Courtesy Dana Levin
Sure, former College of Santa Fe/Santa Fe University of Art & Design creative writing educator and poet Dana Levin left Santa Fe in 2017, but can one ever truly leave New Mexico behind? In Levin’s case, the answer is no, and she’ll take an evening off from her Distinguished Writer in Residence position at St. Louis, Missouri’s Maryville University for a Zoom reading from her fifth book of poetry, Now Do You Know Where You Are, presented by Collected Works Bookstore & Coffeehouse. (6 pm Thursday, April 21. Free. collectedworksbookstore.com). Levin is slated to talk with Copper Canyon Press publicist (and writer) Ryo Yamaguchi at the reading, and we called her all the way in Missouri to lob some Qs.
Your newest collection is about how change speaks to the soul, and was written over a four-year period between 2016 and 2020. Was the move to Missouri a big part of that?
So in 2017, I dropped like a roulette ball into a seven-layered roulette wheel. One layer was the 2016 election, and what that did and what it showed us. Just having to really wake up to the reality that the worst aspects of the American character had come to power and that we had elected a killer clown, basically, it really, really jarred me. Another layer was leaving Santa Fe for St. Louis after living in that city for 19 years, and that was profound. I was sort of prepped for it because my school kept going out of business and people were sort of leaving or wondering if they were going to have to, and my friend group was dissolving.
Moving to St. Louis, especially in the wake of Ferguson, felt like moving to the navel of the nation, and I made the decision to permanently move there after the election. St. Louis is a blue city in a red state, a western city that looks east. It’s a fascinating place, but really different. I was having a midlife crisis—this is the third layer—of creative confidence. I really lost confidence in my writing, and my writing was all in response to the 2016 election and being freaked out, and I really had a hard time accepting that as subject matter, but I had to give in because it was consistent. A fourth layer was discovering it was real, and my main experience was twofold: Entering my 50s and really finding myself pivoting and looking at the past. Previous to this, was always looking toward the future, now I was looking at what happened to me in this deep way. Also having to confront what I always wanted that never happened; all of those things were happening at the same time. Once I got here, I met somebody. I fell in love. That’s not in the book, but I had been alone for most of my time in Santa Fe, and I think that being with my boyfriend John really provided anchor and ballast and safety, and entering subject matter I’d never really touched before, like eace and politics. Writing the book I felt very vulnerable and afraid, because it was so all over the place. It just felt really different for me, so being with John was wonderful, even though he’s not in the book. The grounding he offered me helped me write this book.
Is it scary to work with or otherwise record unadulterated or errant thoughts? Did unexpected ideas emerge?
Totally scary, just because so much was new and unknown. I think the thing that most surprised and interested me is how peopled the poems are with strangers and people I actually know. I think my four previous books, there are people in them, but I’m calibrated to where I’m much more comfortable in the world of archetypes and dreams and the symbols of the unconscious. This book is very in the here and now, and I loved I was able to bring friends in and use their real names; and talk about places, like Del Charro is mentioned. I got to talk about my cat. There’s a poem called ‘Pledge,’ which is a love letter to Santa Fe.
My sister gave me an assignment to write every day in a journal, and I ended up extracting a lot about Santa Fe. I loved being able to talk about what it was like and to speak about standing on a fulcrum of great change. I got to the point where I owned two keys—the key to my house and to my car. The second discovery was the incredible freedom I felt in...letting the book be as wide-ranging in form as it is. It has everything from things that look like long lyrics essays to short poems. It was quite a challenge.
Are Zoom sessions making poetry readings more accessible or does not being in the same room sap some of the urgency or the feeling?
I’ve heard people say that they hope virtual readings stay because of the accessibility. I’ve heard people say they find them alienating. And there is a kind of magic that can happen at a great poetry reading that’s in person, but I don’t think you can make a definitive statement. I’ve definitely done more [virtual readings] than ever, and my feeling about that is, the ones I like the best are the ones where everybody’s aware we’re in these weird little squares and it’s kind of like watching TV but not, and there’s a casual vibe. The ones that feel the weirdest are when the reader and the host are trying to maintain a formal reality like at a gala event. I think being a teacher has helped me negotiate that.
