April 15, 2025 • 34 mins
Poet Martina Evans and host Seán Hewitt take part in a wide-ranging conversation on the connection between place and voice, the pressure of living, sun worship, and, of course, cats. Martina reads her poem “The Day My Cat Spoke to Me” and Frank O’Hara’s “A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island.”
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Seán Hewitt (00:00):
The Glimpse.
Martina Evans (00:05):
And I realized poetry can do everything. So if it
was point of view, if it was plot,if it was dialogue, character, I
could find them in all the poems.And that was a real revelation to
me.
Seán Hewitt (00:20):
Welcome to The Glimpse, I'm your host Seán Hewitt.
Martina Evans treasures voice,humor, and cats in her works. She's
the author of 13 books of poetryand prose. Her latest narrative
poem, "The Coming Thing," wasshortlisted for the Derek Walcott
Prize for Poetry, born in Cork andnow living in London, Martina is
(00:42):
the poetry critic for The IrishTimes and our guest today on The
Glimpse.
In her poems, Martina Evans has oneof the most distinctive voices I
know (00:54):
self-deprecating, demotic, erudite, but never showy, rich with
a humor that sings off the page. Tolisten to Martina read is to feel
animated, to feel in the bestcompany, to be sat down and told
wonderful gossip, to feel voicesfrom history and daily life
revivified in an almost uncannyway. Witty, humane, subversive and
(01:19):
always attuned to the minutiae ofthe spoken word, these poems fill
our heads with voices that areindelible. Welcome. Martina, thank
you for being here.
Martina Evans (01:30):
Thank you, Sean,
Seán Hewitt (01:30):
The thing I love about all of your poems is how I can hear
Martina Evans (01:31):
Absolutely. I just love the sound of the way people
speak, what they don't say, howthey circle around the subtext, the
you so clearly in the voice ofthem, even when the voice is the
voice of another person or ananimal. And I wanted to start by
asking you about how those voicescome to you and how you go about
capturing them on the page.
(02:00):
music of a voice. And I'm veryinterested in place, the way place
and voice are connected. Place runsthrough the voice.
Seán Hewitt (02:11):
I think the idea of a of the human voice as an instrument
is a really great one. And I thinkit captures something about how you
go about, you know, learning theinstrumentation of capturing a
voice and dialect and the waypeople speak, and that comes
through in the poems (02:28):
not only just in the sort of language that they
use, but even in intonation andsyntax and the way you punctuate a
poem. And I wondered if, if youwould call it research, the sort of
eavesdropping or reading that youdo to try and capture a voice.
Martina Evans (02:46):
Yes, I honestly think it's something you inherit.
Because I think my mother comes ina lot to this, because one of the
things I absolutely love iscockney, cockney language and how
it keeps changing, and it's verymuch influenced by the West Indian
music. You know, since the early20th century, there's a huge change
(03:07):
in how Londoners speak, and I thinkit's just absolutely wonderful. And
I would love to be able to put thatinto writing, but I know I'd get it
wrong. You know, if I tried tospeak with a Cockney accent, or
even if I was trying to do NorthernIreland, I might be able to get one
or two or three words right, but Iwouldn't attempt to do a monologue,
(03:29):
because just wouldn't hear itright.
And, you know, I started in Cork,and like you, Sean, you started
your Irish sojourn in Cork, andthen went to Dublin. And as soon as
I went to Dublin, they were takingoff my Cork accent, but I could
hear they weren't getting it right.And of course, then I came to
London, where they take off Irishaccents. And of course, to a
(03:51):
native, when someone tries to dosomebody else's accent, it sounds
so bad. I used to just feel sorryfor them, rather than angry. So I
think there's a sensitivity there,and it's affected my writing,
actually, because at the beginning,I was writing a lot more novels,
and I did find it frustratingbecause I realized I had to stick
(04:12):
close to the voice I knew.
Seán Hewitt (04:15):
And one of the things that you do more than a lot of
poets, I think, is inject humorinto the poems and also work with
narrative. Was that something thatyou always felt drawn to in the
poem? Humor is, I think, more thancomedy in your poems, because it is
also a way of getting to the heartof the local, the particular
(04:39):
grievances of a person or thecharacter of a person. Did you
start off with narratives?
Martina Evans (04:47):
That's what I wanted. That's what I thought I
would write. I, you know--poetrydidn't occur to me because I
thought that was just a specializedthing that I wouldn't be equipped
for. And I had... even though IIoved poetry, you know, novels were
what I was attracted to. And Ithink in a way, over decades, I
(05:08):
have somehow come back to writingnovels and poems. They are related,
and I think gradually I am mixingthe two together. And I had to find
my own form and the long narrativepoems to mix the two of them
together. But I think with some ofmy poems, I think, are kind of
related to those kind of Irishlaments that can be kind of funny
(05:29):
as well. And when I'm being funny,I'm being very, very serious,
really, I know it's when I'm at mymost serious, because humor is a
way of dealing with things, isn'tit? Difficult things. And I think
it's like a kind of gallows humor.
Seán Hewitt (05:43):
Yeah, I think that's right, that comes through so, so
well in your poems, that I love theidea of a poem as kind of a
crystallized form of everything youmight do in a novel. You know, we
began by speaking aboutinstrumentation, or the voice as an
instrument, and the musicality oror the rhythm of poetry must be a
(06:07):
great source of opportunity forcapturing story and voice in a way
that I know you can have musicalprose or poetic prose, but perhaps
poetry lends itself to speaking invoices?
Martina Evans (06:21):
Yes, I think it does. And I think we have to
remember that the novel is such anew form. You know, in the early
part of the 19th century, WalterScott and Byron, they were the best
sellers with their long narrativepoems like Don Juan.
Seán Hewitt (06:35):
Yeah, I think, you know, we forget the recent
popularity of of poetry, by which Imean, not only in the 19th century,
but a sort of resurgence that we'rehaving now, particularly now, I
think that's driven by poetry as aspoken form, and the acceptance of
poetry as a form of speaking, orsong, as it might have been called.
(06:58):
For our listeners, full disclosure,I used to work with Martina
reviewing poetry for The IrishTimes. and aside from everything
else, one of my favorite parts ofthat job was having phone calls
with Martina, and Martina wouldgive me updates on the cats. So
I am delighted to hear directlyfrom one of them in this poem
(07:22):
today, Martina, would you read itfor us?
Martina Evans (07:23):
"The Day My Cat Spoke to Me" for Geraldine More
O'Ferrell
I was surprised not so much by thefact that she spoke but by the high
opinion she had of me. 'I thinkyou're great,' she said and it was
at this point I looked at her insurprise. 'I mean,' she continued
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'the way you've managed to writeanything at all! Fourteen court
hearings and that horriblebarrister, the way she looked at
you.' 'But you weren't there.' Isaid. 'Oh, but I can imagine it,'
said, Eileen, her yellow eyesopening wide before narrowing into
benevolent slits. 'I only had tolook at you, gulping down your red
(08:04):
lentil soup when you came homeafter nearly three hours in the
witness box defending your right towrite.Did anyone ever hear the
like? I could see it all in everyswallow you took, her butty legs
and her manly shoulders in thatblack suit, did she have dandruff?
I hope not, because it really showsup on black. Saying those things to
(08:26):
you. Oh Miss Cotter we would alllike the luxury of sitting at home
writing books! Holding up paperevidence between finger and thumb
Here is another job you failed toget, Miss Cotter. Trying to make
you go out to work with radiationin a hospital and who would take
care of us? What would the cats ofthis house do without the sound of
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your pen scratching on paper, thehum of your computer, your lovely
lap and the sound of you on thetelephone? The big dyed blond head
of her! And where did she think shewas going? Well earning a lot of
money for her own words by thelooks of things. And saying them to
you! The best writer that everheaved a can of Tuna or opened a
(09:08):
pack of Science Plan. And as MaryJenkins said about him who paid for
the horrible utterances. It's justas well that Shakespeare wasn't
married to him.
And then when he was in the witnessbox, he wished you the best of luck
with your writing...' At thispoint, Eileen paused, closed her
eyes I was waiting for her to saysomething witty herself. After all
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it was a great opportunity forirony which for some reason I have
always associated with cats.
But when she opened her eyes againshe requested a scoop of softened
butter after which she licked herlips in detail and hasn't opened
her mouth since if you don't count,yawning, lapping, eating, washing,
(09:53):
miaowing and screeching atintruders.
Seán Hewitt (09:56):
I love the poem so much, I think it does exactly what
you said your poems do you knowit's it has a sort of
telling-it-slant thing going on.It's both funny and serious,
because in some ways it's about thecat Eileen, but in other ways it's
(10:16):
about the speaker's relationship tothe cat. It's about the things we
know beyond words about animals orthings that we spend time with. But
then in other ways, it's also anaccount of a life or a period of a
life. There's so much going onthere, told through this conceit of
the cat speaking. Did you knowwhere the poem was going when you
(10:37):
started it? I kind of want to knowhow it arrived. Was it a day with
the cat? You know, were you justsitting beside the cat? Or, you
know, how did this, this poem, comeinto being?
Martina Evans (10:47):
I know exactly how it came about, because I'd been in
court a lot, and it had worn medown. And there were many kind of
prongs to the attacks in court, andone of them was that I should be
back at work in my old job as aradiographer. But at that time, I
was working on the second novel. Iwas teaching creative writing, and
(11:10):
I had a young daughter to take careof, so if the other side were
sending me all these ads for jobs,many of them I wasn't qualified to
do in radiography and, you know, mylegal team said it doesn't going to
matter, because they're going tohave their day in court with you.
You're going to have to go in andbe in the witness box and take all
this stuff and answer it, which wasjust awful. And this actually
(11:35):
happened to me in real life, infact, during the court hearing at
one stage, the only time that Itook her unawares was when I said,
"Why are you being so mean to me?"
So anyway, that is put away, right?I had that experience, you know,
you get on with things. And I wasin the roof studio of the City Lit,
which is a flagship adult edCollege in London, and a very well
(11:59):
loved place where they teacheverything from Kung Fu to dancing
to poetry. And I had a great classand they'd write every week. And
then I I thought, "Oh, I'll bringthe Frank O'Hara one, you know,
where, where the sun speaks toFrank O'Hara and tells him, 'you
know, you're quite good, you're oneof the good poets, and keep on
doing what you're doing.'" And Ithought it would be quite good if
(12:20):
they got somebody, the sun or ainanimate object, to address them.
And it was the first time my classwere struck dumb. They couldn't
write.
So I got on the 38 big, red doubledecker bus, sitting there thinking,
"Why couldn't they write," youknow?And then I found myself
pulling out my folder, and I beganto write. And, of course, it was
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all the feelings that I had storedup from my court experience; just
came out. But it was because I feltI wanted them to write it, and they
wouldn't write it. So my attitudeon the bus was, well, I'll do it.
Seán Hewitt (12:56):
Yeah, I think sometimes it's a great challenge to
throw yourself, you know,especially if you spend a lot of
time teaching, you know, you comeup with these exercises. I do it
too, and then I think, "Oh, could Iactually do that?" But I think you
pulled it off brilliantly. Do youoften find yourself having that
experience where you read poems oryou listen to music, or you know,
(13:17):
you see a piece of art or a filmand a poem is jogged out of you.
Or, you know, you open a dialoguewith another piece of art. Is that
something that you do often?
Martina Evans (13:27):
I think so, like it does happen often, and then it
comes in other ways. It can bethis, it can be that. It can be
just something somebody said, youknow, it depends. I watch a lot of
film, and I think film influencesme an awful lot, and I feel my
mother haunts my poems a lot. Andit's interesting. I remember when
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my second book, All Alcoholics AreCharmers was published, my mother
was very put out. And after shedied, I felt she was writing the
books. You know, there's thatMilosz quote from his poem, "Ars
Poetica" about "the house isalways open, the house of poetry,
and people are coming and leavingat will."
Seán Hewitt (14:07):
I like the idea of the poem almost as as calling up or
being inhabited by other voicesthat can kind of wander through it.
There was one thing that kind ofechoed in the back of my mind with
"The Day My Cat Spoke to Me," whichwas obviously it set up a chain of
association, then in my head of catpoems. So I had Christopher Smart
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in the back of my head. And then Iwent all the way back to Pangur Bán
and thinking about the, for thoseof you who don't know it, this
ninth century Irish poem written bya monk, and his cat is called
Pangur Bán, and is kind of sat onhis knee or walking around his
writing desk, and as he writes, thecat's hunting mice becomes kind of
(14:55):
analogous to finding the right wordin a poem, or... it's a very feline
text. But I wondered if you thinkthat there's something kind of
inherently feline about poetry orpoetic about cats, maybe?
Martina Evans (15:11):
I know it's so strange in a way, that so many
poets like cats. Leonardo da Vincisaid that every cat has a
masterpiece. And I do think a lotof poets were just constantly
admiring the masterpiece that is acat. And I know that Emily Brontë,
herself, a great poet as well as anovelist, said that cats are most
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like humans. I think they're verysupportive to poetry. And I know
that Dora my cat, she really calmsdown if I read poems to her, she
likes them very much.
Seán Hewitt (15:46):
Does she have a favorite poet or poet?
Martina Evans (15:49):
Well, she's one of the main characters in the poem
"The Coming Thing" Dora and herfavorite line is, "Dora was a
fierce intellectual."
Seán Hewitt (16:01):
She definitely knows what you're saying, I think.
Martina Evans (16:05):
She definitely knows what I'm saying. And Donny, the
ginger boy, who's now dead, he alsoalways knew, because once when I
couldn't move when I was injured,he was meowing for food, and I
said, "Oh, go and catch a mouse.That's what you're supposed to do,
isn't it?" And He came back a halfan hour later with a mouse hanging
out of his mouth.
Seán Hewitt (16:23):
I think they know more than we think they know. But I like
that, you know, there's, there'ssomething that the poem breaks
through, which is the, not thesilence of a cat, because cats are
not silent, but the wordlessness ofa cat. And instead, it kind of taps
into the language of a cat, if thatmakes sense. It has a real focus on
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their movement, their irony, theway that they might speak, if, if
they could. And I think, you know,a lot of the time the poem feels
companionable to me, it's aboutcompanionship in a way. It's about
being seen by another thing,especially if you feel exposed or
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on your own or doubtful. There'ssomething reassuring about the
presence, either of the sun or or acat, something inanimate or animate
that is just there for us.
Martina Evans (17:23):
I think the best poems come from the body, you know
and the cinema, of course, iscompletely tuned into the body with
all its, you know, scenes, slowmotion. It's how our bodies work.
And I think the way cats move isincredibly inspirational. And I
remember once reading that HarveyKeitel was given two pages of
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dialogue, and he put it to one sideand said, I can show that the way I
stand. And I mean, I just thinkcats, they communicate. I mean, my
cat's annoyed, she just goes andsits, very little movement, but oh
my god, it's just oozing withexpression. You know what I'm
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talking about?
Seán Hewitt (18:05):
Yeah, I do know what you're talking about. I think, you
know, I never, I never grew up withcats. I grew up with dogs, who I
think are very open about theirfeelings. You know, you can tell a
dog is happy, you can tell a dog issad and they don't have, I don't
think they have a huge emotional,expressive range in their movements
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and how they behave. Nick, mypartner, is obsessed with cats, and
I have said to him, "I can'tinterpret them." And he says, "You
know, once you get to know a cat,you know everything. You know it
will you will never get to thepoint of not knowing suddenly that
the cat is about to scratch you,because you can tell if it's
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annoyed with you." But the thingis, I can't, I can't tell yet. So I
need, I need practice in thelanguage of the cat. Martina, I
think it might be a good time totake a short break, and when we
come back, you're gonna read to usfrom Frank O'Hara and this poem in
which the sun speaks,
Martina Evans (19:07):
Okay.
Cathy and Peter Halstead (19:17):
We hope you're enjoying the 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
(19:39):
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
the page you're on. Thank you somuch for listening.
Seán Hewitt (20:00):
So welcome back. Martina Evans, you've chosen Frank
O'Hara's poem, "A True Account ofTalking to the Sun on Fire Island,"
as your inspiration, and we'vealready covered a bit of why this
poem is sitting in the backgroundof your poem. But I wonder if you
could tell us first a little bitabout this O'Hara poem, why it
(20:23):
hooks you, and what you think it isthat kind of draws you to it.
Martina Evans (20:28):
I think its movement is really interesting. I mean, I
think he's very interesting in hiscasual approach. And I think it
starts so conversational, almostthrow away. You know, "The sun woke
me up... Hey! I've been trying...Don't be so rude." You know, it's
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almost, it's one of those oneswhere you hear people saying, "Is
this cut-up prose?" A phrase Ihate. I mean, what does that even
mean? And then I think it movesinto a much darker place, because
it starts off quite casually—thesun is going to look for him—but
then suddenly it gets very, veryhot. It's also very funny and it
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ends actually in a very dark place,I think,
Seán Hewitt (21:16):
Yeah, it's a brilliant poem. It moves so far across just a
couple of pages. Now it is quite along poem, but it's so full of life
I'm I'm going to ask you just toread the opening for us and for our
listeners, you'll be able to findthe full poem on The Glimpse
website, yeah, "A True Account ofTalking to the Sun at Fire Island."
Martina Evans (21:41):
The Sun woke me this morning loud and clear, saying,
"Hey! I've been trying to wake youup for fifteen minutes. Don't be so
rude. You're only the second poetI've ever chosen to speak to
personally so why aren't you moreattentive? If I could burn you
through the window, I would to wakeyou up. I can't hang around here
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all day." "Sorry, Sun, I stayed uplate last night talking to Hal."
"When I woke up Mayakovsky, he wasa lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly. "Most people are upalready waiting to see if I'm going
to put in an appearance." I triedto apologize "I missed you
yesterday." "That's better" hesaid, "I didn't know you'd come
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out." "You may be wondering whyI've come so close.?" "Yes," I said
beginning to feel hot, wondering ifmaybe he wasn't burning me anyway.
"Frankly, I wanted to tell you Ilike your poetry. I see a lot on my
rounds, and you're okay. You maynot be the greatest thing on earth,
but you're different. Now, I'veheard some say you're crazy, they
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being excessively calm themselvesto my mind, and other crazy poets
think that you're a boringreactionary. Not me. Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention.You'll find that people always will
complain about the atmosphere,either too hot or too cold too
bright or too dark, days, too shortor too long. If you don't appear at
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all one day, they think you're lazyor dead, just keep right on. I like
it."
Seán Hewitt (23:12):
It's so good. I think the character of the sun, you know,
it has such personality. Youknow, in some ways, this poem seems
to me to be about the pressure ofwriting or the pressure of living.
In fact, it becomes about thepressure of living, but it begins
perhaps about the pressure ofwriting or the doubt that we all
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feel as writers. Why bother? Whystart? There's always someone
better. There's always someonedoing something in a in a way that
you think is is more important thanthe way that you do things. I
wonder if this is a poem that youreturn to or carry with you through
those doubts. You know, it'ssometimes nice to know that Frank
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O'Hara doubts himself as well.
Martina Evans (24:00):
Oh, absolutely. And I think the burning is quite
interesting in it. I spent all mytime devoted to this, this art, and
I'm not any good. In some ways, youknow, writing is pretty harmless,
but in other ways, you can getburned by it. Winnicott, the
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psychologist, talks about artistsbeing people who are caught between
the desire to hide and the desireto be seen. And he says something
like, "it's a joy to be hidden buta disaster not to be found." Yeah.
And I think that sums it up for us,yeah, and there's a lot of hiding
and being seen or not being seen,and the sun, of course, is in the
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spotlight being seen, and it'sactually terrifying and painful for
us, and we want to hide, and yetsomehow we're drawn to get
sunburned.
I loved in the second half, hesays, "Thanks, and remember, I'm
watching. It's easier for me tospeak to out here. I don't have to
slide down between buildings to getyour ear. I know you love
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Manhattan, but you ought to look upmore often."
And then he talks about embracingthe world, and I find that really
cinematic as well. And he's he'sreacting to Mayakovsky, who was a
very cinematic poet and a filmmakerand it's cartoonish. And I make all
these associations, which I thinkwe all do when we read poems and
(25:28):
when we write poems, and before Ifinish, I must talk about
listening, because I think that'sreally important. "I don't have to
slide down between buildings to getto your ear." I think when we're
writing poems, we're listening.Talk about this very thing that
you're actually listening. You'relistening for the poem, yeah? Mary
Ruefle talks about it. It'slistening to get it right.
Seán Hewitt (25:50):
Wow, yeah. I loved, you know, the idea of listening. I
was once reading an interview withAlice Oswald, I think, and she said
that the last thing she asksherself before she starts a poem
is, "Am I listening?" And I thinkthat's right, you know, to try and
find the note or the rhythm thatyou're trying to to get out onto
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the page, the thing that you'relistening out for.
You just mentioned Mary Rueflethere and with Winnicott, which is
one of my favorite quotes, I wasactually going to use it as an
epigraph to something once "it's ajoy to be hidden in a disaster not
to be found." Mary Ruefle has agreat essay or a lecture in that
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book, Madness, Rack and Honeycalled "On Secrets", and she talks
in that lecture about every poemhaving a secret, but the trick of a
poem is wanting both to give awayand to keep the secret at the same
time. So they're kind of things ofrevelation and also concealment.
(27:04):
And we want to keep those twothings in in tandem, you know, the
same time as you want to expresssomething, to give something away,
you run away and hide it, and youlike the idea of the poem as a
place of of safety or being, youknow, in which you can kind of
disguise things as well as givethem away.
(27:26):
I think one thing that I wasthinking about with this poem and
your cat and O'Hara's sun, and thisidea of writing about inanimate
things as companionable things oror speaking things, was that all of
these poems seem to me to be poemsof friendship in a way, or mutual
(27:48):
concern between the sun and O'Haraor the cat and and the Speaker of
your poem. And I wonder if they'rethere, in some ways, a sort of
secular version of mystical poems.And, you know, in another time,
would a poet maybe have imagined asaint or God appearing and speaking
(28:09):
to them and offering them advice orcorrecting their way of life, or,
you know, guiding them. Does it?Does that seem right to you? Do you
think that these poems are kind offilling in as sort of religious?
Martina Evans (28:22):
I think it's very true. And Ireland was originally
the cult of St. Brigid —was sunworshippers. It's hard to remember
what I was thinking on that day,but I'm sure I would have just
dismissed God because I just can'tbelieve him anymore. But I think
it's very true. And actually, thesun is the source of all life. If
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we were supposed to adore anything,that would be the right place to
put our adoration, not some strangeman in a white beard. You know?
Seán Hewitt (28:50):
Yeah, it always seems to me a strange dismissal, you
know, when you see those stupidkind of colonial cartoons or
something. You know, "before wecame, you were worshiping the sun."
And I'm like, "well, yes, thismakes much more sense to worship
the sun," if anything.
Martina Evans (29:09):
And Apollo is the god of poetry as well, isn't he?
Seán Hewitt (29:12):
Yeah, yeah. I mean, sometimes poetry is just to give
you that, that sense of wonder insomething that otherwise seems
normal. And there's nothing normalabout a cat or the sun. You know,
they're incredible and strange. Andthe stuff of poems, Martina, you
(29:34):
know, were you thinking here aboutlineages? In a way, your poem
echoing back to O'Hara. O'Hara'spoem echoing back to Mayakovsky and
I wonder if you think aboutyourself as a poet with a lineage,
or if you're conscious of theseother voices in the background, and
who would be there at the familygathering of a Martina Evans poem?
Martina Evans (29:57):
Oh, God, I don't know. I find it really hard. I read
an awful lot and widely, and, Imean, Frank O'Hara would be really
important. And when you mentionedsecrets, Stanley Kunitz is a huge
figure, and he spoke about "a poemshould never give up all its
secrets." Yeah e's got a wonderful,wonderful, wondrous poem called
(30:18):
"The Abduction," where he had justbeen reading a book on UFOs and
things like that, and he merges itwith some other more mystical kind
of experience, and it's terrificand haunting. So I love him, but
sometimes I think the poets that Ilove are nothing like me.
Seán Hewitt (30:36):
I think that's often the case. I think I find myself
drawn to to poets completelydifferent to me. Perhaps, if you
read poets who are very similar toyou, you kind of, I don't know if
you get this experience of thecringe. You know that you recognize
yourself too much, and you can kindof see something of what you're
(30:57):
doing in someone else. So if youread someone very far away from
you. I think you know you've moreto learn from them, perhaps.
Martina Evans (31:06):
Yeah, and it's such a cliche, maybe not, maybe not, but
I just love Shakespeare, and he'stimeless. I've often enjoyed
Shakespeare as a book of poems or aplay of Shakespeare's, to me, is
just a long narrative poem. I thinkhe may have influenced me in that
way. Yeah, so he's somebody Ireally, really love, which I
(31:31):
suppose you wouldn't associate withme. I think Frank O'Hara is
obvious. I think James Joyce is ahuge influence,.
Seán Hewitt (31:37):
in some ways, Shakespeare should be so many
people's answers, but I don't thinkmany people are brave enough to
give the answer of Shakespeare, notbecause, you know, we're comparing
ourselves to him, but sometimes itseems that we take it for granted
(31:58):
just how renewable and strange andpowerful those plays are. And
I think having a constant text, youknow, if you take all of
Shakespeare as as a life's work,you could spend your life inside it
and, and happily.
Martina Evans (32:17):
One poet I listen to all the time is Yusef Komunyakaa,
and I think June Jordan, yes, andLucille Clifton would be huge
influences as well. Yeah, as youthink about the demotic and, you
know, having that courage just, youknow, "Homage to My Hips,"
Seán Hewitt (32:35):
Yeah, I can hear June Jordan in the back of your poems. I
think I can hear them in thespeaking voice. She's such a
Martina Evans (32:42):
Yeah, so, and June Jordan's "A Poem about Intelligence
brilliant poet.
for My Brothers and Sisters."That's a poem I really love.
Seán Hewitt (32:49):
Martina Evans, it has been such a pleasure to speak to
you. Thank you for coming on TheGlimpse.
Thank you so much. Seán.
Thanks for joining us today. I'myour host. Seán Hewitt. Martina's
poem, The Day My Cat Spoke to Me"comes from her collection of poems
(33:12):
titled Can Dentists Be Trusted. Itwas published in 2004 and aired
with permission from Carcanet FrankO'Hara's poem, "A True Account of
Talking to the Sun at Fire Island,"is from The Collected Poems of
Frank O'Hara published in 1971 andwas aired with permission from
Knopf.
(33:33):
Coming up next week. Poet StephenSexton muses about the afterlife
through a capitalist lens, his loveof American poetry and a lonely yak
in Batesville, Virginia. Make sureto subscribe to The Glimpse
wherever you get your podcasts. Youcan also find episodes on our
website, Brinkerhoffpoetry.org/podcast. We'd also love
(33:54):
to hear from you. Drop us an emailat the glimpse poetry
podcast@gmail.com
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
(34:16):
production coordinator. Amy Holmesis the foundation's Executive
Director, and our co founders areCathy and Peter Halstead. Thanks
for listening.
The Glimpse.
Martina Evans (00:05):
And I realized poetry can do everything. So if it
was point of view, if it was plot,if it was dialogue, character, I
could find them in all the poems.And that was a real revelation to
me.
Seán Hewitt (00:20):
Welcome to The Glimpse, I'm your host Seán Hewitt.
Martina Evans treasures voice,humor, and cats in her works. She's
the author of 13 books of poetryand prose. Her latest narrative
poem, "The Coming Thing," wasshortlisted for the Derek Walcott
Prize for Poetry, born in Cork andnow living in London, Martina is
(00:42):
the poetry critic for The IrishTimes and our guest today on The
Glimpse.
In her poems, Martina Evans has oneof the most distinctive voices I
know (00:54):
self-deprecating, demotic, erudite, but never showy, rich with
a humor that sings off the page. Tolisten to Martina read is to feel
animated, to feel in the bestcompany, to be sat down and told
wonderful gossip, to feel voicesfrom history and daily life
revivified in an almost uncannyway. Witty, humane, subversive and
(01:19):
always attuned to the minutiae ofthe spoken word, these poems fill
our heads with voices that areindelible. Welcome. Martina, thank
you for being here.
Martina Evans (01:30):
Thank you, Sean,
Seán Hewitt (01:30):
The thing I love about all of your poems is how I can hear
Martina Evans (01:31):
Absolutely. I just love the sound of the way people
speak, what they don't say, howthey circle around the subtext, the
you so clearly in the voice ofthem, even when the voice is the
voice of another person or ananimal. And I wanted to start by
asking you about how those voicescome to you and how you go about
capturing them on the page.
(02:00):
music of a voice. And I'm veryinterested in place, the way place
and voice are connected. Place runsthrough the voice.
Seán Hewitt (02:11):
I think the idea of a of the human voice as an instrument
is a really great one. And I thinkit captures something about how you
go about, you know, learning theinstrumentation of capturing a
voice and dialect and the waypeople speak, and that comes
through in the poems (02:28):
not only just in the sort of language that they
use, but even in intonation andsyntax and the way you punctuate a
poem. And I wondered if, if youwould call it research, the sort of
eavesdropping or reading that youdo to try and capture a voice.
Martina Evans (02:46):
Yes, I honestly think it's something you inherit.
Because I think my mother comes ina lot to this, because one of the
things I absolutely love iscockney, cockney language and how
it keeps changing, and it's verymuch influenced by the West Indian
music. You know, since the early20th century, there's a huge change
(03:07):
in how Londoners speak, and I thinkit's just absolutely wonderful. And
I would love to be able to put thatinto writing, but I know I'd get it
wrong. You know, if I tried tospeak with a Cockney accent, or
even if I was trying to do NorthernIreland, I might be able to get one
or two or three words right, but Iwouldn't attempt to do a monologue,
(03:29):
because just wouldn't hear itright.
And, you know, I started in Cork,and like you, Sean, you started
your Irish sojourn in Cork, andthen went to Dublin. And as soon as
I went to Dublin, they were takingoff my Cork accent, but I could
hear they weren't getting it right.And of course, then I came to
London, where they take off Irishaccents. And of course, to a
(03:51):
native, when someone tries to dosomebody else's accent, it sounds
so bad. I used to just feel sorryfor them, rather than angry. So I
think there's a sensitivity there,and it's affected my writing,
actually, because at the beginning,I was writing a lot more novels,
and I did find it frustratingbecause I realized I had to stick
(04:12):
close to the voice I knew.
Seán Hewitt (04:15):
And one of the things that you do more than a lot of
poets, I think, is inject humorinto the poems and also work with
narrative. Was that something thatyou always felt drawn to in the
poem? Humor is, I think, more thancomedy in your poems, because it is
also a way of getting to the heartof the local, the particular
(04:39):
grievances of a person or thecharacter of a person. Did you
start off with narratives?
Martina Evans (04:47):
That's what I wanted. That's what I thought I
would write. I, you know--poetrydidn't occur to me because I
thought that was just a specializedthing that I wouldn't be equipped
for. And I had... even though IIoved poetry, you know, novels were
what I was attracted to. And Ithink in a way, over decades, I
(05:08):
have somehow come back to writingnovels and poems. They are related,
and I think gradually I am mixingthe two together. And I had to find
my own form and the long narrativepoems to mix the two of them
together. But I think with some ofmy poems, I think, are kind of
related to those kind of Irishlaments that can be kind of funny
(05:29):
as well. And when I'm being funny,I'm being very, very serious,
really, I know it's when I'm at mymost serious, because humor is a
way of dealing with things, isn'tit? Difficult things. And I think
it's like a kind of gallows humor.
Seán Hewitt (05:43):
Yeah, I think that's right, that comes through so, so
well in your poems, that I love theidea of a poem as kind of a
crystallized form of everything youmight do in a novel. You know, we
began by speaking aboutinstrumentation, or the voice as an
instrument, and the musicality oror the rhythm of poetry must be a
(06:07):
great source of opportunity forcapturing story and voice in a way
that I know you can have musicalprose or poetic prose, but perhaps
poetry lends itself to speaking invoices?
Martina Evans (06:21):
Yes, I think it does. And I think we have to
remember that the novel is such anew form. You know, in the early
part of the 19th century, WalterScott and Byron, they were the best
sellers with their long narrativepoems like Don Juan.
Seán Hewitt (06:35):
Yeah, I think, you know, we forget the recent
popularity of of poetry, by which Imean, not only in the 19th century,
but a sort of resurgence that we'rehaving now, particularly now, I
think that's driven by poetry as aspoken form, and the acceptance of
poetry as a form of speaking, orsong, as it might have been called.
(06:58):
For our listeners, full disclosure,I used to work with Martina
reviewing poetry for The IrishTimes. and aside from everything
else, one of my favorite parts ofthat job was having phone calls
with Martina, and Martina wouldgive me updates on the cats. So
I am delighted to hear directlyfrom one of them in this poem
(07:22):
today, Martina, would you read itfor us?
Martina Evans (07:23):
"The Day My Cat Spoke to Me" for Geraldine More
O'Ferrell
I was surprised not so much by thefact that she spoke but by the high
opinion she had of me. 'I thinkyou're great,' she said and it was
at this point I looked at her insurprise. 'I mean,' she continued
(07:44):
'the way you've managed to writeanything at all! Fourteen court
hearings and that horriblebarrister, the way she looked at
you.' 'But you weren't there.' Isaid. 'Oh, but I can imagine it,'
said, Eileen, her yellow eyesopening wide before narrowing into
benevolent slits. 'I only had tolook at you, gulping down your red
(08:04):
lentil soup when you came homeafter nearly three hours in the
witness box defending your right towrite.Did anyone ever hear the
like? I could see it all in everyswallow you took, her butty legs
and her manly shoulders in thatblack suit, did she have dandruff?
I hope not, because it really showsup on black. Saying those things to
(08:26):
you. Oh Miss Cotter we would alllike the luxury of sitting at home
writing books! Holding up paperevidence between finger and thumb
Here is another job you failed toget, Miss Cotter. Trying to make
you go out to work with radiationin a hospital and who would take
care of us? What would the cats ofthis house do without the sound of
(08:47):
your pen scratching on paper, thehum of your computer, your lovely
lap and the sound of you on thetelephone? The big dyed blond head
of her! And where did she think shewas going? Well earning a lot of
money for her own words by thelooks of things. And saying them to
you! The best writer that everheaved a can of Tuna or opened a
(09:08):
pack of Science Plan. And as MaryJenkins said about him who paid for
the horrible utterances. It's justas well that Shakespeare wasn't
married to him.
And then when he was in the witnessbox, he wished you the best of luck
with your writing...' At thispoint, Eileen paused, closed her
eyes I was waiting for her to saysomething witty herself. After all
(09:32):
it was a great opportunity forirony which for some reason I have
always associated with cats.
But when she opened her eyes againshe requested a scoop of softened
butter after which she licked herlips in detail and hasn't opened
her mouth since if you don't count,yawning, lapping, eating, washing,
(09:53):
miaowing and screeching atintruders.
Seán Hewitt (09:56):
I love the poem so much, I think it does exactly what
you said your poems do you knowit's it has a sort of
telling-it-slant thing going on.It's both funny and serious,
because in some ways it's about thecat Eileen, but in other ways it's
(10:16):
about the speaker's relationship tothe cat. It's about the things we
know beyond words about animals orthings that we spend time with. But
then in other ways, it's also anaccount of a life or a period of a
life. There's so much going onthere, told through this conceit of
the cat speaking. Did you knowwhere the poem was going when you
(10:37):
started it? I kind of want to knowhow it arrived. Was it a day with
the cat? You know, were you justsitting beside the cat? Or, you
know, how did this, this poem, comeinto being?
Martina Evans (10:47):
I know exactly how it came about, because I'd been in
court a lot, and it had worn medown. And there were many kind of
prongs to the attacks in court, andone of them was that I should be
back at work in my old job as aradiographer. But at that time, I
was working on the second novel. Iwas teaching creative writing, and
(11:10):
I had a young daughter to take careof, so if the other side were
sending me all these ads for jobs,many of them I wasn't qualified to
do in radiography and, you know, mylegal team said it doesn't going to
matter, because they're going tohave their day in court with you.
You're going to have to go in andbe in the witness box and take all
this stuff and answer it, which wasjust awful. And this actually
(11:35):
happened to me in real life, infact, during the court hearing at
one stage, the only time that Itook her unawares was when I said,
"Why are you being so mean to me?"
So anyway, that is put away, right?I had that experience, you know,
you get on with things. And I wasin the roof studio of the City Lit,
which is a flagship adult edCollege in London, and a very well
(11:59):
loved place where they teacheverything from Kung Fu to dancing
to poetry. And I had a great classand they'd write every week. And
then I I thought, "Oh, I'll bringthe Frank O'Hara one, you know,
where, where the sun speaks toFrank O'Hara and tells him, 'you
know, you're quite good, you're oneof the good poets, and keep on
doing what you're doing.'" And Ithought it would be quite good if
(12:20):
they got somebody, the sun or ainanimate object, to address them.
And it was the first time my classwere struck dumb. They couldn't
write.
So I got on the 38 big, red doubledecker bus, sitting there thinking,
"Why couldn't they write," youknow?And then I found myself
pulling out my folder, and I beganto write. And, of course, it was
(12:44):
all the feelings that I had storedup from my court experience; just
came out. But it was because I feltI wanted them to write it, and they
wouldn't write it. So my attitudeon the bus was, well, I'll do it.
Seán Hewitt (12:56):
Yeah, I think sometimes it's a great challenge to
throw yourself, you know,especially if you spend a lot of
time teaching, you know, you comeup with these exercises. I do it
too, and then I think, "Oh, could Iactually do that?" But I think you
pulled it off brilliantly. Do youoften find yourself having that
experience where you read poems oryou listen to music, or you know,
(13:17):
you see a piece of art or a filmand a poem is jogged out of you.
Or, you know, you open a dialoguewith another piece of art. Is that
something that you do often?
Martina Evans (13:27):
I think so, like it does happen often, and then it
comes in other ways. It can bethis, it can be that. It can be
just something somebody said, youknow, it depends. I watch a lot of
film, and I think film influencesme an awful lot, and I feel my
mother haunts my poems a lot. Andit's interesting. I remember when
(13:48):
my second book, All Alcoholics AreCharmers was published, my mother
was very put out. And after shedied, I felt she was writing the
books. You know, there's thatMilosz quote from his poem, "Ars
Poetica" about "the house isalways open, the house of poetry,
and people are coming and leavingat will."
Seán Hewitt (14:07):
I like the idea of the poem almost as as calling up or
being inhabited by other voicesthat can kind of wander through it.
There was one thing that kind ofechoed in the back of my mind with
"The Day My Cat Spoke to Me," whichwas obviously it set up a chain of
association, then in my head of catpoems. So I had Christopher Smart
(14:31):
in the back of my head. And then Iwent all the way back to Pangur Bán
and thinking about the, for thoseof you who don't know it, this
ninth century Irish poem written bya monk, and his cat is called
Pangur Bán, and is kind of sat onhis knee or walking around his
writing desk, and as he writes, thecat's hunting mice becomes kind of
(14:55):
analogous to finding the right wordin a poem, or... it's a very feline
text. But I wondered if you thinkthat there's something kind of
inherently feline about poetry orpoetic about cats, maybe?
Martina Evans (15:11):
I know it's so strange in a way, that so many
poets like cats. Leonardo da Vincisaid that every cat has a
masterpiece. And I do think a lotof poets were just constantly
admiring the masterpiece that is acat. And I know that Emily Brontë,
herself, a great poet as well as anovelist, said that cats are most
(15:34):
like humans. I think they're verysupportive to poetry. And I know
that Dora my cat, she really calmsdown if I read poems to her, she
likes them very much.
Seán Hewitt (15:46):
Does she have a favorite poet or poet?
Martina Evans (15:49):
Well, she's one of the main characters in the poem
"The Coming Thing" Dora and herfavorite line is, "Dora was a
fierce intellectual."
Seán Hewitt (16:01):
She definitely knows what you're saying, I think.
Martina Evans (16:05):
She definitely knows what I'm saying. And Donny, the
ginger boy, who's now dead, he alsoalways knew, because once when I
couldn't move when I was injured,he was meowing for food, and I
said, "Oh, go and catch a mouse.That's what you're supposed to do,
isn't it?" And He came back a halfan hour later with a mouse hanging
out of his mouth.
Seán Hewitt (16:23):
I think they know more than we think they know. But I like
that, you know, there's, there'ssomething that the poem breaks
through, which is the, not thesilence of a cat, because cats are
not silent, but the wordlessness ofa cat. And instead, it kind of taps
into the language of a cat, if thatmakes sense. It has a real focus on
(16:47):
their movement, their irony, theway that they might speak, if, if
they could. And I think, you know,a lot of the time the poem feels
companionable to me, it's aboutcompanionship in a way. It's about
being seen by another thing,especially if you feel exposed or
(17:09):
on your own or doubtful. There'ssomething reassuring about the
presence, either of the sun or or acat, something inanimate or animate
that is just there for us.
Martina Evans (17:23):
I think the best poems come from the body, you know
and the cinema, of course, iscompletely tuned into the body with
all its, you know, scenes, slowmotion. It's how our bodies work.
And I think the way cats move isincredibly inspirational. And I
remember once reading that HarveyKeitel was given two pages of
(17:44):
dialogue, and he put it to one sideand said, I can show that the way I
stand. And I mean, I just thinkcats, they communicate. I mean, my
cat's annoyed, she just goes andsits, very little movement, but oh
my god, it's just oozing withexpression. You know what I'm
(18:04):
talking about?
Seán Hewitt (18:05):
Yeah, I do know what you're talking about. I think, you
know, I never, I never grew up withcats. I grew up with dogs, who I
think are very open about theirfeelings. You know, you can tell a
dog is happy, you can tell a dog issad and they don't have, I don't
think they have a huge emotional,expressive range in their movements
(18:27):
and how they behave. Nick, mypartner, is obsessed with cats, and
I have said to him, "I can'tinterpret them." And he says, "You
know, once you get to know a cat,you know everything. You know it
will you will never get to thepoint of not knowing suddenly that
the cat is about to scratch you,because you can tell if it's
(18:48):
annoyed with you." But the thingis, I can't, I can't tell yet. So I
need, I need practice in thelanguage of the cat. Martina, I
think it might be a good time totake a short break, and when we
come back, you're gonna read to usfrom Frank O'Hara and this poem in
which the sun speaks,
Martina Evans (19:07):
Okay.
Cathy and Peter Halstead (19:17):
We hope you're enjoying the 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
(19:39):
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
the page you're on. Thank you somuch for listening.
Seán Hewitt (20:00):
So welcome back. Martina Evans, you've chosen Frank
O'Hara's poem, "A True Account ofTalking to the Sun on Fire Island,"
as your inspiration, and we'vealready covered a bit of why this
poem is sitting in the backgroundof your poem. But I wonder if you
could tell us first a little bitabout this O'Hara poem, why it
(20:23):
hooks you, and what you think it isthat kind of draws you to it.
Martina Evans (20:28):
I think its movement is really interesting. I mean, I
think he's very interesting in hiscasual approach. And I think it
starts so conversational, almostthrow away. You know, "The sun woke
me up... Hey! I've been trying...Don't be so rude." You know, it's
(20:49):
almost, it's one of those oneswhere you hear people saying, "Is
this cut-up prose?" A phrase Ihate. I mean, what does that even
mean? And then I think it movesinto a much darker place, because
it starts off quite casually—thesun is going to look for him—but
then suddenly it gets very, veryhot. It's also very funny and it
(21:13):
ends actually in a very dark place,I think,
Seán Hewitt (21:16):
Yeah, it's a brilliant poem. It moves so far across just a
couple of pages. Now it is quite along poem, but it's so full of life
I'm I'm going to ask you just toread the opening for us and for our
listeners, you'll be able to findthe full poem on The Glimpse
website, yeah, "A True Account ofTalking to the Sun at Fire Island."
Martina Evans (21:41):
The Sun woke me this morning loud and clear, saying,
"Hey! I've been trying to wake youup for fifteen minutes. Don't be so
rude. You're only the second poetI've ever chosen to speak to
personally so why aren't you moreattentive? If I could burn you
through the window, I would to wakeyou up. I can't hang around here
(22:01):
all day." "Sorry, Sun, I stayed uplate last night talking to Hal."
"When I woke up Mayakovsky, he wasa lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly. "Most people are upalready waiting to see if I'm going
to put in an appearance." I triedto apologize "I missed you
yesterday." "That's better" hesaid, "I didn't know you'd come
(22:22):
out." "You may be wondering whyI've come so close.?" "Yes," I said
beginning to feel hot, wondering ifmaybe he wasn't burning me anyway.
"Frankly, I wanted to tell you Ilike your poetry. I see a lot on my
rounds, and you're okay. You maynot be the greatest thing on earth,
but you're different. Now, I'veheard some say you're crazy, they
(22:44):
being excessively calm themselvesto my mind, and other crazy poets
think that you're a boringreactionary. Not me. Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention.You'll find that people always will
complain about the atmosphere,either too hot or too cold too
bright or too dark, days, too shortor too long. If you don't appear at
(23:06):
all one day, they think you're lazyor dead, just keep right on. I like
it."
Seán Hewitt (23:12):
It's so good. I think the character of the sun, you know,
it has such personality. Youknow, in some ways, this poem seems
to me to be about the pressure ofwriting or the pressure of living.
In fact, it becomes about thepressure of living, but it begins
perhaps about the pressure ofwriting or the doubt that we all
(23:35):
feel as writers. Why bother? Whystart? There's always someone
better. There's always someonedoing something in a in a way that
you think is is more important thanthe way that you do things. I
wonder if this is a poem that youreturn to or carry with you through
those doubts. You know, it'ssometimes nice to know that Frank
(23:56):
O'Hara doubts himself as well.
Martina Evans (24:00):
Oh, absolutely. And I think the burning is quite
interesting in it. I spent all mytime devoted to this, this art, and
I'm not any good. In some ways, youknow, writing is pretty harmless,
but in other ways, you can getburned by it. Winnicott, the
(24:22):
psychologist, talks about artistsbeing people who are caught between
the desire to hide and the desireto be seen. And he says something
like, "it's a joy to be hidden buta disaster not to be found." Yeah.
And I think that sums it up for us,yeah, and there's a lot of hiding
and being seen or not being seen,and the sun, of course, is in the
(24:47):
spotlight being seen, and it'sactually terrifying and painful for
us, and we want to hide, and yetsomehow we're drawn to get
sunburned.
I loved in the second half, hesays, "Thanks, and remember, I'm
watching. It's easier for me tospeak to out here. I don't have to
slide down between buildings to getyour ear. I know you love
(25:08):
Manhattan, but you ought to look upmore often."
And then he talks about embracingthe world, and I find that really
cinematic as well. And he's he'sreacting to Mayakovsky, who was a
very cinematic poet and a filmmakerand it's cartoonish. And I make all
these associations, which I thinkwe all do when we read poems and
(25:28):
when we write poems, and before Ifinish, I must talk about
listening, because I think that'sreally important. "I don't have to
slide down between buildings to getto your ear." I think when we're
writing poems, we're listening.Talk about this very thing that
you're actually listening. You'relistening for the poem, yeah? Mary
Ruefle talks about it. It'slistening to get it right.
Seán Hewitt (25:50):
Wow, yeah. I loved, you know, the idea of listening. I
was once reading an interview withAlice Oswald, I think, and she said
that the last thing she asksherself before she starts a poem
is, "Am I listening?" And I thinkthat's right, you know, to try and
find the note or the rhythm thatyou're trying to to get out onto
(26:14):
the page, the thing that you'relistening out for.
You just mentioned Mary Rueflethere and with Winnicott, which is
one of my favorite quotes, I wasactually going to use it as an
epigraph to something once "it's ajoy to be hidden in a disaster not
to be found." Mary Ruefle has agreat essay or a lecture in that
(26:39):
book, Madness, Rack and Honeycalled "On Secrets", and she talks
in that lecture about every poemhaving a secret, but the trick of a
poem is wanting both to give awayand to keep the secret at the same
time. So they're kind of things ofrevelation and also concealment.
(27:04):
And we want to keep those twothings in in tandem, you know, the
same time as you want to expresssomething, to give something away,
you run away and hide it, and youlike the idea of the poem as a
place of of safety or being, youknow, in which you can kind of
disguise things as well as givethem away.
(27:26):
I think one thing that I wasthinking about with this poem and
your cat and O'Hara's sun, and thisidea of writing about inanimate
things as companionable things oror speaking things, was that all of
these poems seem to me to be poemsof friendship in a way, or mutual
(27:48):
concern between the sun and O'Haraor the cat and and the Speaker of
your poem. And I wonder if they'rethere, in some ways, a sort of
secular version of mystical poems.And, you know, in another time,
would a poet maybe have imagined asaint or God appearing and speaking
(28:09):
to them and offering them advice orcorrecting their way of life, or,
you know, guiding them. Does it?Does that seem right to you? Do you
think that these poems are kind offilling in as sort of religious?
Martina Evans (28:22):
I think it's very true. And Ireland was originally
the cult of St. Brigid —was sunworshippers. It's hard to remember
what I was thinking on that day,but I'm sure I would have just
dismissed God because I just can'tbelieve him anymore. But I think
it's very true. And actually, thesun is the source of all life. If
(28:42):
we were supposed to adore anything,that would be the right place to
put our adoration, not some strangeman in a white beard. You know?
Seán Hewitt (28:50):
Yeah, it always seems to me a strange dismissal, you
know, when you see those stupidkind of colonial cartoons or
something. You know, "before wecame, you were worshiping the sun."
And I'm like, "well, yes, thismakes much more sense to worship
the sun," if anything.
Martina Evans (29:09):
And Apollo is the god of poetry as well, isn't he?
Seán Hewitt (29:12):
Yeah, yeah. I mean, sometimes poetry is just to give
you that, that sense of wonder insomething that otherwise seems
normal. And there's nothing normalabout a cat or the sun. You know,
they're incredible and strange. Andthe stuff of poems, Martina, you
(29:34):
know, were you thinking here aboutlineages? In a way, your poem
echoing back to O'Hara. O'Hara'spoem echoing back to Mayakovsky and
I wonder if you think aboutyourself as a poet with a lineage,
or if you're conscious of theseother voices in the background, and
who would be there at the familygathering of a Martina Evans poem?
Martina Evans (29:57):
Oh, God, I don't know. I find it really hard. I read
an awful lot and widely, and, Imean, Frank O'Hara would be really
important. And when you mentionedsecrets, Stanley Kunitz is a huge
figure, and he spoke about "a poemshould never give up all its
secrets." Yeah e's got a wonderful,wonderful, wondrous poem called
(30:18):
"The Abduction," where he had justbeen reading a book on UFOs and
things like that, and he merges itwith some other more mystical kind
of experience, and it's terrificand haunting. So I love him, but
sometimes I think the poets that Ilove are nothing like me.
Seán Hewitt (30:36):
I think that's often the case. I think I find myself
drawn to to poets completelydifferent to me. Perhaps, if you
read poets who are very similar toyou, you kind of, I don't know if
you get this experience of thecringe. You know that you recognize
yourself too much, and you can kindof see something of what you're
(30:57):
doing in someone else. So if youread someone very far away from
you. I think you know you've moreto learn from them, perhaps.
Martina Evans (31:06):
Yeah, and it's such a cliche, maybe not, maybe not, but
I just love Shakespeare, and he'stimeless. I've often enjoyed
Shakespeare as a book of poems or aplay of Shakespeare's, to me, is
just a long narrative poem. I thinkhe may have influenced me in that
way. Yeah, so he's somebody Ireally, really love, which I
(31:31):
suppose you wouldn't associate withme. I think Frank O'Hara is
obvious. I think James Joyce is ahuge influence,.
Seán Hewitt (31:37):
in some ways, Shakespeare should be so many
people's answers, but I don't thinkmany people are brave enough to
give the answer of Shakespeare, notbecause, you know, we're comparing
ourselves to him, but sometimes itseems that we take it for granted
(31:58):
just how renewable and strange andpowerful those plays are. And
I think having a constant text, youknow, if you take all of
Shakespeare as as a life's work,you could spend your life inside it
and, and happily.
Martina Evans (32:17):
One poet I listen to all the time is Yusef Komunyakaa,
and I think June Jordan, yes, andLucille Clifton would be huge
influences as well. Yeah, as youthink about the demotic and, you
know, having that courage just, youknow, "Homage to My Hips,"
Seán Hewitt (32:35):
Yeah, I can hear June Jordan in the back of your poems. I
think I can hear them in thespeaking voice. She's such a
Martina Evans (32:42):
Yeah, so, and June Jordan's "A Poem about Intelligence
brilliant poet.
for My Brothers and Sisters."That's a poem I really love.
Seán Hewitt (32:49):
Martina Evans, it has been such a pleasure to speak to
you. Thank you for coming on TheGlimpse.
Thank you so much. Seán.
Thanks for joining us today. I'myour host. Seán Hewitt. Martina's
poem, The Day My Cat Spoke to Me"comes from her collection of poems
(33:12):
titled Can Dentists Be Trusted. Itwas published in 2004 and aired
with permission from Carcanet FrankO'Hara's poem, "A True Account of
Talking to the Sun at Fire Island,"is from The Collected Poems of
Frank O'Hara published in 1971 andwas aired with permission from
Knopf.
(33:33):
Coming up next week. Poet StephenSexton muses about the afterlife
through a capitalist lens, his loveof American poetry and a lonely yak
in Batesville, Virginia. Make sureto subscribe to The Glimpse
wherever you get your podcasts. Youcan also find episodes on our
website, Brinkerhoffpoetry.org/podcast. We'd also love
(33:54):
to hear from you. Drop us an emailat the glimpse poetry
podcast@gmail.com
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
(34:16):
production coordinator. Amy Holmesis the foundation's Executive
Director, and our co founders areCathy and Peter Halstead. Thanks
for listening.
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