Millicent Borges Acardi Interviews Poet Veronica NoechelMBA: You and I first met at Vermont Studio Center many moons ago. I watched while you unloaded comforters, a music stand, violin, sheet music, a Sailor Moon alarm clock, dehydrated vegan food, an electric tea kettle, posters, pillows, a rug, and a variety of cool sleepwear. What advice do you have for other poets about what to bring to a residency? VN: That turned into a crazy cool experience. Getting to meet you was a big part of that. Falling on the ice and breaking my tailbone, then racing to the E.R. through a white out was less fun, but definitely eventful. MBA: What happened? VN: I'm more than a little paranoid when it comes to anything medical, and I always swear you can find blood spatter in any doctor's office, no matter how clean it looks at first glance. It's always there, but most people just don't see it because they don't pay that much attention. So of course, the first thing I see upon my arrival in the exam room, like a flashing warning signal, right beside my head is a large (previously) white box labeled "rectal swabs" that looks like a crime scene. Holy crap. So, then they got to treat me for a broken tailbone and an OCD meltdown. MBA: What else do you recall about your residency at VSC? VN: I remember vividly, meeting the photographic artist, Fatimah Tuggar and her ballsy refusal to relinquish her tray in the dining room, I remember the three of us talking shop over cognac in "the tower," and, after you left, I recall eating inordinate amounts of animal crackers while watching movie after movie about a different artist's life every night in the basement of one of the buildings, which was actually pretty fun and a great distraction at the end of a day of writing, when my brain was all sticky and overstimulated. I think you'd already left when Martín Espada came to VSC. I loved (and still love) his books. Revolution is the Circle of a Lover's Hands was my favorite at the time, and it's still holding strong among my top favorite poetry books ever. There's something in those early works that pinpricked my activist heart. So I was really psyched that he stuck around after the reading and talked about what it was like to grow up isolated and confined by his mother's agoraphobia, how she banned holiday celebrations after being visited by the LDS missionaries, the only people she encountered, ensconced, as she was in her home. That led to his dad decorating a secret Christmas tree in the attic, and high drama in a hospital parking lot when his child needed a transfusion. There were also plenty of stories that were more directly pertinent to his poetry, but these were the ones that really stuck with me. MBA: What other advice for would-be residency writers? VN: Oddly enough, I didn't bring a single coat and it was January. In Vermont. I don't pack any lighter now, even though I don't pack the violin and its accoutrements anymore. I couldn't hold my neck that way now, if I wanted to, but I quit long before my spine went to hell. My constant need to do things the hard way killed my interest after a year or two of lessons, and the real reason I took up lessons in the first place was because I was working on a character who had classical violin training. My writer's brain trumped my musical ambitions when I'd learned enough to satisfy my manuscript's needs. Once that was covered, and I realized how much more time it would take to learn to play anything that sounded good, my interest in lessons waned. But that wasn't the question, was it? MBA: You already mentioned Espada's work, what other books or items would you recommend to pack for an extended writers residency? VN: If I was going to recommend something for other writers to pack on residencies, outside of the very obvious things like books and notebooks and pens and pencils and computers and word processors (They help to keep you focused on writing and not the internet if you're working on prose) and other things that are the basic writer-y stuff you need anywhere you go, I'd say…bring things that feel like home. For me, some of those things are a little stuffed rat named Peep-peep that fits in my pocket, a glue stick, scissors, and a sketch book to jot down and paste-in the things that I don't want to forget along the way, some letters I need to answer (I am a postal nerd of the highest order), and some of my favorite pens and pencils I know and trust already. It's stupid little stuff like that that keep me feeling tethered safely to time while I'm living outside the calendar. MBA: What markers scream out that this is a Noechel poem? VN: My OCD and its trademark fears have helped me develop a varied assortment of morbid curiosities that show up often in my work. A great writer and friend, Lisa Robinson Bailey, once wrote that reading my poetry is akin to skipping through a graveyard, which I found a very flattering and charming way to describe it. MBA: What other topics do you write about? VN: Mental illness is a recurring theme in my work, and not just because of my own. One poem was written at a time when the possibility of a loved one's suicide was looming over everything in my life. I had some very conflicting feelings about the whole situation, because on one hand I desperately wanted to tell them they couldn't, that they had to stay here in this life because I needed them, because I couldn't take the stress of expecting the phone to ring at any moment with the news that they were dead, because I didn't know how I was supposed to survive if they didn't. On the other hand, I very much believe that everyone has the right to choose suicide if they need to, and how could I possibly be so inhumane and selfish as to deny them their only out if the world had proven just too rough and tumble to take any longer? How can I say that my suffering is more important than someone else's, especially when that someone is living with so much pain they can't find the wherewithal to take another step in the march through this place? I'm endlessly grateful that this person made it through that very brutal, traumatic period, but plenty of others don't. I think most people know at least one person who has ended their own life. It's really hard not to get angry with them for leaving, or to feel cheated, like they've stolen from us, but I'm not sure that's entirely fair to the deceased. Conversely, maybe it's not fair to the living to be expected to feel any other way. MBA: Do you have any causes or events you would like to mention? VN: Certainly. I think too often people equate all of us who work to protect the rights of animals with stupid, crude media stunts and exclusionary ways, and that's just not true. We are out there doing all kinds of work to help animals, from hands on rescue to advocacy (since animals can't do their own legal work, write their congress people, or hold their own awareness walks, etc.) and education of the general public. If you have any interest in making this a more gentle world for animals, or even if you think you don't, give these organizations a chance:
MBA: Can we list your books? VN: Of course! The first two, Museum Mundane and Murder of Crows were published by Argonne House Press. Then came a book of poems constructed out of lines from spam emails I received over the period of a year, Get the Rollax Replicaas You Wanted, Vermin, published by Assume Nothing Press. The most recent chapbook, Gone, published by Foothills Press, is available through my website or via the publisher. I've got several manuscripts in progress, including both poetry and fiction.
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