May 6, 2025 • 38 mins
Jane Clarke joins Seán Hewitt for the final episode in this season of The Glimpse, discussing the power of writing with restraint, dry stone walls, and bringing queerness to the Irish pastoral tradition. Jane reads her poem “Spalls” and Natasha Trethewey’s “Incident.”
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Jane Clarke (00:00):
I think the first draft, in a way, is often just full
(00:09):
of emotional energy, and then tomake it something that's meaningful
to others, it's the pulling back,it's the looking, and it's finding
the form that will express it sothat it isn't just a diary entry.
You know?
Seán Hewitt (00:27):
Welcome to The Glimpse. I'm your host. Seán
Hewitt. Jane Clarke is the authorof three poetry collections,
including A Change in the Air,which was shortlisted in 2023 for
the T.S Eliot Prize and theForward Prize for Best Collection.
She also edited the illustratedanthology Windfall: Irish Nature
Poems to Inspire and Connect. JaneClarke is our guest today on The
(00:50):
Glimpse.
Jane Clarke writes poems of lyricalbeauty and real heart. Rich with
the tradition of Irish pastoral ornature poetry, a whole landscape
can live inside one of hercarefully tuned lines. But from the
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rich soil of tradition, Jane bringsforward a poetry that is subtly
changed, alert to political andsocial issues and fraught as nature
writing so often is now withanxieties about the changing
climate. In Jane's poems, we canhear echoes of voices past and
present, the farmlands of SeamusHeaney, the lyricism of Kerry
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Hardie. And there's also a melodicsense of nature in all its fine
detail, a chorus made by water,growth, diversity, precious and
under threat. And if that wasn'tenough, there's always a strong
emotional core too, love, desire,hurt and comfort. All of these can
be found in her poems. Jane Clarke,welcome to The Glimpse. I'm so
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happy you could come and speak tous.
Jane Clarke (01:58):
Thanks very much, Seán, and it's actually wonderful
to hear what you have seen and readin my work. I really appreciate
that.
Seán Hewitt (02:07):
I'm a big fan of your poems, as you probably know by now.
Where are you today?
Jane Clarke (02:12):
Okay, I'm in Glenmalure— at home in Glenmalure—
and it's actually a beautiful day,stunningly beautiful.
Seán Hewitt (02:19):
Okay, that's nice. Yeah, we have bright blue skies in
Dublin as well. It's quite cold,but we have a lovely day. When I
was reading your, your bio, readinga bit about you, I learned
something that I didn't know, whichwas that you used to work in
community development andpsychoanalytic psychotherapy. I
wanted to kind of begin by askingyou about that, because I suppose,
you know, we're used to poetshaving different interests, but
often, you know, we talk to themabout poetry. But I wondered if you
could tell us a little bit aboutthat, and what prompted you to
(02:44):
start exploring poetry? Or ispoetry something that you always
had in the background?
Jane Clarke (02:56):
I didn't really have it in my background at all. I
studied in Trinity. I did fouryears English and philosophy. So
obviously I was really interestedin literature, but I was also
always very interested in socialjustice and activism. So when I
left Trinity, myself and a friend,we traveled in South America for a
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year and became really interestedin community development. So I came
back and got a job in the northinner city in Sean McDermott
Street, working in a project therewith women's groups, youth groups.
And during that time, there was alot of conflict coming up in
groups, and I found it reallydifficult to facilitate the
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conflict situations. So that's whatled me to doing psychotherapy; it
was out of a need for my work. Andthen, I just became fascinated by
psychoanalysis, and it actually waspsychoanalysis that led me back to
literature, in a way, led meparticularly to poetry. Because
training in psychoanalysis andworking in it, a lot is about
(04:01):
dealing with grief, and also a lotis about dealing with symbolism and
metaphor. And you know, the wordspeople choose and why they choose
that word in particular at thattime.
Seán Hewitt (04:13):
It is, it is. You know, we often think of poetry as
being able to mediate or give aspace for thinking. Is that
something that, you know, being ledin by psychoanalysis, is that
something that you think informedthe kind of route that your poetry
took, or the concerns of yourpoetry?
Jane Clarke (04:32):
Definitely. I suppose, when you say a space for thinking,
I also say a space for feeling andthinking. And that's what I learned
in psychoanalysis, that you needboth. And I think that's what
happens in poetry as well, and thatit's that kind of combination of
tuning into your emotional life andbringing your thought life to that.
And they're not separate,Really you can’t separate them.
Seán Hewitt (04:49):
I wonder if you could tell us a little bit, too, about
your work with ecologists andactivists and farmers and the stuff
that you're doing now. That's, I'msure, connected to activism that
(05:10):
you've done in the past, but itseems to have shifted, perhaps,
into a different arena.
Jane Clarke (05:15):
Since I began to write in my early 40s, my awareness of
what's happening in theenvironment has increased
enormously, and also I realized Iwanted to learn more. And so then I
sought out people with whom I couldlearn, and they were interested in
what I was doing. So I now havesome wonderful naturalists and
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ecologists amongst my friends. Andthen again, one thing led to
another, because I was interestedin the climate crisis, and
particularly the biodiversitycrisis, then I began to work with
Burrenbeo, who promote and supportfarmers who are farming in a
different way, in a way withnature— this whole thing of working
with nature, rather than exploitingit. Which is the change all
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of us have to make, it's not justfarmers, you know. So, so that's
how, you know, one thing led toanother. And over the past year, I
visited six farmers. And, you know,I go, I visit, I meet with them, I
listen, I walk with them. It's onlyfor a morning. And then that has
led to about ten poems, which Ihope to be doing something with
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over the next year.
Seán Hewitt (06:26):
And how do you see that working in your poems? How is
it shifting the sort of poetry thatyou write—or are you noticing your
attention fall in different places?
Jane Clarke (06:35):
Well, I have to say, when I go to visit the farmers, I'm
always sort of scared, and that'salways my thing. When I'm required
to write a poem that, "Will I beable to do this justice? Will I be
able to find a way in?" But,actually, I have, and yeah, so how
has it helped? I suppose, in a way,a lot of my earlier work came from
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the farm where I grew up, then itwas coming from Wicklow. And in a
way, this has allowed me to spreadmy wings, if you like, and work,
you know, with all kinds ofdifferent settings and all kinds of
different aspects of biodiversity.And so that's been really enriching
for me.
Seán Hewitt (07:15):
When did you move to Wicklow?
Jane Clarke (07:18):
Thirty years ago we moved to Wicklow and—yeah?
Seán Hewitt (07:22):
Yeah, I was gonna ask you about about "Spalls," the poem
you're gonna read for us. Is this anew house in Wicklow, or is this
kind of a historic look back at thefirst time you moved?
Jane Clarke (07:32):
Yeah, we moved to one house in Wicklow, and that's the
same house where we are now. Sothis poem and this garden is the
garden out around us here now. Soif I could just say about the
background to the poem, yeah. Sohow it came about is the summer
before, so that was 2022, myself,my wife, were with two friends who
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were farmers in their kitchen, andI felt in something they said, I
felt their discomfort with us as acouple. Now I knew they really
liked us. It wasn't anything butwith our "coupledom," if you like,
it wasn't about us as people, butabout something about being
uncomfortable. And, of course, thatreminded me of my parents. And I
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came home from that visit, and Istarted to write this poem. And I
think maybe if I hadn't just pickedup on that feeling—which, of
course, it was difficult for me tofeel that, as it was over the years
with my parents, but I think thegreat thing about a poem is you can
include different feelings. It'snot just one feeling, it's not just
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discomfort there, there's lovethere, there's, you know, there's
an awful lot else, I hope conveyed.
Seán Hewitt (08:42):
And isn't it amazing as well, how long a poem can wait.
You know you might have feltsomething 30 years ago or on
different occasions over 30 years,and it takes that long before it
catches and suddenly you know whatit is. You know how to name it.
Jane Clarke (09:01):
Yes, Absolutely.
Seán Hewitt (09:04):
Would you do us the honor of reading "Spalls" for us?
Jane Clarke (09:08):
I will, yes,
Seán Hewitt (09:09):
Thank you.
Jane Clarke (09:10):
And if I could just say that "spalls" comes from the
Irish word "spalli," which meansthe small stones you put into a
wall to hold it together. "Spalls"To help us grow a garden, my mother
and father travelled / across theBog of Allen and over the Whiklow
Gap. // They'd have preferred todrive west to Galway or Mayo, /
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they'd have preferred a husband andchildren // but their daughter
loved a woman. We'd have the tableset for breakfast: rashers, black
pudding, fried bread and eggs. //When the soil had warmed, we
unloaded shovels / and rakes,buckets of compost and the rusted
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iron bar // for prising out rocks.The back seat was thronged / with
pots of seedlings my mother hadnurtured all winter. // We worked
to her bidding (10:10):
loosen tangled roots before planting, / sow
marigolds next to beans, sprinkleEpsom salts around roses. // My
father took off on his own to spudragwort or clip a hedge. / One day
he spent hours gathering stones ofdifferent shapes and sizes. // By
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evening, he'd built us a wall underthe holly, held together / by
gravity and friction, hearted withhandfuls of spalls.
Seán Hewitt (10:48):
Thank you very much. I love that poem. I'm really glad
that you told us; I hadn't realizedthat the word "spalls" had an Irish
root.
Jane Clarke (10:55):
Yes,
Seán Hewitt (10:56):
It was a word that I'll admit I didn't know before I
read this poem. Where did you comeacross it? Or is it a word that's
common to you?
Jane Clarke (11:03):
Well, it's funny because it's actually in, in a poem
in my first collection. I wrote apoem "Dry Stone Wall" in my first
collection, and "spalls" was in it.So it was when I was researching
the first poem, and I researched itby talking to my mother and father
around the kitchen table at home,and asked, I was asking dad all
about, "How do you build a drystone wall?" Because that was one
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of the things he always loveddoing. And so he gave me
vocabulary, basically, and mom didas well. And then—so I wrote that
poem. And this poem was firstcalled "Under the Holly." The
"spalls" weren't in it at all, andI hadn't got a good ending; the
ending wasn't right. And you knowyourself, you just walk around
thinking, "How could I get thisbetter?"And so one day, I was just
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thinking about the making of a walland remembering that they use the
word "hearted." That actually is anexpression used by wall-makers. And
that's when I got the final coupletright, and "spalls" then became the
last word.
Seán Hewitt (12:04):
Yeah, "hearted" is such a, an incredible choice there;
even if the word is given to you,you know, it carries such strength.
There's a line in the poem therethat the wall being "held together
/ by gravity and friction." And itseemed it could almost be a sort of
manifesto for poetry, the way apoem could be made. You know, there
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are certain elements that spark offeach other or seem to pull in
opposite directions, and then therehas to be this kind of gravity
that, that centers the whole poemand perhaps "spalls" is just—there
could be no other thing in thispoem. You know, the poem covers
roughly a day. You know, we beginwith breakfast, and then we move
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towards the evening, but you foldso much life inside it, whether
it's just the geography of Ireland,where your parents are coming from,
a movement across time. As yousaid, you know, there's a poem
looking back over 30 years; Iwonder where that folded into the
poem. You know, did the poem beginsmall and expand, or did it begin
(13:18):
big and, and center down into thedry stone wall? What's the
relationship between the the imageand the, and the scope of the poem?
Jane Clarke (13:25):
Yeah, it, it began with that journey across country,
and my awareness that my parents,they didn't even like crossing the
Shannon, so to come to Wicklow wassuch a long way for them. But from
the beginning, it was one day. Imean, it's very much evoked by a
typical day with them. But therewere more details in it, so I did
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cut it back to what seemed mostimportant. And then, I put in
those little things that my motherused to say, because I kept a note
of, you know, advices mom used togive me for the garden. So I had
kept that, and I found that on mydesk one day, and I thought, "Oh,
yeah, they all, they're sowonderful. They what they all mean
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in other levels." So I put thosein, you know, a little bit further
on in the process.
Seán Hewitt (14:18):
Yeah, it was only this year I learned about marigolds and
companion planting and sacrificialplanting and all these sorts of
things. But there's so much secretknowledge in a garden, I think.
Yeah, in some ways, that makes thepoem—folklore is the wrong word,
but you know, as in the knowledgeof people, that is passed down
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through the poem. And there's somuch, like you say, that people
never write down and becomes lostover time. This poem, you know, I'm
glad you explained that, that itbegan and in this kitchen and with
a feeling of discomfort, becausewhen I was reading it back, I
thought that line, "but theirdaughter loved a woman," is kind of
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the detonation point of the poem,or the the point at which
everything around it begins tochange in significance. And often,
poems have these, these small,little places where you think, "Ah,
that is the heart of the poem. Thatis where everything is hinging on."
It seems to me to be a poem notonly about discomfort, but also the
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love of overcoming, or even tryingto overcome, a discomfort, and all
the other things that we give toeach other, But it seems that your
instinct is to extend grace and tosee the poem as a sort of
empathetic place for thinking andfeeling.
Jane Clarke (15:47):
Yes, it's funny, I sometimes wonder, because I started
writing in my early 40s, I wonder,would it have been very different?
Of course, it would have beendifferent if I'd started writing my
early 20s. By that time in my life,I had learned a lot about how how
to process difficult emotions andhow to make sense and how to take
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responsibility myself. Like Ialways say, it's something about
how do you stay really close toemotion and distance from it? I
think we need to do that as poets.Look at it—and again, that's what I
learned to do in psychoanalysis, tolook at what is happening to
one—and I think that's what we doin poetry.
Seán Hewitt (16:32):
Do you think that poetic form helps you to do that?
Because it you know, you can startmoving things around you. You've
got a framework in which theemotion has to be somewhat
distanced from you, and you bringin a thinking brain as well as a
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feeling brain. Yeah, do you thinkthat's something about what form is
for?"
Jane Clarke (16:56):
Yes, I think form does it, and the editing to find a form
does it. The editing process reallyhelps that. I mean, I think the
first draft, in a way, is oftenjust full of emotional energy, and
then to make it something that'smeaningful to others, it's the
pulling back, it's the looking, andit's finding the form that will
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express it so that it isn't just adiary entry. I mean isn't that the
big thing to move the poem fromsomething that's just a personal
expression to something that willbe meaningful to the other?
Seán Hewitt (17:34):
Yeah, I mean, it's such a difficult trick to learn. It
takes a lot of time to be able todistinguish the point at which
something becomes meaningful toother people, and sometimes it's
trial and error. You're always thefirst reader of your poem. And of
course, the poem means a lot to youbecause you, you made it. And
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sometimes I think, you know, thoseearly drafts that are full of anger
and expression really resonate withyou as a writer, because you
finally got it out, you've got thefeeling out, but that feeling has
to be given a form and a shape inorder to be felt by other people as
(18:15):
well. Yeah, how do you know when apoem is done for you?
Jane Clarke (18:21):
Well, first of all to say that I have a wonderful
workshop group. Okay, so I have,you know, four colleagues who I
meet once a month. I can't stresshow fortunate I am to have them.
Usually we, I bring two poems amonth there, and I work as much as
I can on them before I go there,and in between times, my wife will
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probably have heard them and givena kind of a "mmm" or whatever
reaction. And so I bring themthere, and they give me feedback.
And then I go back again to myself.And usually it's in the next
iteration where I get a sense ofwhether it's ready. But for
example, there's a whole life of apoem, isn't there?
Seán Hewitt (19:04):
Yeah. I mean, sometimes poems are left in a
drawer for for months or years andyou have the experience of picking
them up. And even if there's a lineor an idea, it's still there and
suddenly, you know, like a meetingin a kitchen, it suddenly locks
into place, or something comes ofit.
Jane Clarke (19:23):
Yeah, that's it.
Seán Hewitt (19:24):
It's really important never to throw anything, because
you never know when your mind oryour life becomes ready to, to make
that poem. So it's a waiting game.You said originally that this poem
was called "Under the Holly" andnow "Spalls," but what to you is
the, the difference in resonancebetween those two titles? I'm
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always amazed by the way thatpeople choose titles and, and what
a title can do to a poem.
Jane Clarke (19:55):
Yes, I know that's good question. Somehow I just. I
know sometimes it's there isn't anintellectual answer to that. It
just felt like you're "hearted withhandfuls of spalls" That's what's
at the heart of the poem, I guess.It had to be that. You know?
Seán Hewitt (20:12):
Yeah, there's something almost Heaney-esque about
the word, or the use of the word inthis poem. And obviously Ireland
has such a strong tradition ofpastoral poetry, and I wonder what
your relationship to that traditionis. Is it something you're aware of
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as you're writing? Is it somethingyou're kind of constantly working
with or pushing against or, youknow, how do you think about that?
Jane Clarke (20:42):
I think...I think working with, I would say, I mean,
for example, Patrick Kavanagh. I amjust so lucky that there was a
Patrick Kavanagh, that's how Ifeel. I feel so fortunate. His way
of writing, you know, what he doeswith the ordinary—he makes it
extraordinary, how he brings, youknow, the small ordinariness and
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makes it universal. All of that. Ilearned an awful lot from Patrick
Kavanagh. And you know, I justadore his work as, as with Heaney,
you know, we have such a good,strong tradition. And also, I have
found that in, in poets in theStates, in poets, you know, English
poets, UK poets, so I wouldn't liketo say that it's just the Irish
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poet, but I suppose maybe a few ofthem are very special to me, but
I've also found it elsewhere.
Seán Hewitt (21:32):
One of the things that is interesting, I don't know if I
kind of invented this as a, as myown anxiety when I started writing,
but I remember being aware in myown mind that queer poetry, or
whatever you'd like to call it, wasan urban thing, and that the
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pastoral tradition or, or thenature poem was often not part of
the same tradition. And I wonder ifthat is something that you were
aware of, or if it's something thatyou are trying. You know, even just
by dint of being who you are, whereyou are, do you feel that you are
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writing into a tradition, thatyou're changing in a respectful and
positive way, but just by by thepresence of your poems?
Jane Clarke (22:32):
Well, yeah, no, it's a really good question. I'm really
glad to have been part ofbroadening the tradition and making
it more inclusive. And that isreally important to me. And it's
funny, because it also comes fromhaving grown up a farm in
Roscommon, and I went to Dublinwhen I was 19 to study. And it was
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Dublin where I found the freedom tocome out, and, you know, to explore
lots of different things, socialismand feminism, and you know. So I
don't glorify rural Ireland, and Iam very aware of the limitations,
particularly then. Now it haschanged enormously, but still, if I
was going into a mart in some townin Ireland, I would presume
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homophobia, which—I don't thinkthat's right anymore, but that's my
instinct. My instinct would be tocensor myself. In the last 20
years, as you know, it, has openedup remarkably. Civil partnership
made a difference to my writing,Seán. You know, marriage equality
made a difference to my writing. Ireally like to tell people that,
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because people think, "What wouldlegal, you know, change? What would
change in the referendum have to dowith your creativity?" It has
everything to do with that.
Seán Hewitt (23:48):
And how did it change it?
Jane Clarke (23:49):
Well, it..and I suppose because I and and my wife,
we felt more able to be open. Wefelt more part of everything,
rather than that bit of being onthe outside, and I really think
that made a difference to how ableand open I felt to express one of
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the most important things in mylife, my love for my partner. You
know, the poem "Wife," the poem"June." All those poems, I wouldn't
have been able to write thembecause I was being cautious. I was
doing the censorship. I know, Iknow young queer people don't
necessarily censor the way we did,but we grew up in a time of, you
(24:34):
know, self-censorship forprotection.
Seán Hewitt (24:40):
Yeah, and it's so good to hear that actually social and
political change can, can freewriters because, you know, we often
think about writers as loving a bitof oppression and difficulty, and
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that is where art comes from. Butthe idea that it might also be
spurred by freedom and a loss ofconstraints is, I think, a really
positive and quite hopeful way oflooking at of looking at writing.
Jane Clarke (25:17):
Yeah.
Seán Hewitt (25:18):
I think it might be a good time to take a break, and then
we're going to come back and talkabout an American poet who, who you
admire. And it's a really surrealand quite chilling poem. Looking
forward to talking to you about it.Thanks, Jane.
Jane Clarke (25:34):
Thanks Sean.
Cathy & Peter Halstead (25:46):
We hope you’re enjoying this second season
of The Glimpse. It’s just one smallpart of the Adrian Brinkerhoff
Poetry Foundation. We’re thefounders, Peter and Cathy Halstead.
Our goal is to make great poetrymore accessible to everyone, and we
do that in a variety of ways: through partnerships, our film (26:03):
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series, this podcast, and ourwebsite, brinkerhoffpoetry.org. We
hope these works will lure you intoa parallel universe, the way a
Möbius strip brings you intoanother dimension without leaving
(26:23):
the page you’re on. Thank you somuch for listening.
Seán Hewitt (26:28):
Jane Clarke, welcome back to The Glimpse you've chosen
for us, a poem by NatashaTrethewey, would you tell us a
little bit about it?
Jane Clarke (26:38):
Yes, it's it's a pantoum.
Seán Hewitt (26:41):
And I was going to ask you that, so I'm glad you said. I
was here googling the rules ofpantoums, just to check that it
definitely was. Okay.
Jane Clarke (26:50):
So the you know, the second and fourth lines repeated as
the first and third lines of thefollowing stanza. But it's such a
fabulous pantoum; it's a reallychilling poem. And it is about a
cross-burning by the KKK on a lawnin Mississippi. Well, I presume in
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Mississippi, because that's whereNatasha Trethewey grew up. And I
think what's really striking aboutthe poem is the understatement and
the reticence.
Seán Hewitt (27:23):
Yeah, it's a really chilling, quite strange poem. I
read it a couple of times before Igot this picture coalescing of what
was what was happening. Would youread it for us?
Jane Clarke (27:36):
Yes. "Incident" We tell the story every year—/ how we
peered from the windows, shadesdrawn— / though nothing really
happened, / the charred grass, nowgreen again. // We peered from the
windows, shades drawn, / at thecross trussed like a Christmas
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tree, / the charred grass stillgreen. Then / we darkened our
rooms, lit the hurricane lamps. //At the cross trussed like a
Christmas tree, / a few mengathered, white as angels in their
gowns. / We darkened our rooms andlit hurricane lamps, / the wicks
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trembling in their fonts of oil. //It seemed the angels had gathered,
white men in their gowns. / Whenthey were done, they left quietly.
No one came. / The wicks trembledall night in their fonts of oil; /
by morning, the flames had alldimmed. // When they were done, the
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men left quietly. No one came. /Nothing really happened. / By
morning all the flames had dimmed./ We tell the story every year.
Seán Hewitt (29:00):
It's such a brilliant poem. I wonder if part of the
reason that it's, it's so chillingis, is that actually, if you read
it in one way, and you take some ofthe cues of the language, you have
angels, Christmas trees, a sense ofalmost holiness with the candles
(29:21):
and the fonts, and it might read inthe back of your mind like an
entirely different poem. Andthere's something about the way in
which that scene is being made tosit alongside religious and
Christmas-like settings thatthrows the mind in such a strange
(29:44):
and surreal direction that by thetime it coalesces in your head
what's going on and what the storyis actually about, you find
yourself very disturbed by, by theset of images that have been chosen
for it.
Jane Clarke (29:57):
Yes, and like you say, I think. You do have to read it a
few times to get a really goodsense of actually what's happening
here.
Seán Hewitt (30:05):
Yeah, yeah, it's really chilling. I think the
pantoum as well—it's not a formI've ever tried to write in,
because I always run scared of kindof received forms, particularly
repeating forms. But there'ssomething about the way that these
images recur and are subtlychanged. You know, we, we go over
(30:25):
the course of a night, but the sameideas keep on returning. It feels
like a dream. It feels like adistant memory. The way this the
set of images are just pushing atthe back of of the consciousness of
the poem.
Jane Clarke (30:38):
Yes, and obviously the first line "We tell the story every
year," so doesn't the repetition dothat as well? So we keep telling
the story through the poem as well.And that's a bit like a family
story that, you know, the way itdoes get told again and again. And
there are some details that getrepeated. And you sometimes wonder,
(30:59):
"Well, what, was it actually likethat?" But we get attached to those
details yeah as a way of tellingit.
Seán Hewitt (31:06):
Yeah and, and even that line seems to be somewhat
undone by the poem. "We tell thestory every year." So you're kind
of led to expect events andnarrative and resolution. And it
doesn't, almost doesn't fit theword story at all. It feels like
there's a sort of doubt andstrangeness in the way that it's
(31:27):
made. But it has this secretunderneath it that is just slowly
boiling away in an unsettling way.And I wonder, if you know, do you
think that this is an example ofhow that restraint in poetry works
to good effect? Is that somethingthat, you know, drew you to this
(31:47):
poem as well?
Jane Clarke (31:48):
Yeah. I think the the holding back the restraint makes us
feel it all the more. That's whatit does for me, because she doesn't
spill out all the differentfeelings, and that—for any family
to go through that, the horror ofthat! I mean, surely we go through
(32:09):
the trauma every single year. Werelive the trauma every year. But
she steps back from that. Shedoesn't allow herself to do that.
She doesn't say, "Look at theterrible thing that happened to
us." She just puts it at adistance. And through that, then we
have our reaction, whereasotherwise we'd be just reading her
(32:30):
reaction. Do you see what I mean?But I think she, she allows, you
know, so much space for the readerto feel it themselves by that
distance.
Seán Hewitt (32:39):
Yeah, there's something about the poem, and I was
looking to see if there wasactually a clue to this, or if I
just assumed it, and I think I'vejust assumed it. But it feels like
the way a child might experience ascene. Perhaps it's putting us in a
place where we don't quite knowwhat's going on, but we see these,
(32:59):
these men arrive, and why shouldthey be "like angels?" You know,
there's no reason that these men,once we know who they are, should
be described as being "likeangels," but maybe that's an
association in a child's mind.
Jane Clarke (33:14):
Yes!
Seán Hewitt (33:15):
Did you read it as a child's perspective?
Jane Clarke (33:17):
Yes, I, well, I probably did, actually, when you
say that, because it reminded me ofa story my mother told and what
happened to my mother was when shewas three, so obviously, you know,
she was telling the story through achild's eyes. So I think you're
right. I think that's part of whatgives it a very particular tone.
Seán Hewitt (33:37):
Yeah, and there's something about, you know, that
even the way you were speakingbefore, about how, you know, it
might take 30 years for an idea toclick into place. And sometimes
that's what we do with childhoodmemories as well. You know, we, for
some reason, have rememberedsomething someone said to us, or
that we saw a certain thing when wewere three or four years old, and
(33:58):
then maybe 20 or 30 years later, weget the second piece of information
that clicks it, and we think, "Ah,that's what that was, or that's why
I remember it."
Jane Clarke (34:07):
I think that's a really, really good way of looking
at it, the idea of the child andthen the adult working with it,
because, like, you say, like, evenfonts of oil, there's the religious
symbology coming in there. So, so Ithink it's that mixture of, you
know, the child's impression, thefamily's way of repeating it, and
(34:27):
then an adult, I think, realizingwhat this all is. And I think the
poet lets us be the adult,realizing, and almost looking at
the child behind the curtains,looking out. We can see this family
looking out at what's happening.
Seán Hewitt (34:43):
Even the reluctance in the title to name what the incident
is. You know, that's another way ofholding a secret inside the poem.
And you know, there's somethingdeeply kind of unsettling about
these angels kind of appearing at ahouse. And "the charred grass now
green again." Or "the charred grassstill green." That seems to put me
(35:09):
in two different time frames inthis poem. You know, it's gone back
to being green, or it was green andthen it was charred. You know, it's
kind of mixing time in a reallyinteresting way.
Jane Clarke (35:23):
And isn't it, sort of exploring history in the present,
because the charred grass is nowgreen, but actually it was charred.
It'll always have been charredby—what happened shapes that lawn
today. You know, as as whathappened shapes that family and
that community and that society andthat country.
Seán Hewitt (35:44):
Which is something perhaps, about the pantoum that
helps there as well, because it's acircular, kind of repeating form.
Even if it moves somewhere, youkind of get the sense of pantoums,
so I do, that they might just go onafter you finished reading them,
they keep on moving around incircles, even if you're not there
to watch them. I often say tostudents, you know, you can write
(36:06):
it in a form and then dismantle theform around it, but sometimes the
form helps you get to where youneed to go. It doesn't have to end
up as a pantoum, in can be unmadein a better way than you might have
made it just with your own devices.And what are you working on now?
Jane Clarke (36:23):
Well, I'm working on my fourth collection, which is
exciting, and I have a dateSeptember 26th.
Seán Hewitt (36:29):
Oh, you do? Oh, that’s exciting, that’s great.
Jane Clarke (36:32):
I'm very excited. So no, I'm still, you know, getting it
there, you know, but yeah, that's,that's the plan at the moment. And
then I'm also working on a book ofmy poems, illustrations and some
reflections about making space fornature in Ireland. So they're my
two projects at the moment.
Seán Hewitt (36:52):
That is plenty to be getting on with I can't wait for
the new collection. Jane Clarke, ithas been such a pleasure to speak
to you and hear about all thesepoems and your thoughts about them.
Thank you very much for coming onto The Glimpse.
Jane Clarke (37:05):
Thank you, Seán. I've really enjoyed it.
Seán Hewitt (37:14):
Thanks for joining us today. I’m your host, Seán Hewitt.
Jane’s poem “Spalls” is from herbook A Change in the Air, published
in 2023 and aired with thepermission of Bloodaxe Books.
Natasha Trethewey’s poem "Incident"is from her book Monument,
Copyright (c) 2006 and 2018 byNatasha Trethewey. It was aired
(37:34):
with the permission ofHarperCollins Publishers and Massie
& McQuilkin as agents for theauthor.
Make sure to subscribe to TheGlimpse wherever you get your
podcasts. You can also findepisodes on our website,
brinkerhoffpoetry.org/podcast. We’dalso love to hear from you; drop us
an email attheglimpsepoetrypodcast@gmail.com.
(37:58):
The Glimpse is a production of theAdrian Brinkerhoff Poetry
Foundation. I’m your host, SeánHewitt. Our Senior Producer is
Jennifer Wolfe, Kat Yore is ourtechnical director and mixing
engineer. Editorial Director AmandaGlassman is our curator and
production coordinator. Amy Holmesis the foundation’s Executive
Director, and our co-founders areCathy and Peter Halstead.
(38:21):
And that’s it for this secondseason of The Glimpse! It’s been a
pleasure to be in conversation withthese writers and their words, and
to share those conversations withyou. I hope you’ll keep it going,
keep reading poems, and join us forthe next season of The Glimpse.
Thanks for listening.
I think the first draft, in a way, is often just full
(00:09):
of emotional energy, and then tomake it something that's meaningful
to others, it's the pulling back,it's the looking, and it's finding
the form that will express it sothat it isn't just a diary entry.
You know?
Seán Hewitt (00:27):
Welcome to The Glimpse. I'm your host. Seán
Hewitt. Jane Clarke is the authorof three poetry collections,
including A Change in the Air,which was shortlisted in 2023 for
the T.S Eliot Prize and theForward Prize for Best Collection.
She also edited the illustratedanthology Windfall: Irish Nature
Poems to Inspire and Connect. JaneClarke is our guest today on The
(00:50):
Glimpse.
Jane Clarke writes poems of lyricalbeauty and real heart. Rich with
the tradition of Irish pastoral ornature poetry, a whole landscape
can live inside one of hercarefully tuned lines. But from the
(01:12):
rich soil of tradition, Jane bringsforward a poetry that is subtly
changed, alert to political andsocial issues and fraught as nature
writing so often is now withanxieties about the changing
climate. In Jane's poems, we canhear echoes of voices past and
present, the farmlands of SeamusHeaney, the lyricism of Kerry
(01:33):
Hardie. And there's also a melodicsense of nature in all its fine
detail, a chorus made by water,growth, diversity, precious and
under threat. And if that wasn'tenough, there's always a strong
emotional core too, love, desire,hurt and comfort. All of these can
be found in her poems. Jane Clarke,welcome to The Glimpse. I'm so
(01:56):
happy you could come and speak tous.
Jane Clarke (01:58):
Thanks very much, Seán, and it's actually wonderful
to hear what you have seen and readin my work. I really appreciate
that.
Seán Hewitt (02:07):
I'm a big fan of your poems, as you probably know by now.
Where are you today?
Jane Clarke (02:12):
Okay, I'm in Glenmalure— at home in Glenmalure—
and it's actually a beautiful day,stunningly beautiful.
Seán Hewitt (02:19):
Okay, that's nice. Yeah, we have bright blue skies in
Dublin as well. It's quite cold,but we have a lovely day. When I
was reading your, your bio, readinga bit about you, I learned
something that I didn't know, whichwas that you used to work in
community development andpsychoanalytic psychotherapy. I
wanted to kind of begin by askingyou about that, because I suppose,
you know, we're used to poetshaving different interests, but
often, you know, we talk to themabout poetry. But I wondered if you
could tell us a little bit aboutthat, and what prompted you to
(02:44):
start exploring poetry? Or ispoetry something that you always
had in the background?
Jane Clarke (02:56):
I didn't really have it in my background at all. I
studied in Trinity. I did fouryears English and philosophy. So
obviously I was really interestedin literature, but I was also
always very interested in socialjustice and activism. So when I
left Trinity, myself and a friend,we traveled in South America for a
(03:17):
year and became really interestedin community development. So I came
back and got a job in the northinner city in Sean McDermott
Street, working in a project therewith women's groups, youth groups.
And during that time, there was alot of conflict coming up in
groups, and I found it reallydifficult to facilitate the
(03:38):
conflict situations. So that's whatled me to doing psychotherapy; it
was out of a need for my work. Andthen, I just became fascinated by
psychoanalysis, and it actually waspsychoanalysis that led me back to
literature, in a way, led meparticularly to poetry. Because
training in psychoanalysis andworking in it, a lot is about
(04:01):
dealing with grief, and also a lotis about dealing with symbolism and
metaphor. And you know, the wordspeople choose and why they choose
that word in particular at thattime.
Seán Hewitt (04:13):
It is, it is. You know, we often think of poetry as
being able to mediate or give aspace for thinking. Is that
something that, you know, being ledin by psychoanalysis, is that
something that you think informedthe kind of route that your poetry
took, or the concerns of yourpoetry?
Jane Clarke (04:32):
Definitely. I suppose, when you say a space for thinking,
I also say a space for feeling andthinking. And that's what I learned
in psychoanalysis, that you needboth. And I think that's what
happens in poetry as well, and thatit's that kind of combination of
tuning into your emotional life andbringing your thought life to that.
And they're not separate,Really you can’t separate them.
Seán Hewitt (04:49):
I wonder if you could tell us a little bit, too, about
your work with ecologists andactivists and farmers and the stuff
that you're doing now. That's, I'msure, connected to activism that
(05:10):
you've done in the past, but itseems to have shifted, perhaps,
into a different arena.
Jane Clarke (05:15):
Since I began to write in my early 40s, my awareness of
what's happening in theenvironment has increased
enormously, and also I realized Iwanted to learn more. And so then I
sought out people with whom I couldlearn, and they were interested in
what I was doing. So I now havesome wonderful naturalists and
(05:38):
ecologists amongst my friends. Andthen again, one thing led to
another, because I was interestedin the climate crisis, and
particularly the biodiversitycrisis, then I began to work with
Burrenbeo, who promote and supportfarmers who are farming in a
different way, in a way withnature— this whole thing of working
with nature, rather than exploitingit. Which is the change all
(06:02):
of us have to make, it's not justfarmers, you know. So, so that's
how, you know, one thing led toanother. And over the past year, I
visited six farmers. And, you know,I go, I visit, I meet with them, I
listen, I walk with them. It's onlyfor a morning. And then that has
led to about ten poems, which Ihope to be doing something with
(06:24):
over the next year.
Seán Hewitt (06:26):
And how do you see that working in your poems? How is
it shifting the sort of poetry thatyou write—or are you noticing your
attention fall in different places?
Jane Clarke (06:35):
Well, I have to say, when I go to visit the farmers, I'm
always sort of scared, and that'salways my thing. When I'm required
to write a poem that, "Will I beable to do this justice? Will I be
able to find a way in?" But,actually, I have, and yeah, so how
has it helped? I suppose, in a way,a lot of my earlier work came from
(06:56):
the farm where I grew up, then itwas coming from Wicklow. And in a
way, this has allowed me to spreadmy wings, if you like, and work,
you know, with all kinds ofdifferent settings and all kinds of
different aspects of biodiversity.And so that's been really enriching
for me.
Seán Hewitt (07:15):
When did you move to Wicklow?
Jane Clarke (07:18):
Thirty years ago we moved to Wicklow and—yeah?
Seán Hewitt (07:22):
Yeah, I was gonna ask you about about "Spalls," the poem
you're gonna read for us. Is this anew house in Wicklow, or is this
kind of a historic look back at thefirst time you moved?
Jane Clarke (07:32):
Yeah, we moved to one house in Wicklow, and that's the
same house where we are now. Sothis poem and this garden is the
garden out around us here now. Soif I could just say about the
background to the poem, yeah. Sohow it came about is the summer
before, so that was 2022, myself,my wife, were with two friends who
(07:53):
were farmers in their kitchen, andI felt in something they said, I
felt their discomfort with us as acouple. Now I knew they really
liked us. It wasn't anything butwith our "coupledom," if you like,
it wasn't about us as people, butabout something about being
uncomfortable. And, of course, thatreminded me of my parents. And I
(08:16):
came home from that visit, and Istarted to write this poem. And I
think maybe if I hadn't just pickedup on that feeling—which, of
course, it was difficult for me tofeel that, as it was over the years
with my parents, but I think thegreat thing about a poem is you can
include different feelings. It'snot just one feeling, it's not just
(08:37):
discomfort there, there's lovethere, there's, you know, there's
an awful lot else, I hope conveyed.
Seán Hewitt (08:42):
And isn't it amazing as well, how long a poem can wait.
You know you might have feltsomething 30 years ago or on
different occasions over 30 years,and it takes that long before it
catches and suddenly you know whatit is. You know how to name it.
Jane Clarke (09:01):
Yes, Absolutely.
Seán Hewitt (09:04):
Would you do us the honor of reading "Spalls" for us?
Jane Clarke (09:08):
I will, yes,
Seán Hewitt (09:09):
Thank you.
Jane Clarke (09:10):
And if I could just say that "spalls" comes from the
Irish word "spalli," which meansthe small stones you put into a
wall to hold it together. "Spalls"To help us grow a garden, my mother
and father travelled / across theBog of Allen and over the Whiklow
Gap. // They'd have preferred todrive west to Galway or Mayo, /
(09:36):
they'd have preferred a husband andchildren // but their daughter
loved a woman. We'd have the tableset for breakfast: rashers, black
pudding, fried bread and eggs. //When the soil had warmed, we
unloaded shovels / and rakes,buckets of compost and the rusted
(09:58):
iron bar // for prising out rocks.The back seat was thronged / with
pots of seedlings my mother hadnurtured all winter. // We worked
to her bidding (10:10):
loosen tangled roots before planting, / sow
marigolds next to beans, sprinkleEpsom salts around roses. // My
father took off on his own to spudragwort or clip a hedge. / One day
he spent hours gathering stones ofdifferent shapes and sizes. // By
(10:35):
evening, he'd built us a wall underthe holly, held together / by
gravity and friction, hearted withhandfuls of spalls.
Seán Hewitt (10:48):
Thank you very much. I love that poem. I'm really glad
that you told us; I hadn't realizedthat the word "spalls" had an Irish
root.
Jane Clarke (10:55):
Yes,
Seán Hewitt (10:56):
It was a word that I'll admit I didn't know before I
read this poem. Where did you comeacross it? Or is it a word that's
common to you?
Jane Clarke (11:03):
Well, it's funny because it's actually in, in a poem
in my first collection. I wrote apoem "Dry Stone Wall" in my first
collection, and "spalls" was in it.So it was when I was researching
the first poem, and I researched itby talking to my mother and father
around the kitchen table at home,and asked, I was asking dad all
about, "How do you build a drystone wall?" Because that was one
(11:27):
of the things he always loveddoing. And so he gave me
vocabulary, basically, and mom didas well. And then—so I wrote that
poem. And this poem was firstcalled "Under the Holly." The
"spalls" weren't in it at all, andI hadn't got a good ending; the
ending wasn't right. And you knowyourself, you just walk around
thinking, "How could I get thisbetter?"And so one day, I was just
(11:50):
thinking about the making of a walland remembering that they use the
word "hearted." That actually is anexpression used by wall-makers. And
that's when I got the final coupletright, and "spalls" then became the
last word.
Seán Hewitt (12:04):
Yeah, "hearted" is such a, an incredible choice there;
even if the word is given to you,you know, it carries such strength.
There's a line in the poem therethat the wall being "held together
/ by gravity and friction." And itseemed it could almost be a sort of
manifesto for poetry, the way apoem could be made. You know, there
(12:27):
are certain elements that spark offeach other or seem to pull in
opposite directions, and then therehas to be this kind of gravity
that, that centers the whole poemand perhaps "spalls" is just—there
could be no other thing in thispoem. You know, the poem covers
roughly a day. You know, we beginwith breakfast, and then we move
(12:53):
towards the evening, but you foldso much life inside it, whether
it's just the geography of Ireland,where your parents are coming from,
a movement across time. As yousaid, you know, there's a poem
looking back over 30 years; Iwonder where that folded into the
poem. You know, did the poem beginsmall and expand, or did it begin
(13:18):
big and, and center down into thedry stone wall? What's the
relationship between the the imageand the, and the scope of the poem?
Jane Clarke (13:25):
Yeah, it, it began with that journey across country,
and my awareness that my parents,they didn't even like crossing the
Shannon, so to come to Wicklow wassuch a long way for them. But from
the beginning, it was one day. Imean, it's very much evoked by a
typical day with them. But therewere more details in it, so I did
(13:49):
cut it back to what seemed mostimportant. And then, I put in
those little things that my motherused to say, because I kept a note
of, you know, advices mom used togive me for the garden. So I had
kept that, and I found that on mydesk one day, and I thought, "Oh,
yeah, they all, they're sowonderful. They what they all mean
(14:12):
in other levels." So I put thosein, you know, a little bit further
on in the process.
Seán Hewitt (14:18):
Yeah, it was only this year I learned about marigolds and
companion planting and sacrificialplanting and all these sorts of
things. But there's so much secretknowledge in a garden, I think.
Yeah, in some ways, that makes thepoem—folklore is the wrong word,
but you know, as in the knowledgeof people, that is passed down
(14:41):
through the poem. And there's somuch, like you say, that people
never write down and becomes lostover time. This poem, you know, I'm
glad you explained that, that itbegan and in this kitchen and with
a feeling of discomfort, becausewhen I was reading it back, I
thought that line, "but theirdaughter loved a woman," is kind of
(15:05):
the detonation point of the poem,or the the point at which
everything around it begins tochange in significance. And often,
poems have these, these small,little places where you think, "Ah,
that is the heart of the poem. Thatis where everything is hinging on."
It seems to me to be a poem notonly about discomfort, but also the
(15:32):
love of overcoming, or even tryingto overcome, a discomfort, and all
the other things that we give toeach other, But it seems that your
instinct is to extend grace and tosee the poem as a sort of
empathetic place for thinking andfeeling.
Jane Clarke (15:47):
Yes, it's funny, I sometimes wonder, because I started
writing in my early 40s, I wonder,would it have been very different?
Of course, it would have beendifferent if I'd started writing my
early 20s. By that time in my life,I had learned a lot about how how
to process difficult emotions andhow to make sense and how to take
(16:10):
responsibility myself. Like Ialways say, it's something about
how do you stay really close toemotion and distance from it? I
think we need to do that as poets.Look at it—and again, that's what I
learned to do in psychoanalysis, tolook at what is happening to
one—and I think that's what we doin poetry.
Seán Hewitt (16:32):
Do you think that poetic form helps you to do that?
Because it you know, you can startmoving things around you. You've
got a framework in which theemotion has to be somewhat
distanced from you, and you bringin a thinking brain as well as a
(16:52):
feeling brain. Yeah, do you thinkthat's something about what form is
for?"
Jane Clarke (16:56):
Yes, I think form does it, and the editing to find a form
does it. The editing process reallyhelps that. I mean, I think the
first draft, in a way, is oftenjust full of emotional energy, and
then to make it something that'smeaningful to others, it's the
pulling back, it's the looking, andit's finding the form that will
(17:19):
express it so that it isn't just adiary entry. I mean isn't that the
big thing to move the poem fromsomething that's just a personal
expression to something that willbe meaningful to the other?
Seán Hewitt (17:34):
Yeah, I mean, it's such a difficult trick to learn. It
takes a lot of time to be able todistinguish the point at which
something becomes meaningful toother people, and sometimes it's
trial and error. You're always thefirst reader of your poem. And of
course, the poem means a lot to youbecause you, you made it. And
(17:55):
sometimes I think, you know, thoseearly drafts that are full of anger
and expression really resonate withyou as a writer, because you
finally got it out, you've got thefeeling out, but that feeling has
to be given a form and a shape inorder to be felt by other people as
(18:15):
well. Yeah, how do you know when apoem is done for you?
Jane Clarke (18:21):
Well, first of all to say that I have a wonderful
workshop group. Okay, so I have,you know, four colleagues who I
meet once a month. I can't stresshow fortunate I am to have them.
Usually we, I bring two poems amonth there, and I work as much as
I can on them before I go there,and in between times, my wife will
(18:43):
probably have heard them and givena kind of a "mmm" or whatever
reaction. And so I bring themthere, and they give me feedback.
And then I go back again to myself.And usually it's in the next
iteration where I get a sense ofwhether it's ready. But for
example, there's a whole life of apoem, isn't there?
Seán Hewitt (19:04):
Yeah. I mean, sometimes poems are left in a
drawer for for months or years andyou have the experience of picking
them up. And even if there's a lineor an idea, it's still there and
suddenly, you know, like a meetingin a kitchen, it suddenly locks
into place, or something comes ofit.
Jane Clarke (19:23):
Yeah, that's it.
Seán Hewitt (19:24):
It's really important never to throw anything, because
you never know when your mind oryour life becomes ready to, to make
that poem. So it's a waiting game.You said originally that this poem
was called "Under the Holly" andnow "Spalls," but what to you is
the, the difference in resonancebetween those two titles? I'm
(19:48):
always amazed by the way thatpeople choose titles and, and what
a title can do to a poem.
Jane Clarke (19:55):
Yes, I know that's good question. Somehow I just. I
know sometimes it's there isn't anintellectual answer to that. It
just felt like you're "hearted withhandfuls of spalls" That's what's
at the heart of the poem, I guess.It had to be that. You know?
Seán Hewitt (20:12):
Yeah, there's something almost Heaney-esque about
the word, or the use of the word inthis poem. And obviously Ireland
has such a strong tradition ofpastoral poetry, and I wonder what
your relationship to that traditionis. Is it something you're aware of
(20:33):
as you're writing? Is it somethingyou're kind of constantly working
with or pushing against or, youknow, how do you think about that?
Jane Clarke (20:42):
I think...I think working with, I would say, I mean,
for example, Patrick Kavanagh. I amjust so lucky that there was a
Patrick Kavanagh, that's how Ifeel. I feel so fortunate. His way
of writing, you know, what he doeswith the ordinary—he makes it
extraordinary, how he brings, youknow, the small ordinariness and
(21:04):
makes it universal. All of that. Ilearned an awful lot from Patrick
Kavanagh. And you know, I justadore his work as, as with Heaney,
you know, we have such a good,strong tradition. And also, I have
found that in, in poets in theStates, in poets, you know, English
poets, UK poets, so I wouldn't liketo say that it's just the Irish
(21:26):
poet, but I suppose maybe a few ofthem are very special to me, but
I've also found it elsewhere.
Seán Hewitt (21:32):
One of the things that is interesting, I don't know if I
kind of invented this as a, as myown anxiety when I started writing,
but I remember being aware in myown mind that queer poetry, or
whatever you'd like to call it, wasan urban thing, and that the
(21:56):
pastoral tradition or, or thenature poem was often not part of
the same tradition. And I wonder ifthat is something that you were
aware of, or if it's something thatyou are trying. You know, even just
by dint of being who you are, whereyou are, do you feel that you are
(22:20):
writing into a tradition, thatyou're changing in a respectful and
positive way, but just by by thepresence of your poems?
Jane Clarke (22:32):
Well, yeah, no, it's a really good question. I'm really
glad to have been part ofbroadening the tradition and making
it more inclusive. And that isreally important to me. And it's
funny, because it also comes fromhaving grown up a farm in
Roscommon, and I went to Dublinwhen I was 19 to study. And it was
(22:52):
Dublin where I found the freedom tocome out, and, you know, to explore
lots of different things, socialismand feminism, and you know. So I
don't glorify rural Ireland, and Iam very aware of the limitations,
particularly then. Now it haschanged enormously, but still, if I
was going into a mart in some townin Ireland, I would presume
(23:17):
homophobia, which—I don't thinkthat's right anymore, but that's my
instinct. My instinct would be tocensor myself. In the last 20
years, as you know, it, has openedup remarkably. Civil partnership
made a difference to my writing,Seán. You know, marriage equality
made a difference to my writing. Ireally like to tell people that,
(23:39):
because people think, "What wouldlegal, you know, change? What would
change in the referendum have to dowith your creativity?" It has
everything to do with that.
Seán Hewitt (23:48):
And how did it change it?
Jane Clarke (23:49):
Well, it..and I suppose because I and and my wife,
we felt more able to be open. Wefelt more part of everything,
rather than that bit of being onthe outside, and I really think
that made a difference to how ableand open I felt to express one of
(24:11):
the most important things in mylife, my love for my partner. You
know, the poem "Wife," the poem"June." All those poems, I wouldn't
have been able to write thembecause I was being cautious. I was
doing the censorship. I know, Iknow young queer people don't
necessarily censor the way we did,but we grew up in a time of, you
(24:34):
know, self-censorship forprotection.
Seán Hewitt (24:40):
Yeah, and it's so good to hear that actually social and
political change can, can freewriters because, you know, we often
think about writers as loving a bitof oppression and difficulty, and
(25:00):
that is where art comes from. Butthe idea that it might also be
spurred by freedom and a loss ofconstraints is, I think, a really
positive and quite hopeful way oflooking at of looking at writing.
Jane Clarke (25:17):
Yeah.
Seán Hewitt (25:18):
I think it might be a good time to take a break, and then
we're going to come back and talkabout an American poet who, who you
admire. And it's a really surrealand quite chilling poem. Looking
forward to talking to you about it.Thanks, Jane.
Jane Clarke (25:34):
Thanks Sean.
Cathy & Peter Halstead (25:46):
We hope you’re enjoying this second season
of The Glimpse. It’s just one smallpart of the Adrian Brinkerhoff
Poetry Foundation. We’re thefounders, Peter and Cathy Halstead.
Our goal is to make great poetrymore accessible to everyone, and we
do that in a variety of ways: through partnerships, our film (26:03):
undefined
series, this podcast, and ourwebsite, brinkerhoffpoetry.org. We
hope these works will lure you intoa parallel universe, the way a
Möbius strip brings you intoanother dimension without leaving
(26:23):
the page you’re on. Thank you somuch for listening.
Seán Hewitt (26:28):
Jane Clarke, welcome back to The Glimpse you've chosen
for us, a poem by NatashaTrethewey, would you tell us a
little bit about it?
Jane Clarke (26:38):
Yes, it's it's a pantoum.
Seán Hewitt (26:41):
And I was going to ask you that, so I'm glad you said. I
was here googling the rules ofpantoums, just to check that it
definitely was. Okay.
Jane Clarke (26:50):
So the you know, the second and fourth lines repeated as
the first and third lines of thefollowing stanza. But it's such a
fabulous pantoum; it's a reallychilling poem. And it is about a
cross-burning by the KKK on a lawnin Mississippi. Well, I presume in
(27:11):
Mississippi, because that's whereNatasha Trethewey grew up. And I
think what's really striking aboutthe poem is the understatement and
the reticence.
Seán Hewitt (27:23):
Yeah, it's a really chilling, quite strange poem. I
read it a couple of times before Igot this picture coalescing of what
was what was happening. Would youread it for us?
Jane Clarke (27:36):
Yes. "Incident" We tell the story every year—/ how we
peered from the windows, shadesdrawn— / though nothing really
happened, / the charred grass, nowgreen again. // We peered from the
windows, shades drawn, / at thecross trussed like a Christmas
(28:00):
tree, / the charred grass stillgreen. Then / we darkened our
rooms, lit the hurricane lamps. //At the cross trussed like a
Christmas tree, / a few mengathered, white as angels in their
gowns. / We darkened our rooms andlit hurricane lamps, / the wicks
(28:23):
trembling in their fonts of oil. //It seemed the angels had gathered,
white men in their gowns. / Whenthey were done, they left quietly.
No one came. / The wicks trembledall night in their fonts of oil; /
by morning, the flames had alldimmed. // When they were done, the
(28:45):
men left quietly. No one came. /Nothing really happened. / By
morning all the flames had dimmed./ We tell the story every year.
Seán Hewitt (29:00):
It's such a brilliant poem. I wonder if part of the
reason that it's, it's so chillingis, is that actually, if you read
it in one way, and you take some ofthe cues of the language, you have
angels, Christmas trees, a sense ofalmost holiness with the candles
(29:21):
and the fonts, and it might read inthe back of your mind like an
entirely different poem. Andthere's something about the way in
which that scene is being made tosit alongside religious and
Christmas-like settings thatthrows the mind in such a strange
(29:44):
and surreal direction that by thetime it coalesces in your head
what's going on and what the storyis actually about, you find
yourself very disturbed by, by theset of images that have been chosen
for it.
Jane Clarke (29:57):
Yes, and like you say, I think. You do have to read it a
few times to get a really goodsense of actually what's happening
here.
Seán Hewitt (30:05):
Yeah, yeah, it's really chilling. I think the
pantoum as well—it's not a formI've ever tried to write in,
because I always run scared of kindof received forms, particularly
repeating forms. But there'ssomething about the way that these
images recur and are subtlychanged. You know, we, we go over
(30:25):
the course of a night, but the sameideas keep on returning. It feels
like a dream. It feels like adistant memory. The way this the
set of images are just pushing atthe back of of the consciousness of
the poem.
Jane Clarke (30:38):
Yes, and obviously the first line "We tell the story every
year," so doesn't the repetition dothat as well? So we keep telling
the story through the poem as well.And that's a bit like a family
story that, you know, the way itdoes get told again and again. And
there are some details that getrepeated. And you sometimes wonder,
(30:59):
"Well, what, was it actually likethat?" But we get attached to those
details yeah as a way of tellingit.
Seán Hewitt (31:06):
Yeah and, and even that line seems to be somewhat
undone by the poem. "We tell thestory every year." So you're kind
of led to expect events andnarrative and resolution. And it
doesn't, almost doesn't fit theword story at all. It feels like
there's a sort of doubt andstrangeness in the way that it's
(31:27):
made. But it has this secretunderneath it that is just slowly
boiling away in an unsettling way.And I wonder, if you know, do you
think that this is an example ofhow that restraint in poetry works
to good effect? Is that somethingthat, you know, drew you to this
(31:47):
poem as well?
Jane Clarke (31:48):
Yeah. I think the the holding back the restraint makes us
feel it all the more. That's whatit does for me, because she doesn't
spill out all the differentfeelings, and that—for any family
to go through that, the horror ofthat! I mean, surely we go through
(32:09):
the trauma every single year. Werelive the trauma every year. But
she steps back from that. Shedoesn't allow herself to do that.
She doesn't say, "Look at theterrible thing that happened to
us." She just puts it at adistance. And through that, then we
have our reaction, whereasotherwise we'd be just reading her
(32:30):
reaction. Do you see what I mean?But I think she, she allows, you
know, so much space for the readerto feel it themselves by that
distance.
Seán Hewitt (32:39):
Yeah, there's something about the poem, and I was
looking to see if there wasactually a clue to this, or if I
just assumed it, and I think I'vejust assumed it. But it feels like
the way a child might experience ascene. Perhaps it's putting us in a
place where we don't quite knowwhat's going on, but we see these,
(32:59):
these men arrive, and why shouldthey be "like angels?" You know,
there's no reason that these men,once we know who they are, should
be described as being "likeangels," but maybe that's an
association in a child's mind.
Jane Clarke (33:14):
Yes!
Seán Hewitt (33:15):
Did you read it as a child's perspective?
Jane Clarke (33:17):
Yes, I, well, I probably did, actually, when you
say that, because it reminded me ofa story my mother told and what
happened to my mother was when shewas three, so obviously, you know,
she was telling the story through achild's eyes. So I think you're
right. I think that's part of whatgives it a very particular tone.
Seán Hewitt (33:37):
Yeah, and there's something about, you know, that
even the way you were speakingbefore, about how, you know, it
might take 30 years for an idea toclick into place. And sometimes
that's what we do with childhoodmemories as well. You know, we, for
some reason, have rememberedsomething someone said to us, or
that we saw a certain thing when wewere three or four years old, and
(33:58):
then maybe 20 or 30 years later, weget the second piece of information
that clicks it, and we think, "Ah,that's what that was, or that's why
I remember it."
Jane Clarke (34:07):
I think that's a really, really good way of looking
at it, the idea of the child andthen the adult working with it,
because, like, you say, like, evenfonts of oil, there's the religious
symbology coming in there. So, so Ithink it's that mixture of, you
know, the child's impression, thefamily's way of repeating it, and
(34:27):
then an adult, I think, realizingwhat this all is. And I think the
poet lets us be the adult,realizing, and almost looking at
the child behind the curtains,looking out. We can see this family
looking out at what's happening.
Seán Hewitt (34:43):
Even the reluctance in the title to name what the incident
is. You know, that's another way ofholding a secret inside the poem.
And you know, there's somethingdeeply kind of unsettling about
these angels kind of appearing at ahouse. And "the charred grass now
green again." Or "the charred grassstill green." That seems to put me
(35:09):
in two different time frames inthis poem. You know, it's gone back
to being green, or it was green andthen it was charred. You know, it's
kind of mixing time in a reallyinteresting way.
Jane Clarke (35:23):
And isn't it, sort of exploring history in the present,
because the charred grass is nowgreen, but actually it was charred.
It'll always have been charredby—what happened shapes that lawn
today. You know, as as whathappened shapes that family and
that community and that society andthat country.
Seán Hewitt (35:44):
Which is something perhaps, about the pantoum that
helps there as well, because it's acircular, kind of repeating form.
Even if it moves somewhere, youkind of get the sense of pantoums,
so I do, that they might just go onafter you finished reading them,
they keep on moving around incircles, even if you're not there
to watch them. I often say tostudents, you know, you can write
(36:06):
it in a form and then dismantle theform around it, but sometimes the
form helps you get to where youneed to go. It doesn't have to end
up as a pantoum, in can be unmadein a better way than you might have
made it just with your own devices.And what are you working on now?
Jane Clarke (36:23):
Well, I'm working on my fourth collection, which is
exciting, and I have a dateSeptember 26th.
Seán Hewitt (36:29):
Oh, you do? Oh, that’s exciting, that’s great.
Jane Clarke (36:32):
I'm very excited. So no, I'm still, you know, getting it
there, you know, but yeah, that's,that's the plan at the moment. And
then I'm also working on a book ofmy poems, illustrations and some
reflections about making space fornature in Ireland. So they're my
two projects at the moment.
Seán Hewitt (36:52):
That is plenty to be getting on with I can't wait for
the new collection. Jane Clarke, ithas been such a pleasure to speak
to you and hear about all thesepoems and your thoughts about them.
Thank you very much for coming onto The Glimpse.
Jane Clarke (37:05):
Thank you, Seán. I've really enjoyed it.
Seán Hewitt (37:14):
Thanks for joining us today. I’m your host, Seán Hewitt.
Jane’s poem “Spalls” is from herbook A Change in the Air, published
in 2023 and aired with thepermission of Bloodaxe Books.
Natasha Trethewey’s poem "Incident"is from her book Monument,
Copyright (c) 2006 and 2018 byNatasha Trethewey. It was aired
(37:34):
with the permission ofHarperCollins Publishers and Massie
& McQuilkin as agents for theauthor.
Make sure to subscribe to TheGlimpse wherever you get your
podcasts. You can also findepisodes on our website,
brinkerhoffpoetry.org/podcast. We’dalso love to hear from you; drop us
an email attheglimpsepoetrypodcast@gmail.com.
(37:58):
The Glimpse is a production of theAdrian Brinkerhoff Poetry
Foundation. I’m your host, SeánHewitt. Our Senior Producer is
Jennifer Wolfe, Kat Yore is ourtechnical director and mixing
engineer. Editorial Director AmandaGlassman is our curator and
production coordinator. Amy Holmesis the foundation’s Executive
Director, and our co-founders areCathy and Peter Halstead.
(38:21):
And that’s it for this secondseason of The Glimpse! It’s been a
pleasure to be in conversation withthese writers and their words, and
to share those conversations withyou. I hope you’ll keep it going,
keep reading poems, and join us forthe next season of The Glimpse.
Thanks for listening.
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