Mead Lake, This
An Interview with B.J. Best

IN MANY WAYS, THESE ARE LOVE POEMS. LOVE POEMS TO PEOPLE, TO GIRLS, WOMEN … BUT ALSO TO MEAD LAKE ITSELF. WHAT IS IT ABOUT MEAD LAKE THAT INSPIRED YOU TO MAKE IT THE BACKDROP FOR THIS COLLECTION?
I imagine that everyone has a few places that are mythic to them; Mead Lake is one of mine. My grandparents used to have a cottage on Mead, and I spent much of my summers there when I was a kid. Through probably the largest instance of kismet in my life, my best friend’s parents own a cottage on the same lake. So Mead has always been a destination for me. There’s nothing particularly impressive about it—it’s small, man-made, and the algae often turns the water pea-soup green. But whenever I’m there, I have an overwhelming feeling of contentment that I get virtually nowhere else. So the myth, the calmness made Mead an amenable setting. And since the events described are approximately true (my best friend and I did go snowmobiling, the girlfriend said the lake would turn her hair green), the words came easily.

HOW DID THE COLLECTION COME TOGETHER? HOW WAS IT SPAWNED? WAS THERE A MOMENT OF LIGHTNING-STRIKE WHEN YOU REALIZED YOU HAD THE PIECES TO A PUZZLE AND ALL YOU NEEDED WAS TO PUT THEM TOGETHER?
The collection began as a single poem—“mead lake, this morning,” the first poem in the book. I wrote it and I liked the movement. It begins with some details simply describing the scene of the lake, and twists at the end to the very bald “i miss you. i miss you.” It’s a move that frightened me in its directness and sincerity. So I thought I would try writing more poems like that. As a result, each of the other “mead lake, this” poems operates on a similar principle: description of some facets of the lake, followed by an address to “you” at the end. (The only exception is the final poem, which intentionally inverts that order.)

But twelve poems do not a chapbook make, and I feared that an entire book of poems addressed to the “you” would bog down in treacle. Responding to a challenge issued by a member of my writing group (echoing Hemingway’s “Write hard and clear about what hurts”), I began the series of “wind” poems. Thus the yin to the yang of the “mead lake, this” poems arose, and suddenly I saw the potential of a balanced chap.

YOU ARE NOT BY ANY MEANS TYPICALLY A “LOVE POET.” TELL ME WHY YOU DECIDED TO BREAK THE MOLD WITH THIS BOOK. WERE YOU CONSCIOUS THAT THESE WERE LOVE POEMS AS YOU WERE WRITING THEM? AND WHAT CONSTITUTES A LOVE POEM, ANYWAY? BECAUSE THESE AREN’T STRAIGHTFORWARD LOVE POEMS BY ANY STRETCH. SUBQUESTION: HOW DID YOU DECIDE TO APPROACH THE GENRE DIFFERENTLY AND WHAT WAS YOUR APPROACH?
It’s weird. In terms of content, these poems are more weather reports than anything, or possibly they’re different maps of Mead. Prior to this book, if somebody would have come up to me and told me I was a love poet, I probably would have had some nasty words for him. But this book is clearly a book of love poetry.

I wasn’t trying to write love poems. I started out trying to describe the different moods of Mead through a progression of a few days—some in winter, some in summer. But it’s always interesting to me how being away from home causes you to think about it so much more than you do when you’re actually there. So my wife Erin, who has never been to Mead, kept creeping in. From there, it was an easy jump to write about my major failed relationship, the girlfriend who had been to Mead a few times.

I’m not sure what makes a love poem, at least a good one. Maybe a good contemporary love poem leads the reader to believe, perhaps only temporarily, that it is going to be about something else. Of course, all of the poetry staples need to be there: imagery, figurative language, and so on. I need a love poem to show me love in a new way. I know some writers who fear there’s nothing new to be said about the subject, which I think is a legitimate but ultimately paralyzing concern. Maybe that’s why contemporary love poems have a bit of misdirection to them—they’re aspiring toward that “something new.”

Perhaps two qualities that make a good love poem are honesty and charity. To get past lovey-dovey or hearts cold as ice requires a somewhat disinterested eye tempered with goodwill. Even the “wind” poems, while ostensibly sour, have a grudging kindness in them.

OBVIOUSLY, SINCE I’M PART OF THE GROUP, THIS QUESTION IS NOT FOR MY BENEFIT. BUT TALK ABOUT MEAD LAKE’S MOST WANTED FOR A MOMENT. DESCRIBE HOW YOU GOT TOGETHER, WHAT IT IS YOU DO, ETC.
In the winter of 2004, my best friend and a co-worker of his (they tended bar at the same restaurant) decided they wanted to get the smart people they knew together to philosophize and write—pretentious, I know. We were all from the West Bend area (northwest of Milwaukee) and we drove the four hours to the cottage at Mead. The only person I knew well was Rob, my best friend. We all met each other, and spent a lot of time talking about poetry, writing, reading, and life, alternately puffing ourselves up and deflating our own hot air. The five of us wound up writing a collaborative short story, which is something I’d recommend if you enjoy the feeling of your head being crushed in a vise. But it was an incredibly unique experience, and by the time we finished our Frankensteinian story, we had bonded in a way I wouldn’t have imagined.

After a few meetings at local bars, the group became a bit dormant. But we agreed on a second retreat at a different lake in March 2005, from which my first chap Crap sprang. Since then, we have become ironclad. We have two weeklong writing retreats at Mead each year. We have tried many different genres of writing—fiction, one-act plays, essays, etc.—but poetry best suits most of us. We often agree on a topic or theme to focus our work. This past July it was “wandering,” and some of the poems in Mead Lake, This arose from that.

We took our name from a drawing posted on the refrigerator by one of Rob’s nieces. The current members of the group are you and me, Rob Eckert, Joshua Beam, A.J. Minster, and G.C. Fogle. Our newest member is a man who only goes by Keats.

We’ve got a MySpace page set up, so people can check us out in more detail: www.myspace.com/mlmw.

CAN YOU POINT TO ANY MAJOR INFLUENCES THAT MIGHT BE THREADED IN SOME WAY INTO THIS BOOK, THESE POEMS?
Probably the overriding influence, in terms of the book as a whole, is The Wild Iris by Louise Glück. I wasn’t consciously thinking of Iris as I assembled these poems, but I can see Glück’s fingerprints in several places. Specifically, Iris taught me that using the same title for several different poems can be an effective strategy. Iris also uses time as an organizing principle—the movement through a season, the movement from day to night. Those principles are central to Mead Lake, This.

There are other echoes as well. Some people have suggested the “mead lake, this” poems are reminiscent of E.E. Cummings, and I can definitely see that, although I see Robert Creeley at work as well. The benevolent spirit of James Wright guides a lot of the nature imagery—his famous poems as well as a few lesser-known (“Northern Pike,” particularly). The left-hand turn a lot of the poems make towards the end is probably most inherited from Charles Simic.

YOU TOLD ME ONCE THAT YOU ENJOY WRITING MOST WHEN YOU ARE WORKING ON A SPECIFIC PROJECT … YOUR BIRD POEM MANUSCRIPT, YOUR VIDEOGAME MANUSCRIPT, ETC. WHY IS THAT?
I’m not sure it’s an issue of enjoyment as much as I think it’s easier. With every new poem, you have to play Chaos and invent a fully-formed world. The variables are limitless. By writing with a certain project in mind, it at least eliminates a few of those variables. I have a hard time writing individual poems. But if someone were to say, “Go write ten poems about science” (or whatever), after I wrote that first one, numbers two through ten would become a lot easier. (Maybe I should go do that—I can see a poem about magnetism, another about an inclined plane, maybe something comparing Isaac Newton to William Tell’s son.)

MEAD LAKE, THIS IS ACTUALLY COMPRISED OF THREE OR MORE SEPARATE SMALLER PROJECTS. WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO SEE THEM COME TOGETHER THE WAY THEY DID? WAS THERE ANYTHING YOU LEFT OUT?
When I put the manuscript together, it was like tumblers of a lock aligning. I couldn’t believe it. Without any real forethought, I had a book in three sections, each with nine poems. There are four distinct “mead lake, this” progressions, split evenly between sections one and three. “walking the bachelor’s avenue bridge” is the middle poem in the book, and serves as its hinge—appropriate for a bridge, crossing that unknown divide.

What surprised me most was how important numbers became to the movement of the book, particularly the number three. There are three sections, and the “mead like, this” poems are in sets of three. They divide easily into concepts of morning, noon, and night. There are three main characters in the book: “you,” “she,” and “I.” Many of the poems are in tercets, and so forth.

I only left one poem out, and it deserved to stay out. Beyond “addendum to mead lake, this night,” I had an “addendum to addendum to mead lake, this night.” It was silly and self-indulgent. I combined the best qualities of both addenda to make a single strong “addendum” poem.

GETTING AWAY FROM THIS BOOK IN PARTICULAR, WHAT’S YOUR WRITING PROCESS LIKE? HOW DOES B.J. BEST BIRTH A POEM?
It begins by simply paying attention to something and everything. Before I begin writing, I need to have a hook—an image or a line. It doesn’t necessarily need to be the first thing in the poem, but it often is. From there, I build a few more lines in my head, lines that I think are reasonably strong. Once I’ve got those, I begin typing and see where the poem takes me. I also think strong endings are important, so often I’m working toward a particular end.

TELL ME ABOUT FALLING IN LOVE WITH TYPEWRITERS AND YOUR COLLECTION.
Well, I always had the vague feeling that by being a poet, you were inherently required to buy a typewriter. Then I met my first poet (could it be my editor and friend Charles Nevsimal?) who actually used a typewriter, and I was sold. I won’t go through all the details, because interested people can read an entire essay on the subject if they’re so inclined at http://staff.xu.edu/~polt/typewriters/best.html.

Right now, I have about 35 typewriters. I buy them at thrift stores and rummage sales, and rarely pay more than $5 for them, and they need to be in very good working condition. Mead Lake, This was written entirely on two typewriters: a shiny, black Smith-Corona from the ’30s and a 1921 Remington Portable.

I love working on typewriters—the feel, the sound, the irrevocable choices you must make because no delete key exists (although a repeated x key serves in times of desperation).

WHO ARE YOUR FAVORITE LIVING POETS? AND WHO ARE YOUR FAVORITE POETS PASSED?
I admire so many different people’s work, but I’ll limit myself to three each. As for those living: Ted Kooser, Charles Simic, and Gary Soto. Kooser writes so deceptively simply, but his metaphors are perfect. Simic surprises with his strangeness. Soto writes great narrative poems that are open, warm, humorous, and tinged with sadness all at once.

For those no longer with us, I would say James Wright, Sylvia Plath, and I knew I shouldn’t have limited myself to three. A list without explanation would include Frank O’ Hara, Robert Creeley, William Carlos Williams, A.R. Ammons, William Stafford, and dear father greybeard Walt Whitman.

AS AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR AT A COLLEGE, IT IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF YOUR JOB TO SEEK AND FIND PUBLICATION. AS A SMALL PRESS SORTA GUY, IT MIGHT BE EASY FOR ME (HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING) TO WRITE YOU OFF AS JUST ANOTHER ACADEMIC. BUT YOU AREN’T JUST ANOTHER ACADEMIC POET. YOUR WORK IS EXTREMELY RELEVANT TO THE EVERYMAN … AND LIKEWISE TO THE ERUDITE. EXPLAIN, IF YOU CAN, HOW YOU GO ABOUT STRADDLING THE LINE BETWEEN LANGUAGE POET AND KEEPING IT REAL.
It’s not a conscious decision. Many of the poets I just listed seem to do the straddling you describe. Most write pretty directly and clearly, yet they are accepted by the academy. I enjoy poetry that doesn’t exist merely as some artistic artifact, and I’m conscious of an audience that isn’t just other poets. I believe poems should be able to be read and understood by people outside academia, and so my voice reflects that belief. But I don’t worry about it too much. If I need to use a “fancy” word—meniscus or mitochondria, say—I trust my readers to look it up if necessary. The key word is need. Vocabulary for the sake of itself is pointless braggadocio.

WHAT IS YOUR MOST PROUD ACCOMPLISHMENT TO DATE?
In terms of my poetic career, it’s Mead Lake, This—without a doubt. I’m so happy with it. When I read the final galleys, at the end I was overcome with a feeling of serenity and wholeness. That might sound a bit clichéd, but it’s the best description. I’ve never had that experience reading my own work before.

In my life, probably my marriage. I can be a bit mercurial, and my wife originally thought she was going to marry an actuary, not a poet. Our relationship is very solid, and Erin supports me when I need it—which can be often. If this paints me as a sap, so be it.

TELL ME ABOUT THE OTHER MANUSCRIPTS YOU HAVE LYING AROUND. I KNOW THERE’S PROBABLY A PUBLISHER OUT THERE BITING AT THE CHOMPS TO GET HOLD OF ONE OF THEM (BUT LET IT BE KNOWN THAT I’VE GOT DIBS ON THE SMOKING CHAP SOON AS IT’S PUBLISHED NEXT YEAR!).
I’ve been writing seriously for about ten years now, so I decided it was time to reap whatever a decade’s worth of work has sown. Right now, I’ve got several different manuscripts in various stages of completion.

But Our Princess Is in Another Castle is a manuscript of mostly prose poetry inspired by video games. This project was featured in the Spring 2007 issue of Cream City Review, and I was honored to have it there. The manuscript is finished and off at contests. I’ve been a finalist in one and a semifinalist in another. I know it’s a risky manuscript since it has to defend itself against charges that video games are brain-rotting ephemera, and that poetry about pop culture isn’t “serious” enough. But I’m very pleased with the manuscript and I’m convinced once it is picked up, it will sell well—the audience beyond traditional readers of poetry is clear.

Birds of Wisconsin is the project I’ve been working on the longest—about seven years. The book is full-length and abides by what the title promises. It centers on Owen Gromme, a Wisconsin wildlife artist whose love was birds and who published the groundbreaking guide Birds of Wisconsin in 1963—a book of gorgeous, detailed paintings of local birds. The birds themselves are also heavily featured in poems, with their triumphs, failings, concerns, and faiths.

Twenty Short Poems about Smoking—forthcoming from Centennial Press in 2008! I never thought I would have a lot of friends who smoke, but everyone in the writing group does. The ethical, corporeal, and political aspects of smoking fascinate me. So I wrote twenty prose poems about the subject, different takes bundled into a nicotine-fueled pack of words.

This Drive is a chapbook centered on the theme of travel. It spawns from my continued fascination with place. It also has some sonnets, or at least my bastardized version of the sonnet form. Remember sonnets? They can actually be fun when you throw that iambic pentameter stuff out the window.

The Periodic Table of Mead Lake is a single poem that’s thirty-two full pages when condensed, comprised of 118 sections. I have no idea if it’s a chapbook, or a full-length book, or, to steal a phrase from Billy Collins, if I’ve merely committed an act of literature. Each section is an individual element that comprises Mead Lake, and these elements are classified according to Orders (the Order of Sand, Order of Metal, Order of Green, etc.). This is my most recent project, initially completed in a three-and-a-half-day marathon session at Mead Lake this March. Unsurprisingly, it’s been heavily revised ever since. I’ve had good luck sending out individual elements as poems, so I’m hoping the project will have traction as a collection.

I have a final chapbook that centers around my idea of home—West Bend, my family, the lake I grew up on, etc. It’s in a fairly protean form right now, but I hope to assemble a first draft soon.

WHAT IS, IN YOUR OPINION, YOUR GREATEST WRITTEN PIECE?
I’m reluctant to answer. I’ve had several during the course of my writing, and eventually they somehow fall from favor. I love Crap, but now see how it could be tightened a bit. “montana,” a sonnet from This Drive, and “owen gromme opposes the statewide varmint hunt, 1935” from Birds of Wisconsin have long served me well. But honestly, it might be one of the poems from Mead Lake, This. These poems are comparatively new, though, so I’m reluctant to choose one at the expense of others.

IN ADDITION TO BEING A POET, YOU ALSO TAKE A MIGHTY FINE PHOTOGRAPH. TALK A LITTLE ABOUT HOW THAT HOBBY HAS EVOLVED INTO ITS OWN ARTISTIC MEDIUM IN YOUR LIFE. AND HAS IT AFFECTED YOUR POETRY AT ALL … HAS YOUR POETRY AFFECTED YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY IN ANYWAY?
Thank you. It began as a dilettantish interest that coincided, actually, with the genesis of the writing group—we were instructed to bring cameras along to document whatever took place. The advent of digital cameras made it a lot easier for me to experiment with photography since there’s no risk of running out of film, and more importantly there’s no risk of taking a bad picture, since you can just delete it.
Photography and poetry are very complementary. Taking photographs forces you to really look at the world, which is my starting point for a poem. I’m not sure I’ve ever taken specific photographs thinking, “I’m going to write a poem about this,” but the mere act of thinking about angles, lighting, perspective, etc. sharpens my poetic mind. Likewise, I don’t think writing particular poems has influenced my photographic subjects. But they stand shoulder-to-shoulder very nicely. Several people in the writing group are good photographers, and it’s nice to have a bit of friendly competition to push our own photographs further—new techniques, strategies, and subjects.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO THESE DAYS?
It’s a forty-five minute commute to school each morning, so I have plenty of time to listen to music. It’s a pleasurable part of my day where I have a block of time to myself to think and sometimes write poems in my head.

Iron & Wine, The Creek Drank the Cradle. Two years ago, Erin and I were at a coffeehouse in West Bend, and we liked the music that was playing. She asked the barista what it was, and he responded by handing her the Iron & Wine mix CD that was in the player. Since that day, I’ve been playing that CD endlessly. Most of the songs are from Our Endless Numbered Days, with a few from Creek, and a few from EPs. I can’t believe it took me so long to actually purchase Creek. It’s beautiful. I love the low-fi, mellow guitar and banjo, and the lyrics are exquisite. “Promising Light,” “Upward Over the Mountain,” and “Muddy Hymnal” are my favorites.

Iron & Wine, The Shepherd’s Dog. Then the sound changed. More songs are amped up, and there are more instruments which I think detract from the simplicity. I don’t want to hear a sitar in an Iron & Wine song. The first time I heard the disc I hated it. It’s growing on me a bit. “Resurrection Fern” is beautiful but it’s also probably most similar to the old stuff.

Josh Ritter, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. Ritter’s a great singer-songwriter. The Animal Years is an outstanding album, and I’m not sure Conquests has the same heft. But it’s fun and catchy, with some good hooks. “To the Dogs or Whoever” is just as fun to mumble through as “Subterranean Homesick Blues.”

Tom Petty, Highway Companion. I never thought I’d like Tom Petty, especially after being exposed to him on classic-rock radio ad nauseam. But a friend introduced me to Wildflowers and I fell in love with it. It’s a lot mellower than his classic-rock stuff, and great music to write to. I’m not sure Highway is as good—it seems to have fewer home-runs than Wildflowers. But it’s a solid effort, alternately pensive and guitar-driven.

They Might Be Giants, The Else. Is it still cool to like TMBG? Was it ever cool to like TMBG? Regardless, this is one of their best.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NOVEL, BOOK OF POETRY?
My favorite novel is Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Very funny, very harrowing, and it includes a picture of breasts as if it were drawn by a third-grader.
I’ve already mentioned The Wild Iris, so I’ll say my favorite book of poetry is Delights & Shadows by Ted Kooser. The ease with which Kooser makes the everyday seem extraordinary is breathtaking.

WHAT IS YOUR DRINK OF CHOICE?
I’m somewhat of a beer snob. Rob owns a bar, and he’s somewhat of a beer snob, so that means I get to try all sorts of things he has. I’m a fan of Belgians, particularly Delirium Tremens. But I like trying anything I haven’t had before.

In Wisconsin, we have the New Glarus Brewing Company, and everything they brew, without exception, is outstanding. My favorite overall beer is probably their Wisconsin Belgian Red. It’s brewed with cherries in addition to standard Belgian ingredients, and it’s tart and simply delicious. It comes in a wine bottle with red wax over the bottle cap, which yields about two-and-a-half large wineglasses. It’s a great evening-long drink for writing.

WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR B.J. BEST (WHAT PROJECT ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE ON NEXT)?
Well, I need to whip many of the manuscripts into shape, which means a lot of revising—a lot of that will happen next summer.

But since I like writing with a project in mind, I need to find that next project. I don’t know what it is right now, and it’s a bit odd. I feel kind of rudderless, which I’ve never felt before. It actually might be time to let things settle a bit, with so many projects approaching completion. I feel like I’m writing my best poetry yet, so I don’t want to lose that momentum. The next project will come, but it might take a little time.

ANY SHOUT-OUTS YOU’D LIKE TO MAKE, MAKE ’EM NOW.
Erin; everyone in MLMW; Jack and Nancy; Karla, Cathryn, Phong, Michael, and Mary; any of my students who have taken the time to read all the way to here; and of course Charles and Deborah. Thank you all so much.