Cheryl Dumesnil: Falling Into Place
What is the purpose of poetry?
To record the underbelly of human experience? To say what generally gets left unsaid? To maximize the communicative power of language? To make words sing? To make beautiful things out of broken parts? To transform language into feeling? The first time I heard John Coltrane, through a truly excellent stereo system, that smoky saxophone bypassing all thought and speaking directly to my soul, creating a mood as palpable as fog in the air, I pointed at the stereo speakers and said, “I want to be able to do that but with words.” To move, transport, transform. For a poem to sail through a person and leave her in some way changed. That’s what I want poetry to do.
Is there anything you’d like to be asked that no one ever asks you?
Yes, to be asked about the balance between a parent and being a writer. Even though I have my graduate certificate in feminist studies, and I would easily identify myself as feminist, and I have worked in academia, and I feel I should know better than this, I still feel like I need to hide my parenthood when I walk into the poetry world. As if showing that I’m a mom could in some way affect my credibility as a poet. When I say that out loud, it makes me wonder, “Are we still there?” As a culture, I mean, are we still belittling the role of parent? Or is it just me carrying some old baggage? To be in the world as a mom and a poet–can that really still be a challenge? Well, I’m showing up as a mom and a poet. This parenting thing is transformational, like love and death. If we’re not examining that in poetry, then we’re missing a major part of human experience. I mean, I grew people inside my body. That’s worth talking about!
“Atlantis” and “Don’t Ask Me” are reprinted with permission of the author, from In Praise of Falling, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009.
