Poets
Are Not Useful spans twenty years, detailing the author's abusive childhood, her
recovery, her love for New Orleans, and the triumph of a broken soul healing
and finding her voice.
Gwyndyn
Alexander (1969-) is a feminist poet from New Orleans. She was born in San
Francisco, but moved to New Orleans and never looked back. In 2005, she lost
her house and job and her library to the Great Levee Failure. In April of 2006,
she moved into exile in Austin, Texas where she currently resides. Her greatest
hope is to someday move back to the city that will always be her home, because
she knows what it means to miss New Orleans with all her heart. She survived an
abusive childhood, and transmuted her experiences into art. She is a fervent
supporter of Protect.org, donating 10% of all book sales to the organization.
This is her fifth book.
What inspired you to
write Poets Are Not Useful?
I had a very abusive
childhood, 18 years worth of awfulness. It's never easy recovering from that
sort of thing. These poems were very therapeutic for me. It really helped to
tell my story, my way...to get that anger and grief out and on the page. My
hope is that other survivors of abuse will read it and realize that they're not
alone, that they can survive and thrive and transmute their pain into something
positive.
That's also why I'm donating 10% of all proceeds from the book to http://protect.org.
They
are a wonderful group fighting for the rights of children, and fighting for
justice against the abusers.
How you came up with such engaging title?
It's
explained in the intro. I was having a drunken conversation with a hard core
scientist type. He kept asking what the function of poetry is, what IS a poet,
whether poets are even useful. The book as a whole is my answer to him.
At
the very end is a kind of epilogue to the book, where I answer that poets are
NOT useful. Microwaves are useful. Duct tape is useful. Poets are essential. :)
How long did it take
you to write this book?
This book has been 20
years in the making. A year ago, I shared my poetry on Andrew Vachss' Facebook.
He told me that it was criminal that such powerful, important work was out of
print. He said that my voice needed to be heard.
So, I buckled down and got to work, revising old unpublished poems and writing
new ones. I think it's a good collection.
What books and
authors have most influenced you?
Andrew Vachss,
definitely. His Burke novels introduced me to Protect.org, and were
instrumental in helping me internalize the truth that what had happened to me
was not in any way my fault.
Judith Tarr has also been a huge influence. I sent her an advance copy of Poets
Are Not Useful, as a thank you for all of the hours of pleasure her books have
given me over the years. Luckily, she liked it. :)
In fact, she gave me a blurb for the back cover: “These poems pierce the heart
and twist the knife. Visceral, dark, and beautiful.”
If
you were to write in a different genre, what it would be?
I would love to be
able to write novels, science fiction would be great. Unfortunately, my mind
seems geared towards poetry. Maybe someday, I'll discover I can write actual
plots and characters...anything's possible in an ever-expanding universe.
Do you have current
work in progress?
I've just started
work on a collection of poems about New Orleans. I lived there for over a
decade, until the Great Levee Failure of 05. I lost my house and my business,
and was forced into exile here in Austin.
Don't get me wrong,
Austin is a great town, but there's no place like home. I just need to find
some ruby slippers....
Where readers can
find your latest achievements?
The book has its own
Facebook page:
I'm Gwyndyn Alexander on Facebook, if anyone
wants to say 'hi': https://www.facebook.com/idiomagic
My husband Jonathan
runs the Twitter thing for me at https://twitter.com/GwynTAlexander. I may be a twit, but I don't know anything about
tweeting.
Here is a sneak peek of Poets Are Not Useful:
Poet as Reflection
Do you know that late at night
alone in the dark feeling?
Too much wrong, too little love.
Helpless. Hopeless.
You can't cope,
can't go on,
can't face another day
alone.
I live there
in that cold empty pain.
If you look
in the too-bright 4 a.m. mirror,
I'll be there looking back at you.
Maybe we'll sense each other,
touch fingertips to glass,
and know
we are not alone.
Poet as Portrait
I had my portrait painted once
when I was five.
Static image:
the child I never really was,
never grows or learns,
two-dimensional innocence
in my painted eyes.
I see that portrait in my mind
and wonder,
was I ever that girl?
Five years old, so solemn.
Cheeks plump with baby fat,
mute accusation,
reproval.
Sometimes I feel
that flat image
is truer to
than the me I push through
life,
my self as marionette.
I want to step into my painted
self and rest,
but my strings bind me,
tether me.
Is this what I have become?
That painted girl transformed,
out of the canvas
but still
the work of someone else's
hands.
Available in both print and
Kindle editions on Amazon
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