The following is an interview with CMU Professor and poet, Robert Fanning, in which he shares some wonderful insight into his writing process. We hope you enjoy this interview, and find something that moves you. -Central Review Team
What's moving you right now, where or in what do you find inspiration currently? (Question is directly inspired from the Poetry Foundation podcast, VS.)
I recently spent a month living and writing in Laugarvatn, Iceland, at the Gullkistan Center for Creativity while on sabbatical—and as a result have just experienced the most inspirational, productive period of my entire writing career. While in Iceland, I finished a manuscript of poems called “All That We Are Given We Cannot Hold,” that I’ve been working on for about 5 years. It’s a manuscript of realistic narrative poems on many personal and universal themes and topics, including a couple dozen formal poems using Harry Houdini as inspiration and metaphor. Then, upon my return from Iceland I wrote an entirely body of new works inspired by the Icelandic landscape, entitled “Land Songs.” For me, typically 15-20 new poems in a year is something to be proud of; however, “Land Songs,” like an Icelandic volcano—erupted out of me: 80 poems in a little over a month, then a couple months of editing. They are all 8-lines long and are loosely inspired by the skaldic verse I was reading while there. Since December I’ve been taking a creative breather, focused on teaching. In general, however, I find inspiration anywhere and everywhere. As I tell my students, moving the pen across the page and clicking the keys is in some ways a small part of the process of being a creative writer. Being alive and a constant witness to the world in us and beyond us—being open to inspiration from all angles—is crucial. So, often, I don’t even know what’s inspiring me until an emerging poem lets me know later.
2. How do you sustain your writing, have you/do you ever struggle with writing?
I go through lulls, down-times; we all do. There are troughs and crests. Having been doing this for years, I’ve learned that the process is much wider than just the act of writing. I don’t get as existentially terrified if I’m in a lull (notice I don’t use the term “Writer’s Block,” which is a useless cliché and a lame excuse.) As I tell students, if we wish to draw water from the well, we must keep it full—so if I’m not writing, I pick up a novel or read a book of poems. Reading is one way, and a great way to fill the well. Or maybe I try to resuscitate an old dying poem of mine. Or I go for a walk—which is just another way of writing a poem—listening to wind in the leaves, birds chattering away. Or I hang out with my wife and kids. Or I listen to music. Watch a movie. Do the dishes. All the beautiful, mundane, ordinary stuff of life—all the time listening, looking, breathing, being—and—subconsciously—filling the well.
3. Do you have any rituals or habits in your writing process?
The rhythm of the process changes from time to time as necessitated by life’s timing. For example, when I was a younger writer and a student—I loved sitting in cafes, or staying up super late and writing. Then I got busier, and had a family—and I couldn’t sustain my all-night poetry binges! So I’d write in whatever windows of time I could find. This is one benefit of being a writer; we can get some work done in smaller windows and we only need a pen and paper or a computer. In recent years, I’ve become an early morning writer, getting some work done—usually on weekend mornings—while the world (and the house) are sleeping. As for rituals: I often meditate for anywhere from five to fifteen minutes before I write. Somedays reading another poet’s work will replace the meditation, or follow it. Then, I start out writing by hand in my journal. With a fountain pen. And black ink. Yes. It’s a bit obsessive. And if and when I feel up to starting a new draft, only then I’ll open the laptop. Also, I always have headphones on and I listen to instrumental music, or at least music with no English words. The last few years I’ve been writing to the music of Hammock, Slow Meadow and Sigur Rós. And others, too, but those are my go-to favorites. These bands create a powerful psychic space for me to enter while I write. I like a somewhat somber, haunted, weighty soundscape while writing. I also like dim light. At night I still prefer a candle to a bulb. Sorry, I know it’s a bit goth-y and pretentious. It’s just how I roll.
4. Is there anything you would have loved to know when you first started writing creatively?
I wish I would’ve been prodded into fiction and playwriting classes, too. I got on the poetry train in high school and never got off—and, though I’ve tried my hand at fiction rarely, I would’ve liked to have explored other genres early on. Also, as a young writer, I wish someone told me that you could be working on several poems at once. I always felt like I had to work on one poem for hours, days, weeks, until it felt “done,” then start the next one. Now, I’m a four-burner poet—cooking up several drafts at once. While one poem’s on simmer, I move over to another. Also—I wish I learned more about the networking and marketing aspect of being a writer. That’s my weak spot. I just want to write and edit—the “professional” side of the field is a giant bore to me. I don’t like it, and I’m terrible at it. So I’m trying to teach my students to get involved with that side of the writing life, because, if you want your work read by people, you need to know how to get it out into the world. Younger writers get it—they know how to use social media effectively and creatively, too, which is helpful.
5. Do you have a poem (or book!) that you can't stop thinking about, or always go back to?
My two most recent favorite contemporary poets are Melissa Crowe and Catherine Wing; I’ve been following their work, because I feel a strong kinship with it. Crowe’s book “Dear Terror, Dear Splendor” is a recent favorite that I’ve read a couple times. But there are a gazillion good books of poetry coming out all the time. My writing desk has stacks of books by contemporary poets rotating on and off of it—but there are a few classics that are always within arm’s reach—Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, Frost’s Collected Poems, Roethke’s Collected Poems, and—my touchstone: Dylan Thomas’s Collected Poems. I often read a poem or two by Thomas before I write—I find the music of his words calibrates my ear and my spirit. Also, I carry my tattered copy of Thomas’s Collected in my suitcase every time I travel, too, because if the plane goes down, I want it with me. That’s not a joke.