Interview with Natalie Diaz

Over the last several days, our intern/reader/dog's body Marianne Kunkel has been arranging a few interviews with just some of the many exceptional writers who have been in the magazine. Marianne was able to sidetrack Natalie Diaz for a couple of email exchanges. We hope you enjoy the discussion. Let us know what you think in the comments below.   

All of your poems in the current issue of Prairie Schooner are made up of very long, snowballing sentences; in the case of "If Ever Side-Stealer & Mary Busted-Chest Ruled the World," each stanza is an extremely long question. What's behind your decision to write in long sentences, and do they serve the same purpose for each poem?  

I don't pre-commit to writing long or short lines. My mood, my surroundings, and my subject matter, and who knows what else, will lead me toward the format that gets closest to what I am exploring. That being said, I tend to write in what you refer to as "snowballing" and what I call "hungry" sentences (because they seem to want more and more lyricism or imagery to satisfy them). I feel that these hungry lines are a little closer to my personality and experiences. When I write, no matter what time of day, I feel like I am chasing a poem or story, trying to get as close as I can to each image or experience. I don't think I'll ever really capture anything perfectly, and I believe those snowballing sentences are a result of realizing the chase, the hunger, the reason for reading and writing.

Although the current issue of Prairie Schooner features four poems of yours, you also write fiction. When you begin writing either a poem or piece of fiction, how do you decide which project goes into which form?

I think the people or characters demand one or the other. Usually, it is a poem saying, hey, I want a bigger yard to roam around in, or a whole street, or the town even. So, I try to give them a little more space to see what happens. However, I have three stories, "Ding No-Horse," "How to Love a Woman with No Legs," and "The Hooferman," which are also the poems, "The Gospel of Ding No-Horse," "A Woman with No Legs," and "The Hooferman." I'm always open to the possibility of doing more with an idea in a bigger space or even forcing myself to do more with less space.

People write for a variety of reasons, and for most of us it's a career choice. You make it clear in the subject matter of many of your poems and in your Prairie Schooner contributor's bio that you celebrate several identities--a former basketball player, a Mojave Indian, a creative writer. What do you say when people ask what you do for a living?

It's funny that you mention my being an Indian so close to the question of what I do for a living. Once, a woman in a writing course leaned over from where she was sitting and placed her arm on my shoulder and said, "You know, I admire that you are a Native American," as she gazed into my eyes. It was as if she thought I played some part in it, or that I woke up in the morning and put on my long, good, Native hair and love of whiskey and headed off to work to do my best. But, I think I know what you mean in terms of having more than one identity.

To answer the question of what I do for a living, I do what most people do, which is whatever I can. I've sold snow cones and taken portraits for cash. I teach. I train athletes in plyometrics and agilities. And, most recently, I've added to the list. I direct a program that seeks to help revitalize the Mojave language at my home reservation, Fort Mojave, where we have 3-5 fluent speakers remaining. It is one of the most demanding and stressful jobs I've had yet, but it will be the most rewarding.

In your hilarious poem "Two Things You Need Balls To Do: A Miscellany From a Former Professional Basketball Player Turned Poet," in which you compare the joys and frustrations of playing basketball to writing poetry, you describe many of the particulars of your writing process. Like the team huddle before a basketball game, do you have any rituals you perform before, during or after you write?

For me, writing is a very physical process. I sweat a lot. I bop my head in rhythm with certain words or phrases, and I like listening to music loudly, from Ingolf Turban's Hebrew Melodies, to ACDC, to Mojave singers such as Larry Hammond or Hubert McCord. In terms of the rituals, I like to read poetry before I write. Sometimes, all it takes is one poem to send me flying to my desk, but sometimes, I'll read for up to an hour before I sit down to write. Also, I like to write early in the morning before I have heard any human voice or even used my own. It seems silly, but when my mind hasn't automatically engaged in the mundane verbal communication that we use all day, I tend to be freer on the page. This can be a bit frustrating for someone living with me, but it's more of a preference than a necessity--I make a few exceptions (smile). And what people tend to be frustrated with more than this little preference is the fact that when I am writing, I mean really writing, I don't eat. I live off of dark chocolate and coffee. I don't want anything to disrupt me.

Your poem "Metis," which discusses the female body in simultaneously personal and political ways, calls to mind poems by Sandra Cisneros and Lucille Clifton that also candidly explore the female body. Looking forward, who are some of your favorite up-and-coming writers whose work you find especially significant?

I really love Matthew Dickman's All-American Poem from Copper Canyon. I have read it numerous times, and the poems still feel new. They make me want to write. And, from what I know of Matthew Dickman, he and I have very little in common. This is why I love writing. While our perspectives of the human condition and those universal emotions are very different, when we are able to get close enough to them, we realize they look more alike than we thought, and, maybe, we look more alike than we thought. Orlando White's Bone Light, from Red Hen Press, is another book I carry with me. I love Orlando's work because all at once his poems feel like prayers and trips down the rabbit hole of a single word or image. I can't help but write when I read great poetry, and both of these guys seem to fling open the windows and doors of my skull.

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