Q&A: K.D. Harryman, Poet

K. D. Harryman is the author of Girls’ Book of Knots. Her work has appeared in The Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day Series, Narrative, Cream City Review, The Greensboro Review, and Raleigh Review among others. She is the recipient of the 2019 Rumi Prize sponsored by Arts & Letters and the 2018 James Hearst Poetry Prize sponsored by North American Review. 

Her first book, Auto Mechanic's Daughter, was selected by Chris Abani for the Black Goat Poetry Series Imprint at Akashic Books in Brooklyn. She lives with her family in Los Angeles where she studies social work at USC and most recently served as Poetry Editor for Five South.

You just released your second poetry collection, Girls' Book of Knots. It's a deeply personal and beautiful collection about motherhood and growing up in Kentucky. What inspired you to write this story?

I feel like I only write about three things ever: family, death, and being female in a male-oriented world. It would be an interesting challenge to see if I’ve ever written a poem that doesn’t centralize at least one of those concepts. I’ll have to try it. But yeah, those are umbrella ideas that are hugely inspirational to me. Under family you have all sorts of roles and relationships which also encompasses the idea of “home” or “place.” Basho, I think, said “Every poem is a death poem.” I agree. I’m inspired by familial or love relationships and place and my own feminine identity so every poem ends up being some kind of an homage to or critique of real or desired or feared moments in life.

What was it like writing about Kentucky and your childhood there? What advice do you have for others writing about their relationships to place?

I would say jump on in there. There’s plenty of room to write about place because everyone’s perception of place is unique. I would only caution that there’s a huge responsibility when writing about place and I don’t think I’ve always gotten it right. What I mean is that I think when you write about place, especially when you critique it in any way you have to recognize your own complicity in what you are critiquing or the vantage point from which you critique it. It’s a concept that Chris Abani taught me at my MFA program at Antioch many years ago and it’s something that I hope comes across in everything I write about place. Another mentor, Jeffrey Skinner, once said to me to be careful about “the poet travels to exotic location and writes about it” poems and I am definitely cautious about writing that type of “travel poem” if you will. It’s not to say never do it, but just be aware of the privileged stance from which you write.

How does a new poem emerge for you? What's your process from new idea to something that comes alive on the page?

A lot of poems come from random obsessions that I develop. Girls’ Book of Knots came together after I stumbled upon an old knot encyclopedia from the 40s. A handful of my most recent poems are inspired by the TV series Columbo because during the pandemic my husband and I became capital O Obsessed with Peter Falk and the character he created and the format and basic perfection of that show.

And most of the time the process goes like this: Read something interesting or witness some small human interaction. Obsess on that for a while. Make notes about those thoughts in a random journal. Come across that note later in a journal or folded up on the back of a receipt when donating an old purse or backpack. Write more about it in longhand. At some point type it into a word file. Then if I’m still thinking about it a few days later I’ll do another draft. Read it to a scant handful of trusted listeners and gauge their reaction to it. Decide how much I care about their reactions.  Revise lightly or heavily and sometimes repeat those last three steps a ridiculous amount of times. By then I think they’re generally tough enough little drafts to be sent out into the Big Bad.

When did you first realize you wanted to become a poet?

I was a pretty imaginative child I suppose. I enjoyed make believe and one of the first scenarios I remember acting out was that I was a grown-up adult lady in sort of a Laverne & Shirley situation and that my job was “book writer.” I realize now that’s maybe not the relative anecdote I thought it was?

I was always drawn to creative writing even as I completed college and grad school courses in the field of education. I was studying to be a high school English teacher at the University of Kentucky and lucked into a “writing for educators” class with the poet Wendell Berry which is just so incredibly remarkable to think of now. So, yes, then, when I found myself in Wendell Berry’s class. I mean that would play a part in deciding you wanted to be a poet, right? He’s such an incredible writer and was the best kind of old school, of course, professor. I remember on one assignment I earned one of the only A’s in the class (it was actually an A-). Anything above a C on a first draft with him was practically unheard of so I think I just kind of kept that in my back pocket like if Wendell Berry thinks I can write, maybe I can.

There were more mentors along the way whose encouragement made me think I could do it. Chris and Jeffrey who I’ve mentioned. Also, Ellen Bass edited my first book and wrote a really generous blurb for it which I can’t even believe now. I might have it engraved on my tombstone. I’m 100% serious.  At the Napa Valley Writers’ Conference very soon after I got my MFA, I was assigned to Dorianne Laux’s workshop. She burst into tears after I read a poem I had written the night before about a bus boy. That was more affirming than any award or publication I can imagine.

What was Wendell Berry like as a teacher? What do you think you learned from him?

When I was in his class I was maybe 19 or 20 and I didn’t really know about the rich history of writers from Kentucky (I maybe knew of Hunter S. Thompson, maybe Barbara Kingsolver, but there’s also Bobbie Ann Mason, Frank X. Walker, and my God, bell hooks! and so many more). So I actually didn’t realize what a privilege it was to be in his class. There were about 12 of us around a conference table and him. I wish I could remember exactly what he said to us but I know he was the first professional writer I ever met and he reminded me of my Grandfather who was also a farmer in Kentucky. I learned from him that writing is an art to be respected and a craft to be constantly honed. He was serious and kind as a teacher and he took us seriously too. He treated us like we were writers. I got the sense that there was nothing more important than clarity and honesty in writing. I don’t mean telling the truth. I mean using logic and skill to know if the character you’re creating or the person you’re writing about would really speak or behave the way you’ve portrayed them. After that class I gained such respect for his aesthetic and his expertise. I read The Memory of Old Jack, The Country of Marriage, What are People For. And for my first apartment I bought a poster of his poem “Manifesto: Mad Farmer Liberation Front.” It’s hanging in my office now and is maybe the only thing besides a few books that I still have from that period in my life. He was really my first writing teacher and I think I’m just beginning to realize the influence his teaching and encouragement had on me. 

What's your next project?

Columbo poems! They’re not really about Columbo. I’m not even sure if there’s a unifying thread in the groups of poems I’ve written since Girls Book of Knots was accepted for publication. There’s probably a loose theme of anxiety running through them if I had to call it this early. Big surprise given what we’ve all been through these last few years.

What are three poetry collections you recommend?

Ok, yes, I love this question. Off the top of my head I’m going to say Hotel Almighty by Sarah J. Sloat (Sarabande, 2020). She and Chase Berggrun in her book, RED (Birds, LLC, 2018) are doing remarkable work with source material, erasure, and collage (in Sloat’s case). Read Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay to see what metaphor and figurative language can really do when you turn them loose. That’s technically three collections already but people also need to read my friend Vandana Khanna’s book Burning Like Her Own Planet. It’s out this year from Alice James Books and is an excellent example of how to put imagery to work in a cohesive manuscript where each poem is as strong as the whole. I’d say that if she wasn’t my friend, too. Promise. And Oh my God Donika Kelly’s Bestiary for the same reason except I only wish Donika was my friend.  I just realized I geared those answers toward an audience of writers but these are all excellent gateway books for people who just want to read more or some poetry. You said three. I did five. Sorry, not sorry. :)