss. 23 , Article 45. Available at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/cutbank/vol1/iss23/45 This Prose is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in CutBank by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact scholarworks@mso.umt.edu. Nancy SchoenbergerLiving like the Grasshopperan interview with. N ancy Schoenberger  with an introduction by  B ronw yn  G. PugheNancy Schoenberger is the author of the TAXIDERMIST’S DAUGHTER (Calliopea Press, 1979), which won the initial Montana Arts Council “First Book Award”. (Her book is current­ly distributed by Graywolf Press, Port Townsend, WA.) She has had poems in numerous national publications in­cluding a recent feature in The American Poetry Review. Ms.Schoenberger is the recipient of a 1984 National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship; A ugust and September, 1984 Residencies at Centrum , Port Tow nsend ,Washington; and will be spending February, 1985 at the Rockefeller Foundation Study and Conference Center in Bellagio, Italy.Ms. Schoenberger received her M.A. from Louisiana State Universi­ty and her M.F.A. from Columbia Nancy SchoenbergerUniversity where she was co-editor of Photo by  Joan GraffColumbia: A Magazine o f Poetry and Prose. Like most writers, Nancy has also put in her time in fast food chains, cocktailing, and reading to blind students. More notably, she has taught Freshman Composition at the University of Montana, taught Poetry-ln-The-Schools in Montana, and worked for an independent producer on a documentary series on poets for public television at the Center for Visual History. Ms. Schoenberger was an associate producer for the pilot film on Ezra Pound. She currently teaches a workshop at and runs the book awards program for the Academy of American Poets (AAP) in New York City.Like many authors, Nancy Schoenberger draws on her childhood memories as well as her present experiences and insights for her work. She says her second collection of poems, GIRL ON A WHITE PORCH, “draws on my Southern background, something that continues to engage me the longer I live outside of the South.”* * * * *73Nancy SchoenbergerFive years ago, you m ade a major m ove from the Northwest, Missoula to be precise, to the East Coast, ju s t as your first book, THE TAXIDER­MIST’S  DAUGHTER, was coming out. Your first book was published after being chosen for the Montana First Book Award. You were also a Poet- In-The-Schools in Montana, taught as an instructor at the University and taught a center course in poetry to the general public. Som e critics look at your first book as falling under the Northwest school. Do you  feel this is fair?SCHOENBERGER: I wrote most of the poem s in THE TAXIDERMIST’S DAUGHTER while 1 was living in Missoula, and of course, no one writing in that area at the time could escape the seductive presence of Richard Hugo. I didn’t study with Hugo (though I wish that I had), but I feel as though I absorbed by osmosis som e of Hugo’s precepts and methods: his ability to create character, to tell a story, to evoke a place strongly enough to express a whole attitude and philosophy. In his case, it was one of despair and longing, which is always beautiful and seductive in verse (Joseph  Brodsky has said, “The language wants to be tragic.”) I have tried to do these  things in my own work—with what success  I can ’t say. (That’s for others to determine.)This is a huge country without any real “national” poet or poetry (not since Whitman), so it m akes sense  that poetry flares up in regions. I was influenced by the Northwest, but I d o n ’t identify with it, nor do I identify with “East Coast” poets, a region that enjoys a certain s tam p of a c cep ­tance and visibility because so much of the machinery of the literary world is in New York and Boston: publishers, agents, grant-making and other literary institutions. O ne  of the things I have tried to do at the A cadem y of American Poets in New York City is to bring poets from other regions to New York for the benefits of mutual exposure. This year 1 am  proud to say, w e’re sponsoring a festival of Northwest poets and a festival of Southern poets and 1 hope that, by doing this, we can establish an o n g o ­ing series of regional programs in New York. I think the division will always be there, and I think th a t’s okay (as long as they are divisions and not barriers). After all, who wants a hom ogenized poetry that appeals to all people? The country is already becoming too homogenized, one town looking exactly like the next with its shopping malls and Burger Kings, etc. It’s the specialness and specificity of a place that can nourish the im ­agination. Look what Faulkner did with Mississippi, or Flannery O ’C on­nor with Georgia, or Frost with New England, or Hugo with the Northwest, for that matter. To those  regional poets  who feel shunned  by the East Coast establishment (and that would include 8 0 %  of all poets, probably) 174Nancy Schoenbergersay, create your own awards. Of course, this is already happening to some degree, with state arts council grants, but 1 would love to see foundations like the A cadem y or the Poetry Society springing up in other parts of the country. New York is a grant marketplace, but we all know the work has to have value outside the marketplace, and other schem es  should be d e ­vised to note and appreciate its value.Did the exposure o f your first book help your career or your move? What about the exposure as a back cover feature in A.P.R.?SCHOENBERGER: Alas, my book was never really “exposed .” It was a limited edition to begin with, and then it simply was not distributed very widely, not at all on the East coast. And, since I left the Northwest just when the book cam e out, it was sort of a non-event for me. 1 hope that d o esn ’t happen again. Regarding the APR back cover, 1 did get a couple of fan letters, but 1 think they liked my picture better than they liked my poems.Did your work change due to your move?SCHOENBERGER: Hmmm, my work changed when I moved to New York in that 1 was exposed to Eastern European writers by studying with Joseph  Brodsky and later with Derek Walcott, whose Cribbean poem s turned on a light for me (not to mention his virtuosity of craft and language). I realized 1 could write about what I loved, what drew me, and not just about the immediate sea I was swimming in. That was a revelation—you can write about what you love and about the things that delight you, once you discover what they are.Other than yourself, who do you see as other up and coming or im­portant contemporary poets and why?SCHOENBERGER: The contemporary poets I read with the most e n ­thusiasm are all women poets: Gjertrud Schackenberg, Elizabeth Spires, Louise Gluck, and Elizabeth W eber (whom 1 knew in Montana and who also won a “First Book Award” for SMALL MERCIES, a beautiful and per­suasive book).75Nancy SchoenbergerYou have spen t this p a st year traveling, to Italy and to S o u th  Am erica, and doing various residencies in Port Tow nsend, Italy, etc., and pretty  m uch living o ff  o f  yo u r N .E .A . grant. Has this particular grant helped yo u  to obtain others? A nd, has living in N ew  York helped w ith contacts  tow ards being able to live and  w ork as a writer?SCHOENBERGER: Hmmm, interesting questions. First— I would have to say, no. I do n ’t think the NEA has helped m e get other grants. Maybe the Rockefeller Foundation residency— It’s hard to say, as 1 did apply to that one after receiving the NEA, which was not the case with the Port Townsend residency. But I’ve been living like the grasshopper and not the ant; that is, making art and not storing up for the winter, so 1 haven’t been applying for further grants during the past year, except for the Bellagio residency (Rockefeller Foundation) which seem ed like a gift from heaven. A friend told m e about it and urged m e to apply— 1 had never even heard of it.W hat do yo u  feel is in store for o ther writers and  yo u rse lf in light o f  the current governm enta l trends?SCHOENBERGER: There has been a  lot of panic regarding the possible drying up of funds for the arts, due to R eagan’s philistine conservatism, but I haven’t personally seen  this happen  yet. The next round of NEA fellowships for writers offers $ 2 0 ,0 0 0  grants but this could change a few years down the road as Reagan’s attitudes becom e m ore en trenched . I really can ’t say. 1 have heard, unofficially, that literature grants may be cut by as much as 3 5 %  in the near future, which seem s very possible. Time to retrench, to do what writers have always had to do, figure out a way to live, and write, too. It d o esn ’t look good.Has being a w om an  writer m ade  a difference?SCHOENBERGER: 1 d o n ’t think being a woman writer has m ade  a dif­ference in my case in terms of attracting grants and residencies— 1 haven’t m ade  that an issue in my own work or in the presentation of my work, although 1 admire several women writers who have. There are periodicals and agencies that are interested in promoting w o m en ’s literature per se, which is a good thing, but 1 haven’t gone that route. 1 suppose  1 have76Nancy Schoenbergerbenefited from the efforts of women writers in this country to be heard and to be taken seriously, and I add my voice as another part of the ever- increasing stream. I happen to think that the most interesting poets writing today are women, though I don’t know w hy  that is so. Perhaps it’s all that stored-up energy bursting out after centuries of silence.Do you plan to stay in New York? I know  when you left Missoula you  planned to complete you r MFA at Columbia and then were open. Now  y o u ’ve been in NYC fo r nearly five years.SCHOENBERGER: I didn’t intend to stay in New York City, and I still don’t think of it as “home” . But after a certain age it becomes very hard to move, to support oneself. I would like to divide my time between New York and Louisiana. I love to travel, and New York is a good place to travel from.Has the experience o f working as an editor on the Columbia literary magazine affected your work?SCHOENBERGER: Yes, in that it sharpens your eyes and it makes you more impatient with work that falls short— that’s competently written but has no spark or daring, which is always the great bulk of what’s submitted (and published!) anywhere, at any time. It makes me impatient with the mediocre work of others and also impatient with my own work.What direction are you taking in your w ork now?SCHOENBERGER: More of the same— trying to discover and immerse myself in my “ roots” — an odd thing for a woman who grew up moving every 2 years of her life as a child. I am very drawn to tropical, sensual landscapes. I guess I am a sensualist. I like big, splayed and dripping flowers and tumultuous rivers. I like the heat.You have a second book completed, GIRL ON A  WHITE PORCH, and m aking the rounds. What are its prospects, i f  you can reveal them?77Nancy SchoenbergerSCHOENBERGER: 1 really can’t say right now what its prospects are.Would you tell us something about the book?SCHOENBERGER: GIRL ON A  W HITE PORCH, draws on my Southern background, something that continues to engage me the longer I live ou t­side of the South. 1 try to return to New Orleans at least once a year, where my m other’s fam ily still lives. I was a Navy brat, but I spent summers in Louisiana going between New Orleans and the DEEP South of Buras, Louisiana, Cajun country. 1 just returned from  a trip  to the Amazonian basin and 1 kept th inking while 1 was there, why, this is just like Buras, Louisiana! As a child, it seemed pagan, rich, oppressive and alive to me. Like the Amazon. The Mississippi is also a wild and legendary river.Do you have plans fo r a th ird book? Do you  plan to try fo r foreign publication since you w ill be spending more time abroad?SCHOENBERGER: Nothing begun at this point for a th ird book, though 1 do th ink it will be rooted even more ostensibly in the South than the second manuscript, which includes some work inspired by the Northwest, and a section on Italian painting. I would like to spend more time in Louis­iana and I would like very much to return to the Amazon, though 1 don t know if tha t’s possible at this point. For some reason, 1 find the climate and landscape evocative, nourishing.What attracted you  to living and working in the Italian culture? What is different about being a writer in this culture and in particular an American wom an poet?SCHOENBERGER: I am sorry to say I don’t have a good answer to this one— nothing really. My month in Bellagio in February will probably be spent writing poems about being a little girl in the South. I did spend a month travelling through Italy, and, like any tourist, I loved it and was inspired by the Renaissance paintings, frescoes, and sculpture. I did a series of short poems with the title “ Galleria” describing several of my favorites: Fra Filippo L ipp i’s “ Madonna with the Child and the Angel, Beato Angelico ’s “ A nnuncia tion,” a stunning fresco by Bartole di Fredi,78Nancy Schoenberger“The Creation of M an.” A tourist’s admiration, I’m afraid. I am delighted to be going back, especially since Bellagio is a place of extreme beauty, but 1 m not a student of Italian culture nor of the Renaissance, and I really can ’t com m ent on contemporary writers in Italy. I suspect that North America is the best country to be writing in at this particular time in history—after all, one can go to college and study to write poem s, and even get a degree in it! All one lacks is an audience! The poet has e n ­joyed trem endous respect in the Soviet Union in this century, and still does; the poet isn’t necessarily respected here, nor listened to, but he/she is allowed to continue, and may even be encouraged by an occasional grant or fan letter. I have gotten two (fan letters). On the other hand, g e t­ting a degree in “Creative Writing” imparts a false sense of respectability and acceptance. We re kidding ourselves; to seriously undertake the writing of poetry, which has little or no value in the market place, is a slightly mad act. The old guard poets are perhaps rightly suspicious of the “Creative Writers.” Still, one can  find som e nourishment by taking classes and meeting with other writers, and I do think that’s a good thing, rare in the world.You have taught creative writing am ong  other things. Could yo u  c o m ­m ent on poets and academia, i.e., how  does the situation effect the quality o f yo u r  work, the im petus to work, the am oun t o f  your ow n  w ork yo u  are able to get done? W ould yo u  like to or w ould  yo u  consider teaching  again?SCHOENBERGER: I haven’t taught in an academic setting for som e years now, since leaving the University of Montana, although I teach a workshop now at the AAP, which is a nonprofit arts organization that offers several programs for a poetry audience. I love teaching—small, select groups of course! and it certainly can help in o n e ’s own work, in that it can clarify ones own ideas and tastes in literature. The danger lies in substituting the satisfactions of teaching and talking about literature for writing itself. Because I only teach three to four classes a year now (ten week classes), this is less of a problem. I think being a full-academic is a mixed blessing: you have, usually, a fairly congenial work schedule, at least part of your duties involve talking about the things you love or at least like, you have a certain legitimacy as a writer or scholar. But as everyone knows who’s been involved with academia, the politics, the professional jealousies, the emotional drain of teaching a heavy class load, the sequestered  nature of working within an institution can all have a numbing effect. 1 think I’m fortunate to be able to teach on a part-time basis, and work on other pro-79Nancy Schoenbergergrams on a part-time basis, which leaves me a few extra days a week for my own work. And tim e to travel, which is very im portant to me. Again, there’s no formula, at least as I’ve been able to figure, for the right way to make a living if one is also a writer. I just keep trying different things to keep the writing life alive, and to pay the rent.How does place, where you Hue and w ork and where you have lived and worked, affect the content o f yo u r poems? Does the notion o f ex­patriotism  enter into it? It is a part o f our h istory and present as m any  writers, including yourself, choose to live abroad fo r both b rie f and ex­tended periods o f time.SCHOENBERGER: In a sense, I have chosen to live in an area 1 consider alien to my sense of roots, my sense of place, which, as I have described earlier, is caught up with the notion of deep South. I say notion because my idea of it is mixed up with early childhood memories, my experience of living in Louisiana for seven years as a very young woman, my impression on short trips back South: an amalgam of memories, truths, and myths. It’s not the South I would evoke if I were living there. 1 th ink if I lived there again the place would be consumed in the business of dai­ly life; its m ythic qualities would be lost. So in a sense being separated from  a thing that you love can add to its mystery and beauty. If being an expatriate means essentially being cut-off, then 1 th ink it can affect and enhance the writing, the recollecting of the experience, of the place. I th ink the faculties of memory and imagination are very close— one flows into the other so easily. C. P. Cavafy is very eloquent on this point, par­ticularly when the m em ory is an erotic one as in his poem. . . .BODY, REMEMBER. . . .Body, remember not only how much you were loved,not only the beds you lay on,but also those desires glowing openlyin eyes that looked at you,trem bling for you in voices—only some chance obstacle frustrated them.Now that it ’s all finally in the past, it seems almost as if you gave yourself to those desires too— how they glowed, remember, in eyes that looked at you,remember, body, how they trembled for you in those voices.80Nancy SchoenbergerC. P. Cavafy, Collected Poems; Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherard; Edited by George Savadis; Princeton Gniversity Press,1975 .Some writers with a marvelous eye are very good at describing what is directly in front of them; I prefer to begin in a nebula of memory and in ­vention.*  *  *  *  *This interview was conducted by m ail and phone between Nancy Schoenberger and Bronw yn  G. Pughe.81

Living like the Grasshopper

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Living like the Grasshopper

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