IF SF Conversations: vol. one: Hannon on the poem: part one

The first in a series of on-going conversations conducted by IF SF's editorial staff features poet Michael Hannon. Mr. Hannon has been making and publishing poems for over fifty years. His most recent book is the lyrica poems, 2003-2010 (IF SF Publishing, 2011.)

In a statement at the beginning of the lyrica poems, big cup writes "those who have followed Hannon's career should see the current work as the inevitable next step of a lifelong reductionist." The lyrica poems themselves, described as 'insects gathered at a crack of sap, blood, trail of crumbs...they dissolve a thing, carry it off', are such a major departure from Mr. Hannon's past work that certain questions needed to be asked of the poet:

Q: What is a poem?

A: The poem is an echo from original mind, an afterthought made out of language, a shield against the reality that original mind didn't see coming. The nature of the poem is that of a false witness, struggling to tear down what stands between it and what it is hiding. In this version of things, each authentic poem contains its anti-poem.

Q: To a longtime reader of your poems, it's the word "inevitable" that is remarkable in regard to the lyrica poems...what's going on?

A: My initial experience of poetry was not one of choice, or prior inclination. Rather, poetry came upon me unawares--a bolt from the blue, charged with eros and self-destruction. The work of poetry became the first condition for my survival from it. Since poetry is, for me, first and foremost an involuntary activity, no one should be surprised if I use the word "inevitable" to describe the unfolding of my poetic process.

Q: Is a poem 'written' or received?

A: In most cases, the deliberate composition of a poem closes the door on the unconscious. The result of this sort of 'creativity' is mere writing. When the unconscious takes part in the making of a poem, the brain is attempting to overcome the limitation of language, so as to merge with that which has no limit. The key word here is attempt. Should one actually acheived a breakthrough, using language to undo langauge, and so experience what cannot be spoken, then that one would cease to exist as a creature, that is, as an imaginary being.

All poems are attempts only--some driven, some drivel.

(To be continued.)