Tuesdays with Morzant:
Getting to Know a Poet
MORZANT: Zulko, humans. Today I’ll be interviewing Joyce Sidman, the writer Bigfoot would most like to go newt-hunting with. Zulko, Joyce
JOYCE SIDMAN: Zulko, Morzant.
MORZANT: Joyce, you’re a poet. Poetry is an aspect of Earth literature I find increasingly fascinating. Given the topics you’ve written about, it appears we also share an appreciation for science, mathematics, and Earth’s natural world. You even like snails. Was poetry the spark that illuminated those interests or did those interests ignite your passion for poetry?
JS: I think two interests converged. Earth’s natural world is fascinating to me, and so are words and the power of language. Poetry is the perfect form for expressing the wonder I feel when confronted with Earth’s varied faces. Especially snails. And newts.
MORZANT: On a side note, do you also share my interest in the tensile properties of Rice Krispies Treats?
JS: What sentient being would not? However, I am even more interested in the melting properties of chocolate on the tongue. Sorry…I…assume you have a tongue, Morzant?
MORZANT: As a matter of fact, I do. But until this moment, it never occurred to me to use it as an instrument for conducting scientific studies. The melting properties of chocolate on a tongue would be interesting. I’d have to consider milk chocolate versus dark. And, of course, I’d have to take into consideration my higher body temperature as compare to a human’s. I wonder if marshmallows affect the melting point of chocolate.
Please forgive me. I’m easily sidetracked by new scientific pursuits. Let’s get back to you and your writing. In my research for this interview, I discovered an essay you wrote in which you listed several reasons you write poetry. You explained how poems can act as a record of an experience for later reflection. Scientific research is similar; however, whereas my research is based on recording precise measurements and objective analytical observations, you employ a literary device called metaphor. Metaphors attempt to convey information about an object or event by comparing it to a seemingly unrelated object or event. How do you explain the extraordinary effectiveness of that paradoxal methodology?
JS: I can’t totally explain it. Like many paradoxes, it is mysterious. But I do know that an apt metaphor can convey more in a few words than a whole page of description. For example, the metaphor, “his face lit up like a birthday cake” says so much more than the exact details of how that face looked. Somehow we know—because birthdays among humans are full of bright lights, surprises, and joy—that this face is happy and expectant.
MORZANT: Successful metaphors appear to rely on a writer and reader sharing a common pool of knowledge and, therefore, a common frame of reference. Sadly, because I’m still learning about your planet, many metaphors in Earth literature escape my understanding. Similarly, unless you had visited my planet, it’s not likely you’d appreciate my intended sentiment when I say your eyes are a Zeentonian sky during dermonitapo season. Do you struggle to select the most effective metaphors for a general audience, an audience that perhaps includes a reader who may be unfamiliar with your planet’s idiosyncrasies?
JS: Good point. Metaphors need to come from shared knowledge and shared experience. So perhaps the above birthday cake metaphor might not resonate with someone from Zeentonia—unless, of course, Zeentonians celebrate birthdays with many-candled cakes. But to answer your question: yes, I try to find metaphors that are unique and vivid, but also accessible to any reader in the known world.
MORZANT: Zeentonians celebrate birthdays with hutimodrets which are slimy, malodorous, and decidedly unfestive. I have witnessed birthday festivities on Earth during celebrations for my cryptid friends, so I’m familiar with the expression of delight you describe. One year, though, the expression was more of alarm than delight. Bigfoot’s face literally lit up like a birthday cake when he bent too near Norman’s practical joke re-lighting candles as he tried to blow them out. Fortunately, Norman also had a water balloon at the ready.
While you frequently rely on metaphorical observations in your poetry, I’m baffled by another method of comparison you use. In your book RED SINGS FROM TREETOPS: A YEAR IN COLORS you assign contradictory sensory observations to color. For example, you write that “in spring, even the rain tastes Green” and “winter tastes White.” Never in my extensive research have I read that human ocular nerves transmit gustatory information to the human brain. Is this a poetic device or is human biology more complex than I’ve been led to believe?
JS: Human biology is indeed more complex than you have been led to believe. Many of us humans have a condition known as “synesthesia” which refers to a melding of sensory perception. These humans see specific colors when they hear different kinds of music or taste different foods. Their senses are a bit blended. Although I am not one of those humans, I borrowed their style of perception to add even more vividness to the colors we see everyday and perhaps overlook.
MORZANT: There is one aspect about humans that has not escaped my attention, but I’ve been reluctant to broach the subject. You, however, boldly pronounce at the end of UBIQUITOUS that humans are “one of the most destructive species on earth.” I hope I’m not putting you on the spot by asking you to speak for the entire human race and explain what’s behind humans’ destructive nature.
JS: That’s a tough one. Hmmmm…of course I can’t speak for the entire human race, but I guess I believe that humans are like all other beings in our wish for food and shelter. We like to order our environment in the way it suits us best. However, unlike a robin or a tree, we have the brainpower to do this on a much larger scale than other organisms. Instead of just building a nest or sending thick roots into the soil, we can plow up huge fields and construct enormous skyscrapers—and in doing so, destroy the habitats of many other beings. But beyond this, there is an aggressiveness in certain humans that goes far beyond the instinct for survival—it is an obsessive need for order, control, and conformity. This, I can’t explain. I’m not sure anyone can.
MORZANT: Perhaps your uneasiness about your inherent annihilatory tendencies is why you sometimes step outside your human perspective and write from the point of view of the organism a particular poem is about. What’s involved in getting into the mindset of lichen or a cricket?
JS: Oh, yes, I love to step out of the human mindset. It is so liberating to leave my humanness behind! Writing “mask” poems (those written from a different point of view) requires two things: a healthy imagination and good observational skills. To write as a lichen, you must study the lichen in its natural habitat: what might it see, hear, feel, strive for? To personify lichen, one must, in a sense, become the lichen.
MORZANT: Your poems span a wide range of topics from the changing of the seasons to stealing jelly doughnuts from the teachers’ lounge. Is there any subject matter unsuitable to poetry?
JS: Not that I know of. Although I, personally, would never write about earwax. But that’s just me.
MORZANT: As a scientist I tend to fixate on matters of classification. I’ve often wondered why poetry books are shelved in the non-fiction section of my library. Do you think of yourself as a non-fiction writer? Although your books contain many facts, taking into account the subjectivity of poetic observations, one could argue that poetry would more appropriately be designated as fiction.
JS: Another excellent question, Morzant. I believe this designation dates back to the olden days, in which all writing was classified as either “poetry” or “prose.” In those days, poetry was venerated and prose was considered…well…prosaic. Now we lump everything into “fiction” or “nonfiction,” and somehow, since poetry is not fiction (i.e., it isn’t a “story”), then it must be nonfiction. Sometimes this classification bothers me, because it means that, in libraries, poetry is often shelved far away from picture books (which are considered “fiction,” even though many of them are quite poetic)—and kids never even run across them when selecting books.
MORZANT: This is yet another example of the importance of proper classification in all matters. When arbitrary adherence to tradition takes precedent over rationale considerations and innovation, chaos ensues.
Currently, all of your published works are comprised of poems. Even the supplemental expository sections in your books use poetic language. You’ve stated, however, that you’d like to write a novel. In my studies of Earth literature I’ve come across “poetry novels” which are novels written in verse. Since you’re already a skilled and accomplished poet, do you envision writing your first novel in verse or would you implement a more conventional narrative style?
JS: Perhaps—who knows? I haven’t gotten a good enough idea yet to move forward in this direction. But I must say that many “poetry novels” as you call them are not totally satisfying to me, perhaps because they are neither fish nor fowl. They don’t quite pull off either the intense imagery of poetry or the compelling narrative of novels. The good ones have both! But I would hate to write a bad one.
MORZANT: A careful analysis of your previous work indicates the probability that you would write a novel of inferior quality is astronomically low.
JS: Thanks! (I think.)
MORZANT: While I commend your existing poetic tributes to snails, I couldn’t help but notice that you devoted an entire book, THE WORLD ACCORDING TO DOG, to poems about dogs. I’m certain readers would welcome a comparable collection presenting the world through the eyes of a snail. I’m sure you’ll agree their ommatophores would provide a unique viewpoint.
JS: They would indeed. The world viewed through eye-stalks! Boggles the mind. Some day I might attempt it, but in the meantime, I recommend an excellent book called THE SOUND OF A WILD SNAIL EATING, which includes some fascinating information about snails’ (and humans’) endurance in the face of obstacles.
MORZANT: Thank you for the recommendation. I’m always thrilled to discover new snail literature.
In my studies, I’ve learned there are many different poetic forms. I’m most fond of the ones that rely on rules. I’ve even been known to write haiku. At one point your favorite poetry form was pantoum. Is that still the case?
JS: I wish you would share your haiku with us, Morzant. I for one would be interested to read it. Yes, I am fond of pantoums. I love the challenge of using the same lines twice. Another recent favorite of mine is the triolet—which also uses repeated lines—and I am partial to ubi sunts as well.
MORZANT: Why is repetition in poetry considered desirable rather than redundant?
JS: As I mentioned above, the challenge in a pantoum is to use the same line twice, but each time in a slightly different context, so that the phrase resonates and deepens its meaning. A little like a metaphor, in fact.
MORZANT: MEOW RUFF: A STORY IN CONCRETE POETRY introduced me to a form of poetry I had not yet encountered called concrete poetry. As far as I can discern, these poems take the actual shape of the object they’re about. For a tree, words are positioned to look like the branches they describe. In this way, literary art and visual art are combined to provide an explicit reporting of an object’s appearance as opposed to the metaphorical imagery provided by other types of poems. When creating concrete poetry, which comes first, the shape or the words?
JS: For me, it’s the words—always the words. Although, let’s face it, a concrete poem about a giraffe would certainly look more interesting than one about a pebble. In MEOW RUFF, I wanted to create a world in which everything had a voice—the grass, the clouds, even the ants. It was great fun. But I was dependent on my illustrator to fully bring it to life, to make sure the words looked as delectable as I tried to make them sound.
MORZANT: Finally, it has become a tradition for me to ask my interview subjects a hypothetical question. Since you teach poetry I’ll ask: Which of the inventors you wrote about in EUREKA! would you choose to give a poetry lesson to?
JS: Leonardo da Vinci would be wonderful to meet, but I’m not sure I could teach him anything about anything, including poetry. So I’ll choose Ts’ai Lun, the inventor of paper, who lived in 1st century China. He would have so much to write about—all the attempts he made and different materials he used, and all the obstacles he encountered along the way. Then afterwards, he could teach me how to make paper.
MORZANT: Thank you so much, Joyce, for your significant contribution to my knowledge of poetry and for inspiring me to explore the melting properties of chocolate on the tongue. Because you expressed an interest in my haiku-writing ability, I wrote a special haiku for the occasion:
A Farewell Haiku
Scientist meets a poet.
Can’t tell them apart.
JS: Love that haiku, Morzant! Thanks for sharing! You are one talented alien.
MORZANT: And you are a talented human who exhibits none of the destructive tendencies apparent in others of your species. I wonder…perhaps there’s an inverse relationship between poetic inclinations and destructive tendencies.
Good-bye for now, humans. Until I investigate the matter further, I can’t be sure that poetry counteracts aggressive human behavior. Preliminary observations suggest there may be a connection; therefore, I recommend writing as much poetry as possible. Here’s a list of poetry books by Joyce Sidman to inspire you:
JUST US TWO: POEMS ABOUT ANIMAL DADS
(illustrated by Susan Swan; Millbrook Press-Lerner, 2000)
SONG OF THE WATER BOATMAN & OTHER POND POEMS
(illustrated by Beckie Prange; Houghton Mifflin, 2005)
BUTTERFLY EYES AND OTHER SECRETS OF THE MEADOW
(illustrated by Beth Krommes; Houghton Mifflin, 2006)
MEOW RUFF: A STORY IN CONCRETE POETRY
(illustrated by Michelle Berg; Houghton Mifflin, 2006)
RED SINGS FROM TREETOPS: A YEAR IN COLORS
(illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski;
Houghton Mifflin-Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009)
DARK EMPEROR & OTHER POEMS OF THE NIGHT
(illustrated by Rick Allen;
Houghton Mifflin-Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2010)
UBIQUITOUS: CELEBRATING NATURE’S SURVIVORS
(illustrated by Beckie Prange;
Houghton Mifflin-Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2010)
SWIRL BY SWIRL: SPIRALS IN NATURE
(illustrated by Beth Krommes;
Houghton Mifflin-Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011)
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC BOOK OF ANIMAL POETRY:
200 POEMS WITH PHOTOGRAPHS THAT
SQUEAK, SOAR, AND ROAR!
(edited by J. Patrick Lewis;
National Geographic Children’s Books, 2012)
EUREKA!: POEMS ABOUT INVENTORS
(illustrated by K. Bennett Chavez; Millbrook Press-Lerner, 2002)
THIS IS JUST TO SAY: POEMS OF APOLOGY AND FORGIVENESS
(illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski; Houghton Mifflin, 2007)
THE ARROW FINDS ITS MARK: A BOOK OF FOUND POEMS
(edited by Georgia Heard,
illustrated by Antoine Guilloppé; Roaring Brook, 2012)
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO DOG: POEMS AND TEEN VOICES
(photographs by Doug Mindell; Houghton Mifflin, 2003)