Read on below for a conversation between CavanKerry Press authors Dorsía Smith Silva (In Inheritance of Drowning) and Cati Porter (The Body at a Loss) about their writing journeys and the craft of poetry.

Cati Porter: Dorsía, you read and reviewed my first poetry collection, Seven Floors Up, for a scholarly journal. Now, fifteen years later, we are press mates at CavanKerry and are having a conversation about your first poetry collection, In Inheritance of Drowning. This feels like coming full circle. Can we talk a little about this book’s journey from seed to fruition?

Dorsía Smith Silva: First, I have to say, Cati, that I am so thrilled that we are press mates at CavanKerry! Who knew that either of us would end up here when I was reviewing your poetry collection! At that time, I was busy working on my promotion and tenure in the English Department at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras, writing academic essays and book reviews, and editing books. I was still trying to stay close to the world of creative writing, though, so it seemed like a win-win; I could read, write, and publish reviews of poetry books and build my tenure and promotion files at the same time. However, I did not write poems consistently until Hurricane María struck Puerto Rico in September 2017, and we had no electricity for an extended period. It was a highly challenging time, and the only way that I could process it was to write in my journal. So, I wrote about standing in line at the store waiting to get groceries, driving without traffic lights, and witnessing the aftermath of Puerto Rico not receiving assistance from the US government. After the rebuilding had started and I became a full professor, I returned to my journal and was surprised that I had written poems. I went to several workshops—Bread Loaf, Kenyon, Tin House, and more—and revised my poems. It was not long before these poems were accepted by journals, and I realized that I had enough to form a collection. I had heard that CavanKerry was supportive of its writers, and I thought that it would be a good fit for my book. I sent the manuscript to CavanKerry’s open call for manuscripts, and I was thrilled when I received the call that In Inheritance of Drowning was accepted for publication.

CP: You have certainly kept busy along the way to writing this book. In addition to becoming a full professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, editor, or co-editor of eight other books, so to call this a “debut” feels something of a misnomer. How has your professional life enriched (or inhibited) your personal writing projects?

DSS: In many ways, being a full professor has made me extremely disciplined and organized. I think these traits help as a writer, since there are always many deadlines to submit and revise work. On the other hand, I had to wait until I had obtained my rank as a full professor to focus on creative writing because my university does not have a creative writing program. Therefore, I could not become a full professor or receive tenure if I had focused solely on creative writing. The expectation was and still is to write academic books, expository essays, book reviews, etc. I have no regrets about where my path has taken me, since my debut poetry collection centers on the significance of Hurricane María and Puerto Rico.  

CP: In addition, you are also a mother, and your book is dedicated to your son. How has mothering altered the lens through which you view current and historical events in America? How has mothering changed your poetry?

DSS: I dedicated In Inheritance of Drowning to my son because I wanted him to know that even though the world is “drowning” with many social, political, and historical injustices, he inherited a world that is shaped by love. It does not mean that we are immune to feeling marginalized in Puerto Rico, especially when it comes to the mistreatment by the United States. It means that we have the power to maintain our communities in Puerto Rico and continue our social transformations.

CP: The title of your collection, In Inheritance of Drowning, is evocative, a bit fragmentary, and grim. There’s so much to unpack! Can we talk a little about how you arrived at it?

DSS: The title is based on one of the poems in the collection. It refers to how we have inherited a world that is “drowning” with numerous issues—discrimination, xenophobia, colonialism, police brutality, and so on. I was also thinking of Puerto Rico’s relationship with the United States. After Hurricane María, Puerto Rico was “drowning” in more debt and austerity. The title also indicates the literal drowning of those who have died because of natural disasters and the power of oceans due to global warming. The title essentially asks us, “How can we stop this drowning? What can we inherit that will contribute to a better, safer, and sustainable world?” I am curious, Cati, has becoming a parent changed the way you write about the familial and the future of the planet?

CP: Absolutely. It has infused my every waking moment with fear, and that spills over into my writing.

DSS: Do you find that your roles as writer, mother, and environmentalist ever come into conflict—or do they inform and nourish each other?

CP: When I was a teenager and well into adulthood, I considered myself an animal rights activist and environmentalist, and I was an on-again/off-again vegetarian from about age 16 until my mid-forties. My children grew up eating meatless ground round and Tofurky until one day they learned about “real” meat from their friends, and I needed to start learning how to cook meat at home. They know I’m a writer but take zero interest in what I’m writing, which is a lucky break, because they probably wouldn’t like that I often write about them! So, I suppose my answer is, all of the above? They conflict, inform, and nourish each other. They provide fodder for my writing. They allow me to see my own hypocrisy. And I am okay with that.

DSS: How has your poetic voice evolved, especially in response to your experiences as a mother and as someone engaged with the natural world? I am thinking of your opening poem, “The Mole,” in small mammals, which compassionately explores our relationship with this animal, so that humans and creatures are more alike than different.

CP: That’s a complex question, Dorsía. Becoming a mother has grounded me in ways I never would have understood without having experienced it, and for readers who have never been parents, a lot of this will sound foreign. Suddenly, my body was no longer mine, I was sharing it with my children. Nothing was private, nothing out of bounds. It opened up the way I interacted with the world, because now I wasn’t just wordlessly gliding through it, I was a tour guide, and everything required a detailed explanation. This allowed me to write about things that, before children, I would have been too embarrassed to say out loud. And it reduced my priorities to the absolute basics: protecting and caring for my young. Everything else seemed trivial. In that way, motherhood is a universal experience across species. And for me, having experienced motherhood, I found that my mothering instincts carried over to virtually every other form of young creature, regardless of species. Which is why, when I encountered that young mole in the road, I needed to see it safely across to the other side. I see my entrance to motherhood as unlocking my potential as a writer.

DSS: What responsibilities do you feel, if any, as a poet in this era of environmental, racial, social, and political crisis and global uncertainty?

CP: I feel a great responsibility to tell the truth. To boldly examine my own faults and flaws so that others will too. I’ve grown up in an era where there was no name for the privilege I experienced, with a belief that climate change could still be stopped if we all took collective action, and that racial and social inequity might soon be behind us. My responsibility as a poet is to use my voice for our collective good. That doesn’t mean focusing only on the problems of the world, but it does mean not glossing them over.

CP: Laypersons reading poetry tend to assume that every “I” in a poem is in fact the poet, but as professional readers of poetry, we’re taught to never assume the speaker in a poem is the poet herself. How close are you to the speaker in these poems? Did you draw from personal experience, or do they represent other people’s stories?

DSS: Some of the poems are based on experiences before, after, and during Hurricane María, and during the pandemic. For instance, I composed “The Bee” after I witnessed a bee trying to pollinate my brassiere. The poor thing was very confused and seemed desperate to find a flower. Unfortunately, there were no flowers since Hurricane María destroyed them. Other poems are based on stories from the news, such as “Shame in the Shade of Blue,” which explores police brutality.

CP: The first and last sections of the book deal with the literal hurricanes Irma and María, which killed somewhere around 5000 people, caused a seven-month blackout, and cost somewhere around $90B in damage. As a mother and a human being, I imagine the focus would have to be on survival first, but at any point, did you think, maybe I will write about this, so I should take some notes?

DSS: I was not in the mindset to think about writing anything publishable after Hurricane Irma and Hurricane María. The priority was making sure my son was okay and spending time with him. I only wrote in my journal to pour my feelings, doubts, and concerns into a source that would not worry my family. I did not want to bother them with complaining about the dangers of driving; there were no traffic lights, wires, or trees on the ground, and the other motorists were driving frantically. It felt like a game of Frogger in some ways. I was really surprised when I reread my words. Who knew that I would manifest my worries in my journal in a poetic way? Do you also see poetry as a response to personal grief and healing?

CP: In some ways, I see it as a form of talk therapy. A place to lay it all out on the page and try to make sense of it without fear of judgment or repercussion—at least until it’s published!

DSS: There are certain themes, forms, or images that repeatedly surface in your work, such as familial relationships, health, mortality, and everyday life, especially in The Body at a Loss, where you are taking readers on this powerful journey of your experience with cancer as well as your mother’s. What draws you to them?

CP: Maybe this is too simplistic, but I do think it has to do with being a mother. A mother’s worst fear is to outlive her child, watch her child suffer. When I was a baby poet, I wrote a lot of dark, depressing poetry, as young people often do. It’s a failure of imagination to not be able to see beyond the present moment, but when you’re finally there—in that future that you previously couldn’t imagine—gradually you begin to realize that mortality isn’t just an abstract concept. Writing about it is my way of coming to terms with it.

DSS: What do you think poetry can offer about the complexities of your writing that other genres cannot offer?

CP: Poetry doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to have “rules” (though you can impose them on yourself if it helps). Poetry allows for contradiction, exploration of the nuances of feeling. I can be immensely sad, relieved, angry, joyful, curious, content, and so on, to varying degrees, at the same time. What I love about poetry is that it’s a container for all of those big feelings, but the poem itself doesn’t dictate its contents.

DSS:  How do you balance the beauty and brutality of nature in your writing?

CP: There’s no set formula, though it helps to be able to recognize the inherent brutality of beauty, the enigmatic beauty of the brutal.

DSS: Can you describe your writing process? Do you have a dedicated time and space for being focused on your work?

CP: I really don’t! I am not good at keeping to a schedule, so while I have tried various methods of corralling my writing to a particular time or place, the fact is that if I want to write, I can write anywhere. What’s your writing process, Dorsía? Are you a pen-and-paper poet or a keyboard poet? How does a poem begin for you? How do you know it’s done?

DSS: I used to write everything by hand, but now I write everything in the Notes App on my phone. This is because I am usually on the go, and I find that I have time to write when I have some free minutes in between my classes or before I pick up my son from an activity. I find that I write faster in the Notes App. I also feel less pressure. Sometimes, I just write a string of words that I like or make long lists of words and thoughts that I find interesting.

The beginning and ending of a poem are very intuitive for me. Sometimes, I am unsure if a poem is actually finished. So, I will think about it and sleep on it. In the morning, I will reread the poem twice. I like to make sure that I read it aloud. Then, I will know whether the poem is finished or needs some polishing. I will feel that it is ready.

CP: I think about the poet’s project of ordering poems in a manuscript—how the first one sets the tone for the whole collection. Can you talk about your process of putting the collection together?

DSS: I knew from exploring all of my poems that Hurricane María and Puerto Rico would be the heart of In Inheritance of Drowning. I also wanted to include some of the important contemporary matters, such as police brutality, COVID, Black Lives Matter, and migration. I initially thought to have two sections: one section about Puerto Rico and hurricanes, and another section about societal injustices. But then, I realized that the vulnerability that Puerto Rico faces comes every hurricane season. Plus, the colonial relationship with the U.S. pushes Puerto Rico into a precarious situation. Therefore, I wanted In Inheritance of Drowning to return to these topics at the end of the collection. The publisher also suggested that I divide the second section into two parts, and I loved the recommendation, since it guides readers and helps to unfold the themes in a certain way.

CP: A poetry collection is a long time in the making, so I imagine you’re already hard at work on the next project. What are you working on, and when can we expect to read it?

DSS: I am working on a book that continues to explore Puerto Rico, climate change, migration, and societal injustices, but this collection will also examine empowerment, community activism, and environmental justice. You’re a very prolific writer, as you have written four books and seven chapbooks! Wow! What are you currently writing? What do you hope to accomplish this year?

CP: My main goal this year is just to keep writing. I have a demanding day job that is all-consuming, and writing around that has been increasingly difficult. In spite of this, I continue to write poetry to bring to my monthly poetry group and as part of an ongoing poem exchange with another poet about living in a post-menopausal body. As of now, I don’t have a new poetry collection in the works, but I do have a forthcoming hybrid memoir called Clay Bodies—one part biography of two important figures (father and son) in the history of California pottery in early 20th Century, and one part memoir, e.g., the story behind finding the story, because those men are my mother’s father and grandfather.

DSS: If you could offer one poem—your own or another’s—as a kind of roadmap or balm for processing life, what would it be, and why?

CP: I think rather than one single poem, I’d like to recommend a podcast. I really love The Slowdown. It’s had a number of poet-hosts since its inception: Tracy K. Smith, Ada Limon, and Major Jackson, plus guest hosts here and there. What I love about it is that each poem they choose is accompanied by a mini essay by the host and followed by the host reading the poem for the day. The general vibe of the show is soothing, and I am left feeling better about the world after listening. You asked me to offer one poem, so I ask in return for one (or a piece of music, or any other ritual or creative outlet) that brings you joy, that helps you to re-center yourself, or that acts as a talisman to remind you of what’s most important, especially when the world seems to be in self-destruct mode.

DSS: My poem, “G is for Greenhood,” always makes me happy. It talks about community, the environment, and the love we should have for each other—humans, animals, and the universe. Plus, it highlights the color green, which I associate with nature and positivity. Ross Gay also has several poems that make me smile. He also has his collection of essays, The Book of Delights, which helps me think of the beauty in this world.

CP: Yes! I read The Book of Delights and Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude during the pandemic, and they helped me to recenter, finding joy, being grateful, even amid a worldwide pandemic.

DSS: Can you please share a writing prompt and your best writing advice? What craft book would you recommend to guide writers?

CP: My favorite writing guide is Fruitflesh: Seeds and Inspiration for Women Who Write by Gayle Brandeis. (Yes, she is a close friend. Yes, it is an amazing guide that anyone can use, not just women!) One of her transformative moments as a poet was writing a poem about a strawberry. I’ve often taken fruit into the workshop setting and had my participants write with all of their senses. Pick it up. Feel its heft. Inhale its scent. Touch the skin with your fingertips, or with your tongue. Rub it against your cheek, feel the prick of the spines, cut into it, and observe what happens to the flesh, its juice. Make note of every specific detail. Another activity I’ve done is to write a poem about something in which you describe the thing with all of your senses without ever naming it. It could be a piece of fruit or a small mammal, or literally anything else. Sometimes it can be freeing to write about something without ever saying what it is.

CP: Can you also please share a writing prompt and your best writing advice? (Any genre.) And do you have any book recommendations for further exploration in craft?

DSS: The best writing advice is to have no fear and keep writing. No one else can tell your story but you! A great writing prompt is the following: Go to the local coffee shop. The first conversation that you overhear is the beginning of what you will write. Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within by Kim Addonizio and Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative by Melissa Febos are excellent resources for enhancing our craft.

CP: Thank you, Dorsía! I don’t have either of the craft books. Now they are on my list. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. Puerto Rico feels so much closer now. 

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Dorsía Smith Silva is a Pushcart Prize nominee, Best of the Net finalist, Best New Poets nominee, Obsidian Fellow, poetry editor of The Hopper, and professor at the University of Puerto Rico.  She is the author of Good Girl, editor of Latina/Chicana Mothering, and the coeditor of seven books.
 

Cati Porter is a poet, editor, essayist, and arts administrator. She is the author of eight books and chapbooks, most recently My Skies of Small Horses and The Body, Like Bread.  She lives in Riverside, California, with her family, where she directs Inlandia Institute, a literary nonprofit.

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In Inheritance of Drowning and The Body at a Loss are available on our website or your favorite bookseller.