An interview with Tracy K. Smith in May 2010, before the beginning of her mentoring year with Hans Magnus Enzensberger.
How did you first learn that you were being considered for the Rolex Arts Initiative?
I got an email in mid-October [2009] inviting me to apply. I wasn’t familiar with the programme until then and didn’t know that Rolex was involved in the arts, but it seemed like a great opportunity and I was grateful for the chance to apply.
Can a poet really teach another poet?
Yes, definitely. I teach undergraduates creative writing at Princeton University. Some people say the ability to write is intrinsic rather than learned, but I think that a person with talent can learn a great deal from working with a teacher or mentor. It’s the difference between waiting to discover something very essential on your own, and having someone with more knowledge and experience suggest you try something that might have a valuable effect on your approach to your work.
I’m hoping that the mentoring year will do the latter for me. I’ll be working on a prose fiction project, which is new terrain for me.
Which poets have influenced you?
Early on, I read and tried very hard to emulate Elizabeth Bishop [1911-79]. I was very interested in her way of approaching description and narrative. James Dickey [1923-97] is another poet who was very important to me when I started writing, mostly because his poetry was capable of exploring dark and sometimes frightening material – I wanted to learn how to tap into that kind of feeling.
I’ve learned a great deal from poets with whom I’ve studied: Lucie Brock-Broido, Mark Doty, Lucille Clifton, Henri Cole, Linda Gregg and others. They had a dual effect of inspiring me on the page and in the classroom. And there are many poets closer to my own age or stage of career whom I read and admire. I’ve just happened upon the collection Beautiful in the Mouth, by Keetje Kuipers, whose poems are daring, formally beautiful and driven by rich imagery and startling ideas.
You obviously believe that poetry is important. And yet many people are not at all interested in poetry.
I would wager that the people who don’t find poetry accessible feel this way because of how it was taught to them when they were young. Maybe they were forced to learn poems by rote, or to try and paraphrase the “meaning” of a poem, or to wrestle with poems as if they were unruly animals that needed taming. I’ve visited classrooms where something like this seemed to be happening, and it’s clear that it doesn’t win many fans for the genre.
I believe that when people are able to listen to poetry and respond to it on a sonic level, and then to take a more relaxed or even playful approach to describing the effect that the words and images have upon them without the fear of “getting the answer right”, they can overcome that sense of intimidation and find themselves comfortable in the presence of a poem.
A poem can be different things at different times, and I think acknowledging that gives readers a little permission to respond honestly and unselfconsciously to what they are reading or hearing. With that kind of a relaxed receptiveness, readers might find themselves open to the new ways of seeing the world and considering experience that are at the heart of poems.
You have mentioned that you are thinking of writing a novel. Do you expect your mentoring year to be constructed around that? How would that work?
I’ve wanted to work in prose for some time now, but have found it very easy to talk myself out of such an endeavour, mostly because of the intimidation involved in starting from scratch in a new genre. Hans Magnus Enzensberger has been productive in several different genres, and I have the idea that his guidance will help make the transition less of a nervous one for me. But I also have a feeling that the mentoring year will yield something other than just straightforward feedback on my work. We are no doubt going to talk about craft, but we are also going to talk off the page as well. I’m guessing it will be something of an intuitive process.
What happened during the first meeting with your Mentor, when Hans Magnus Enzensberger was meeting the finalists in order to choose his protégé?
Well, I arrived at his office in Munich without a very definite idea of what to expect. I was nervous that it might be difficult to make a genuine connection in such a brief and orchestrated amount of time, but he was extremely welcoming. We had a very natural and lively conversation that seemed to take on a life of its own. Enzensberger has so much knowledge; it was a pleasure to be in his company and listen. We talked about travel, poetry, a little about politics. It felt like we were just sharing little glimmers of our lives with one another. I knew that if I had the opportunity, I could learn a great deal just by being in this person’s presence.
Is there anything in common between your work and that of your Mentor?
He has had a long and diverse career, but in reading his poetry I can see that there is something kindred between us. I think we’re both, on one key level, concerned with the individual and society, and with how an individual responds to systems that are not of his own choosing. That’s just one small thing, perhaps, but I think it’s the kind of perspective that resonates in a variety of directions across the work.
What is your goal or objective as a writer?
My main wish as an artist is to continue to use language not just as a tool for communicating or for making beautiful objects, but for arriving at a deeper and more effective way of being alive in the world. I want to use words and the questions they are capable of forming as a way of pointing myself towards new and constantly changing possibilities for understanding and connecting with others – other places, other ways of being, other histories, other realities.