TORONTO — All five poets shortlisted for the Griffin Poetry Prize this year write in the first person, oftentimes about their lives. But they say it would be a mistake to take their work as non-fiction.
Below, The Canadian Press asked the nominees — along with the winner of the Griffin’s First Canadian Book prize — to reflect on the role of the “self” in poetry.
Ada Limon, nominated for “The Hurting Kind”
The Canadian Press: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Limon: To be honest, I don’t think it’s a decision. The poem guides me and at some point during the writing process I begin to follow where it leads. Sometimes the “I” is ever present and sometimes the larger world is the ultimate subject. My job is to listen to the poem and see where it takes me.
CP: In all artistic pursuits, but in poetry especially, there is the potential to be misunderstood. How do you grapple with that when writing about the personal?
Limon: I love that poetry holds space for mystery. With its blank space and breath, it leaves room for the reader to walk in to look around, to see what is theirs, to bring themselves to the words. Because of that, I don’t mind misunderstandings or misreadings. I don’t think you can get a poem “wrong.” And so once I put it out into the world, I let it go. It’s a type of freedom really.
Iman Mersal, nominated for “The Threshold”
CP: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Mersal: For me, there is no conscious decision to reveal myself — any self — in the process of writing. If present at all, that self is hidden, deconstructed, and maybe fabricated. The poem’s “I” — the first person pronoun — is not the writer’s authentic self, indeed it may not represent the author at all. Instead, “I” is the crack or fissure from which an authorial self can emerge, with an always ambiguous relation to the author. The “I” isn’t an identity or the hero of a biographical narrative. It’s the sign of a desire to connect with the world through the work of memory, language, here and now, even if the self’s questions are ancient.
CP: How do you grapple with the prospect of being misunderstood?
Mersal: There is an Arabic proverb that says “The meaning is in the poet’s heart.” This doesn’t mean — for me at least — that a poem has only one secret meaning, but that there are endless meanings literature can give to readers; and some of these meanings might not be intended by authors at all. Literature isn’t confined to ideas that can be understood or misunderstood. When I read “Requiem” by Anna Akhmatova 30 years ago, the poem was for me a modern elegy, the testimony to an era of dictatorship, and the “I” was a political eyewitness. Rereading the same poem after I became a mother gave me a completely different feeling: I became the “I” in the poem, the mother in crisis, grieving her son, who is being taken away. Was my first reading a misunderstanding, or my last one? Maybe active reading always produces new meanings, and hence misunderstandings.
Susan Musgrave, nominated for “Exculpatory Lilies”
CP: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Musgrave: I never show my elbows or my ankles. I was raised by Victorian parents who believed it was scandalous for women to show these sexualized body parts in public (ergo, in poetry).
CP: How do you grapple with the prospect of being misunderstood?
Musgrave: Better to be imperfectly misunderstood than to be perfectly understood. Perfect understanding almost always diminishes pleasure. It would be impossible to write if you worried about being misunderstood.
Roger Reeves, nominated for “Best Barbarian”
CP: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Reeves: There’s no way to hide or absent yourself from a poem. A poem is always autobiographical to some extent even if one is not using an “I” or writing about one’s experience. Any time one is choosing language, one is telling on oneself, revealing something. Of course, there are moments in my life that I don’t write about, but if I choose to use a moment from my life in the poem then I do. However, I would also like to note that poetry is not nonfiction. It’s ultimately a fictive art, which means poets are often embellishing and changing details to make a better poem.
CP: How do you grapple with the prospect of being misunderstood?
Reeves: Yes, misunderstanding is a risk in writing — not just in writing about the personal but in any writing. Writing directions, writing a grocery list, writing an itinerary for a day trip. Misunderstanding is the deal; in the contract one makes when entering language so one must go into any writing endeavour with this in mind. How do I grapple with it? I acknowledge that it can happen, has happened, and keep on writing. If someone is particularly aggrieved, we can talk about it. Otherwise, the writing — the essay, the poem — must go out into the world and live its own life outside of me.
Ocean Vuong, nominated for “Time is a Mother”
CP: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Vuong: I think all language is an expression of the self, and so the poem, regardless of how autobiographically revealing or obscuring, is an enactment of the full self.
CP: How do you grapple with the prospect of being misunderstood?
Vuong: Just as peoples’ lives and experiences can vary, I think so can their interpretations of any text or work of art, which is a wonderful thing. Misunderstanding or these different interpretations are part of the human experience and condition, and poetry, no matter how powerful or capacious, cannot in the end, avoid this. I believe that the work of any writer is to embrace both elucidation and misunderstanding.
Emily Riddle, winner of the Griffin First Canadian Book Prize for “The Big Melt”
CP: How do you decide how much of yourself to show in a poem?
Riddle: Media and reviews of my book have focused on it being personal and this is true, but I am making very specific decisions about what to share, both in terms of my family’s history, my own feelings, and cultural knowledge. The Canadian public often wants to consume Indigenous stories of trauma and it is important for them to continue to engage with narrative of colonialism (an ongoing structure), but I am not here to be consumed as a product. You can have a glimpse but you cannot have everything. I hope that glimpse of nehiyaw life gets people to interrogate their relationship to the land they live on, their family histories, and how we can build a future more aligned with kinship.
CP: How do you grapple with the prospect of being misunderstood?
Riddle: Once my book is published, it is up to others to have a relationship with it. I have released it into the universe and I can steer opinions of it or correct people, but the readers can take what they want from it. Obviously, Indigenous or nehiyaw people are going to get different aspects of the book and I have left those tidbits for them. I have to write to be true to myself and the collectives I belong to and after that, I cannot worry about being misunderstood.
The Griffin Poetry Prize will be handed out at an event in Toronto on Wednesday.
This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 5, 2023.
