AJ Dolman, Crazy/Mad

 

Bitch

Anger, dwelling, a sorrow of stones,
no weathers but the rains
that misery us past the broken point

Rage house and drag lawn and
all the time spent,
every moment wasted
each my/our, your fault, mine,
what differences there
could still be between us,
these spaces

Anger fibres from the carpets,
fills the voids, each empty room
brimming with furniture, clocks
and

The full-length poetry debut by Ottawa poet, editor and fiction writer AJ Dolman is Crazy/Mad (Guelph ON: Gordon Hill Press, 2024), a book of anxieties, flailing, resistance, vulnerability and mental health struggles. “Ruptured spokes and axel / whine as moulded steel settles / into new shapes,” Dolman writes, as part of the poem “Trauma response,” “plastic, / deflated lung, a broken tradition; / cougar and hare motif homaging / histories of crosshairs / triangulated on hills of fog, / the many outcomes / that came before, / that will [.]” Set with opening poem “Overthinking” and three sections of poems—“HYSTERIA,” “NEUROSIS” and “MELANCHOLIA”—Dolman’s first-person lyrics move through an array of subjects, examining and highlighting rage, trauma, self-harm, vertigo, supernatural beliefs, atheism, personality disorders and memory loss. “There’s a story,” the poem “Memory loss” ends, “the night that happened, / but a man can’t tell a story like that. / He has to wait until everyone named within / is dead; can only hope to outlive them, / so that someday he can explain his certainty / to no one [.]” How does one write, or even find balance, through such struggle? There’s something interesting, also, how Dolman refuses closure, whether easy or otherwise, ending poems abruptly (although perhaps not as abruptly as they could be), often sans punctuation. It suggests both a sudden stop and a kind of ongoingness, how one poem, one crisis or concern, actually bleeds into the next. “All our forths and backs could be broken / into letters,” the poem “Difficulty concentrating” ends, “twenty-seven shapes, / a few scratches, but we whisper / our meanings in the kerning [.]”

This is a book of anxieties, but of agency, also. In an interview conducted earlier this year by Amanda Earl for periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics, they speak to the book’s overall theme:

AE: You deal with mental health issues in this book in a way I rarely read in contemporary poetry. Can you talk about how the collection came together and how you decided to center it around this theme?

AJD: I write what I am passionate about, and this is a thread that has run through my life, through generations of my family, among friends and colleagues. And now, especially since the start of the COVID pandemic and general acknowledgement of the climate crisis, anxiety and depression, in particular, seem to be running rampant. Of course they are. Look at what is happening. I am honestly amazed we aren't all just breaking down in the streets daily. Yet, Madness was one of my most fundamental fears for as long as I can remember. Not the being Mad itself, but to be considered crazy, to be sent away, institutionalized, diagnosed. Voicelessness, again.

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Concetta Principe

Concetta Principe is a writer of poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction, as well as scholarship on trauma and literature, living with a disability. Her current poetry collection, Disorder, is coming out with Gordon Hill Press in the spring of 2024. Her most recent creative non-fiction project, Discipline N. V: A Lyric Memoir, was published by Palimpsest Press in 2023. Her poetry collection, This Real was longlisted for the Raymond Souster Award in 2017 and her first book of poetry, Interference won the Bressani Award for poetry, 2000. She edited a special issue “Lacan Now” for English Studies in Canada. She teaches at Trent university.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Interestingly enough, it was my second book, a collection of prose poems, that changed my life. For one, there was no dread in creating a 'second book" since I'd already had it drafted when my first book, a novella, came out. More than that, the poetry project actually outshone the first book, winning an award for best poetry.

Writing the novella changed my life because the experience of finishing a book length project was harrowing. I was writing it for my final MA project. I had an on-going conflict with my first mentor which involved me second guessing every move. A second mentor came to rescue me and helped me complete the draft to finish my degree. But overall, the drafting of this book was not enjoyable creatively: not the first draft nor subsequent drafts of which there were several. But in the process of writing, I came to see the value of being committed to the craft. I had some brilliant moments, some revelations, some creative break throughs, which kept me going. And when the fiction was getting me down, I'd write poetry. So I would unstick myself from creative blocks by toggling between genres. The poetry I wrote during the writing of the novella became my second book.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Thinking back to my first writing experiences, I wrote in all genres, but ended up writing prose poems for the most part, inspired by Stein's Tender Buttons. I first discovered her at the age of 10. The reason that i end up writing prose poems is because I have a storytelling drive in me. The emotional spark of the poem needs context. I find it hard to create context in the short space that most line poetry requires. And the rhythms of prose poems are just more my style, my internal voice. In fact, I was thinking yesterday that my poetry reflects a kind of inner voice that needs time to complete. if that voice isn't taking time to reflect the thoughts clustering as they do, and there are times when the voice isn't talking, i just don't write.
 
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
I'm a messy writer. Copious notes, you could say. I never like my first draft. I look at my first drafts of anything and find them derivative, boring, not interesting to me. So, if a poem is boring, I abandon it for something else. But when something i need to say grips me i don't stop until I have a draft that expresses what I mean. But even then, I may not be happy with what I've got. For example, I'm writing poems right now about the war in Gaza (which is not a war). I don't know what to feel about the poems. I read them and know they are unfinished and possibly just not appropriate (who am I to write about this event?) And so the project has a 'body' but I don't think has shape. I have lots of these poems that are connected but ultimately, not ready for an audience. Basically, the project is a mess.

But my process is also messy because I don't know what I mean to say when i start to write. The draft comes out and it's not hanging well, and I push and pull at it to make it hang. And even after I've got it hanging, I realize it has no life. So how do I breathe life into it? So I fiddle until it feels like it's working. Or abandon it. I abandon things a lot and then come back to them. Or they return to me.

Starting a project is usually inspired by word associations. A poetic conceit. Disorder, for example, came into shape  after being diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I saw that the poems articulate what I experience living with BPD which is a trouble with borders, an obsession with order, and a tendency for chaos, or paranoia.  

Projects just happen. Sometimes projects take a long time to take on the final shape, and sometimes they're just there. Then again, to be fair, when the project comes into shape as just there, it's usually after i've been stumbling around in the bushes for a long time. In fact, one project that came together just like that actually is littered with bits of content I'd been writing thirty years before. Literally those lines stuck with me for thirty years until they found a place to 'settle'. But even that project isn't finished or it's not something for an audience yet. Still working on it.

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
I combine pieces. I don't have the vision of a book until I can feel the pieces have a large meaning. I also find that I rarely am satisfied with one poem. I start a poem, a prose poem, and when the dust settles, another piece follows and after a while a third and fourth. So a single poem can have many pieces. The serial poem is my style. Or the long poem. There are several examples of these in Disorder and in Discipline N.V.. On the other hand, an essay may demand more essays. I wrote a group of essays on the topic of suicide, for example. I'd say that I had a few essays on suicide before I had a vision of the book.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I'm the sort of writer whose anxiety makes readings a nightmare. I mean I can do them now, when at one time, I could barely complete my reading without fainting. My stress level was so high and I was so 'on stage' in the experience that I was barely breathing. Now, after having taught for several years, i can breathe in front of people when on stage, but that's about as much as I can do. if I make a joke that's total victory. Because I can't do banter, because I'm so shy I rarely feel relaxed enough to give context for a given poem. That means I need to shape my readings around the script of my poem/prose delivery. I work hard on delivery. But I hate the experience of having to perform.
 
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
See #7

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
When I was a kid making art, I wrote little plays and poems and I painted. I wrote and I created material objects out of clay and paper and fabric and wood. And then one day I knew I needed to choose one or the other art form and I chose writing. I chose writing because I wanted to express the truth. I'm not even sure what I meant by that at the time but today I see that the writer speaks the truth of their zeitgeist.

I see the writer as participating in addressing contemporary ethical concerns, or engaging in social justice. I see that happening in the writing community with writers speaking from their position as LGBTQ2S+, or BIPOC, or their disability. So I make my contribution as a white settler women living with a disability. What I worry about is that this specialization of our 'truths' may mean that we can't speak on topics not directly related to our position. I'm going to harp back to the issues raised by my writing about the war in Gaza. What right do I have to write about it? That leaves me speechless. But I am full of speech when it comes to what is happening in Gaza. But what is my ethical position to that event as a writer with all the privilege to be well fed, and not worry about where I'm living, but being neither Palestinian and nor Jewish? I'm not saying these things to apologize but to try and sort out why I am having trouble with writing about a contemporary crisis about which most of us have a position and about which I am compelled to write.

This dilemma I think is part of the role of the writer in culture: does the writer have a right because the writer writes? We all want to know what Zizek has to say about what's happening in Gaza, and he's got all the privilege possible. He's a writer and a thinker and that gives him the right. Does he have the right? And the answer seems to be, yes. So why do I think I don't have the right?

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
For the longest time, I wrote alone because no one got what I was doing.  It meant that I was always struggling to figure out how to make my work stronger and better for publication on my own. I mean being rejected so much did a number on me and left me feeling completely inadequate. So I created my own voice, or form, I think. Or maybe I didn't. In any case, it has only been in the last 10 years of writing that I've had good experience with editors work with me in my writing. I'm not counting the experience of my MA which is years ago, because those editors weren't working with me for publication.  

I don't know if working with an editor is essential, since I worked without for so long. But i would say that having a trusting relationship with an editor is essential. Building that trust, using my experience with Shane Neilson and Jim Johnstone as most recent examples, has been productive and so fulfilling. I also want to acknowledge the great trust I had working with John Barton and Jason Camlot.

I'd say that difficult is there if we consider trust being something that has to be be built. Building anything valuable is difficult. Writing poetry is, fundamentally, difficult. And that doesn't stop us from doing it.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Never give up. A 'no' in the publishing industry is a qualified 'no'. Losing in a grants competition is a qualified 'no'. Keep working at what you're doing and eventually an audience will form around you. I mean, when you ask yourself: should I give up? A voice in you will tell you: don't give up.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to short fiction to creative non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
In one way I would say it's been quite easy since I write a hybrid form to begin with. Moving between poetry and non-fiction is enjoyable for me because I can test the limits of each genre. So while I can move between genres, I find that a project asks for a certain form, even if it started in the opposite genre.

For example, i was writing prose poems on suicide but then realized there was far far too much to say than a poem could handle. So I started writing essays, lyric essays, and the form stuck for this project now published as Stars Need Counting: Essays on Suicide. The Disorder project was a collection of poems that wanted to be defined, so I wrote a lyric essay to end the book. The lyric element of this project introduced a facet to the topic that the line poems could not have done which led me to realize that some projects want to be expressed in several forms.

So for me, going between genres is enjoyable and I advise everyone to do it. The other thing I'd say about moving between genres is that this movement can unstick writer's block. I discovered this way back during my MA when I was struggling so much with my fiction project. Poetry saved me. I'd say that is appealing, to save oneself from writer's block.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I write when the impulse grips me. I write something every day, if only a journal entry. But I don't write the 1000 a day that Stephen King advises. And maybe that is working against me. But then again, i don't write novels. But when I write long projects, sometimes everything I write is for that project and I can write (and revise) daily. It depends. Right now I'd say I'm between projects. So I'm not writing daily. And working means that I don't have the time to work on my creative work.  

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I read novels and poetry and some non-fiction. Right now I'm reading non-fiction by people living with BPD. I watch films (on Netflix usually). I'm watching Baby Reindeer, which is a bizarre British series about a man who creates chaos in his life. I always want to start painting again but every time I realize I need paints and canvas and all these objects to start painting, I sit back and imagine what i'd paint and that's almost as good as actually doing it. Inspiration also comes to me from the news (Al Jazeera, Ha'artez most recently). And my feelings. BPD are known for suffering emotional dysregulation. So, my feelings inspire me a lot.

13 - What was your last Hallowe'en costume?
Blondie with red lips. From the neck down, I'm dressed in puffy coat and jeans like anyone else in the neighbourhood giving out candies at the door.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Film is probably the biggest influence. Astronomy (astrology) and some versions of physics. And psychoanalysis big time.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Academia has been a big influence on my writing. I am a thinking writer. I am driven by thought more than emotion. This I'd say is a failing or a weakness in my work. I find it hard to express emotion which is ironic considering I have BPD (emotional dysregulation). Or maybe thoughts are my way of controlling emotion? So I'm inspired by writers such as Anne Carson who thinks as she writes.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Write that novel that's been simmering for a while. I have a vision that in my old age, when I have time to just ruminate, the novel will come, the thing that I've been trying to get down on paper for about thirty years. I can see where it'll be set (the middle east) and I can see what the issues are, but I can't see the protagonist yet. Until I have that protagonist, I can't start...

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
In grade 9, I decided I had to give up painting to be a writer. But I still love painting. I get excited looking at art and I have even started looking at the world in shapes which I can see translated to a canvas. I can see how a face could be painted: the planes, the shapes, the section of shadows. I can see bodies as shapes, and how a leg is articulated in angles and slopes. If I hadn't got stuck on the word, I would be a painter. Or a filmmaker. Or an astronomer.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
See #17

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Right now I'm reading a book of testimonies of people with Borderline Personality Disorder. I cry while reading each story. I hear the suffering, I recognize myself. I distinguish my experiences from theirs and wonder what those differences might mean. It's a simple book, but as an honest book, it has had a great impact on me.

So I watched Zone of Interest the other day. It was a striking film. I could appreciate the European understated quality of it. I also watched fascinated to see what Jonathan Glazer was trying to do. I didn't even have to hear his acceptance speech to see the parallels between the Holocaust and the conditions in the Gazan war.

20 - What are you currently working on?
I'm working on a project in dialogue with a fellow poet on the benefits and hazards of Dialectical Behaviour Therapy for people with disorders. The objective in the project is to be critical of the method from a disabilities perspective.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Concetta Principe, DISORDER

 

Like Emily who bound
her disorder to her last

reclusive poet years, wearing
walls of her room as a plaster

hijab, anachronistically applied
here

she veils herself with brick
and mortar

on foundations
that weep (“SAD THIGHS”)

The latest from Peterborough-based “award-winning poet, and writer of creative-non fiction, short fiction, as well as scholarship that focuses on trauma literature” Concetta Principe is the poetry collection, DISORDER (Guelph ON: Gordon Hill Press, 2024), following her collections Interference (Toronto ON: Guernica Editions, 1999) and This Real (St Johns NL: Pedlar Press, 2017). DISORDER is composed with a focus on neurodiversity, the focus of which is quite unique, and an important one; working meditative stretches while attending an open conversation aimed toward dismantling stigma. Composing her DISORDER, Principe offers poems not as the opposite of “order,” but through a structure requiring its own attention, composing crafted lyrics on what isn’t a problem to be solved but a difference of perspective. “Just so you know knots / are the pyrotechnics of appetite // repressant;,” she writes, to open the poem “ICING ON THE CAKE,” “a kink in the intestine / of this birthday cake // wrapped in frosted lake; [.]” Principe utilizes the lyric as a sequence of narrative threads that work to examine, unpack and document the way she thinks and moves through the world, and there are echoes in her meditations that remind of works by Pearl Pirie, or Phil Hall, attempting to discern how the world works (or doesn’t work) through language (including a stellar cluster of prose poems). As she writes as part of her “Notes and Acknowledgements” that closes the collection:

This project came together retroactively. I had been writing these pieces to document experience, frustration, rawness, daily trouble and their scabs. The diagnosis changed my perspective on what I’d been doing and highlighted for me what I’m calling the product of a high functioning BPD: some pieces pretend to be ‘normal’ and other pieces struggle with ‘normal,’ and underlying this is the child playing against the brick wall of ‘normal.’ It is thanks to Shane Neilson, who has been supporting my work for several years now, that this project of an atypical ‘a-normal’ life has an audience. I am so very grateful and indebted to Shane for creating this forum for disabilities discussion in which I, among others, may have a published voice.