Nicelle Davis’s poem “Five Steps Closer to Knowing First” appears in the February 2010 issue of The Collagist. She lives in Southern California with her husband James and their son J.J. Her poems are forthcoming in Caesura, FuseLit, Illya’s Honey, Moulin, The New York Quarterly, Redcations, and Transcurrent. She’d like to acknowledge her poetry family at the University of California, Riverside and Antelope Valley Community College. She runs a free online poetry workshop at: http://nicelledavis.wordpress.com/.

1. Can you talk about the inspiration for “Five Steps Closer to Knowing First”? What was on your mind while you were writing this poem?

I think the poem is a translation of a conversation I had (by myself in a bathroom) with a pregnancy test. The original dialogue was the F-word repeated—but the F-word used to its full tonal potential. Before this moment, I didn’t realize how the F-word holds the sacred and profane (simultaneously). I learned from that experience that words are just place holders for how our bodies sing to be understood. The internal self is desperate to be known by the external world—to be whole. So the poem is really the F-word in translation.

2. The way these sections build off of one another is so, so lovely. It’s hard to tell where the initially abstract ideas (the chicken stealing the cat’s eye) morph into more definite realities (the doctor advising his patient)—appropriate, considering the content. Did one part come decisively before the other, or were these two ideas always tied?

Ideas are always tied and tangled things for me. I find everyday life to be difficult (overwhelmingly difficult), so my mind creates dreamscapes to help me deal with events as they happen. (I don’t think I’m alone in this—I mean there is that Dr. Freud cat who wrote a lot on the subject of dreams.) For me, all things (real and imagined) build upon one another.

Chickens are great examples of interconnectedness. Chicken is cheep and easy cooking, so many of us are raised on breasts baked in cream-of-mushroom soup. Mother and breast is an easy association. Another easy association is chicken and William Carlos Williams. Love and Poetry—what else is there really? Maybe chicken is just a way for one mouth to of say love and poetry at the same time? Maybe?

Sometimes I think we’d be better off without dictionaries defining our words or dreams—maybe if we took the time to learn each other’s dream language people wouldn’t feel so alone. Maybe? But then again, maybe poultry is just poultry.

Chicken or chicken? You choose.

3. All the images here are so full of possibility, and so curious. The one that really got to me is right in the middle: “My/ veins are now a string/ pulled taught between two/ tin cans. Does it work?” This idea of an exclusively two-way but highly imperfect form of communication is intriguing; how do you mean it to speak to mother/child relationships?

Wow. Your question made me blush—to create possibility is always my artist goal. Sometime I really fail at possibility—I put too many controls on the words—but I’m always trying. Thank you for the compliment.

Language is such a broken and incomplete thing—for this reason communication is a miracle to me. I am constantly amazed by the kindness found in ordinary conversation. If I were to paint a picture of friendship it would look like a game of tin can telephones. Friendship is the product of simple miracles.

4. In an interview for PANK’s blog in August, you talk briefly about being pregnant while going to grad school. One thing that makes this poem so striking is that there is very little wonder at the situation, very little awe, though there is surprise. Had you been curious in your writing about motherhood, or perhaps motherly relationships, before becoming pregnant yourself?

I was carpooling from Los Angeles to my desert home with a very charming young lady when the subject of “our mothers” came up. We joked that we would have to travel to Vegas and back in order to cover the topic. While this was our joke, we actually missed three of our exits (adding an hour to our drive time).

The subject of motherhood is engrossing, but it isn’t glamorous. There is a lot of shit and piss involved—a lot of self reckoning. (For example, I will need to pay 50 cents to the cuss jar for having used bad words in answering this question.). As much as I succeed as a mother, I fail. This puts a whole new perspective on the generations that came before. I’m curious about mothers the way I am curious about poetry—so the two have a tendency to come together in my work.

5. What other writing projects are you currently working on?

Right now I’m in love with the word “collaboration.” I’ve asked my friends to dress-up like cowboys and write a book with me about the California ghost town Bodie. Will it work? I don’t know, but I know the experience of writing along side voices (whose poetry gives me goose bumps) will be amazing. Plus, I love to play dress-up.

My pet project is a blog called “The Bees’ Knees.” There are a workshop spaces, poetry raffles, a salon, editor interviews, and guest essays on poetics. It is a poetry slumber party that everyone is invited to: http://nicelledavis.wordpress.com/

I am also determined to learn how to write a review that will lead people to a book.

6. What great books have you read recently? Are there any upcoming releases you’re excited about?

Oh, man. Where to start? Where to end? Michael Ondaatje and Graham Green are amazing. Lorine Niedecker is a new love affair. Just found Rimbaud and have been kicking myself for not having read him sooner. There is always Rilke, C.D. Wright, Brenda Hillman, Charles Wright, and I don’t want to stop but should.

For the record, “my boys” will always be Stephen Crane and Nathaniel West. No other writer will possess my heart like they do.

As for new releases…there is so much good writing happening right now that it is impossible for me to name every title.  We really are living in a time of great art—I feel so lucky to be an observer. Just to name a few authors from my cohort I would say read Ching-In Chen, Adam Gallari, Alba Hacker, Alexis Vergalla, and Kate Durbin. They are all very talented writers—and good friends (the are miracles really).

[Interview by Liana Imam]