Literature
Genius rhymes with…
Poet AE Stallings talks to Barney Spender on her new status as genius, after
receiving a grant from the Chicago based MacArthur Foundation, popularly
referred to as ‘genius grants’ and on meeting her Muse in modern-day Athens
The American poet AE (Alicia) Stallings hails from Atlanta,
Georgia but for the last few years has been living in Athens.
Her first collection of poems, Archaic Smile, won the 1999
Richard Wilbur Award and was shortlisted for many other
prizes, including the Yale Younger Poets Award. In 2008 she
was given the Benjamin H Danks Award by the American Academy
of Arts, partly in recognition for her 2007 verse translation
of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura (The Nature of Things). She is
also the Poetry Programme Director of the Athens Centre. In
2011, she was one of 22 fellows worldwide to receive the
MacArthur Foundation Fellowship. The John D. and Catherine T.
MacArthur Foundation is one of the largest private foundations
in the United States and has awarded more than US$4 billion in
grants since its inception in 1978.
Congratulations on winning the MacArthur Foundation
Fellowship… what does it mean to you to be named a ‘genius’?
The MacArthur Foundation discourages that nickname (the genius
grants) precisely because ‘genius’ comes as so loaded and
fraught a word. It’s the sort of thing that could potentially
be intimidating for a writer, because of course a writer
always has to be willing to start with the blank page and to
write something bad, to fail utterly. Still, I have been
thinking of it as the “no excuses” grant. I can’t go around
and
complain that I can’t afford the babysitting to work or a
space to work in. Now I can, and I just have to get on with
things!
You have two small children; is that a help or a hindrance for
your poetry.
There is a famous line from Cyril Connolly: “There is no more
sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall.” In a
sense, he is probably right. The most obvious way in which
having children has affected my writing is that there is less
of it. On the other hand, children also are fascinating for a
poet to have. It is like having the world made new before your
eyes the way they look at things. And of course, language
acquisition – much less bilingualism – is fascinating. Kids
are natural poets. A three-year-old can beat a working poet
for inspired lines or phrases with one sticky hand tied behind
his back any day. I am not above stealing lines from my
children.
Was the grant for a particular work – or for a body of work?
As I understand it, it is for future work, which may or may
not be a continuation of what you have been doing already. It
is a big vote of confidence, basically, that you have more to
write and do.
How is it likely to affect your standing as a poet in the US?
It does certainly raise your profile. There was a spike in
book sales for a while (never terribly high for a poet
anyway), and I think that my forthcoming book, Olives, will
get more attention—and be subjected to greater scrutiny,
perhaps.
Does being a ‘genius’ now mean that you can beat your husband
at Scrabble?
Sometimes the better part of genius is NOT beating your
husband at Scrabble.
And presumably you can now get him to do the chores around the
house
Well, I hope it takes some pressure off John as being the sole
breadwinner in such uncertain times. He’s always been helpful
around the house. (I have a much higher tolerance for
chaos—though genius has a nicer ring to it than slob.)
Is there such a thing as ‘a good place to be a poet’?
Anywhere you can write poetry is a good place to be a poet.
Some poets need urban decay or dreary provincial towns to be
inspired, some need to wander lonely as a cloud among drifts
of daffodils. I was worried when I moved to Athens that the
Muse wouldn’t have my forwarding address, but she seems to
have found me here. Actually, being a Muse, she was probably
born here.
So how does the noisy, polluted, strike-laden city of Athens
suit your process?
I probably prefer daffodils – or wild amaryllis – to urban
decay, so maybe it is not so much Athens as Greece that suits
me. But, again, the poems get written. I can write pretty much
anywhere if need be – a side-effect
of motherhood – and often write at a local café against a
backdrop of throbbing Greek pop music and the clacking of
backgammon.
You have a background in Classics – has that helped you relate
to Greece?
Maybe. Maybe it hurts. I am not sure. I think in a way it was
easier to write about Greek mythology when I wasn’t smack in
the midst of it all the time.
What was the first poem you ever wrote?
I couldn’t say. I was probably making up poems from six or
seven years old. I had my first poem accepted for publication
at 16.
Did it win any prizes?
No, but I got paid! I got a cheque for fifteen dollars. And
the poem only took about an hour to write so I thought, “Well,
this is an easy way to make a living”. And, er, here I am.
So, did you always set out on a career path to be a poet?
I think I always knew I wanted to be a writer, but probably
didn’t know I wanted to be more exclusively a poet until high
school. And the enthusiasm of editors for my poetry – as
opposed to a novel manuscript languishing somewhere in a
drawer – may have nudged me in that direction too.
I like the fact that use humour in your poetry; it is
something that many people feel is incongruous in “serious”
poetry…
I love humor in poetry. And rhyme is certainly a good vehicle
for humour. Humour and seriousness, of course, are hardly
exclusive of one another. A humorous poem can say deep and
serious things, and a ‘serious’ poem can be shallow as the
paper it is written on, not to mention dull. Plenty of serious
poets such as Housman and Eliot, have written splendidly funny
poems.
You mention those two – who else is on your poetry reading
list?
I love Seamus Heaney, William Blake and I am also a big fan of
Philip Larkin, Thomas Hardy, Sylvia Plath, Elizabeth Bishop.
Among contemporary poets, I always look forward to new books
by Don Paterson, Kay Ryan, Richard Wilbur. I like poets that
nourish my own writing. I am attracted to well-crafted,
musical poems that take some emotional risks.
Any Greeks?
Cavafy is my favourite modern Greek poet, which is hardly
surprising. Lately, I have been very much enjoying reading and
translating Sikelianos, who writes in a wonderful assortment
of forms – sonnets, quatrains and so on. And I am currently at
work on an English verse translation of the Cretan epicromance Erotokritos.
I did hear a rumour that your cure for writer’s block is a
strong mint julep. Any truth in that?
I wouldn’t turn one down. Are you buying?