the Prairie Schooner blog: (P)rivate(Spaces) w/David Kirby

in which Prairie Schooner contributors give us a glimpse into their writing spaces and sensibilities.

(David Kirby's latest book of poetry is Talking about Movies with Jesus. His awards include fellowships from the NEA and Guggenheim Foundation. Kirby's Little Richard: The Birth of Rock 'n' Roll has been hailed by the Times Literary Supplement of London as a "hymn of praise to the emancipatory power of nonsense." He teaches English at Florida State University.)

(3 things on your writing desk at the moment)

Huh. The real question is what's not on my desk at the moment. But I'll play by the rules and limit it to three. The first is the calculator I use to determine stanza length. I'm serious about this; it drives my more beatnik students crazy, but when I'm working on a poem's format, a calculator is a must. Second thing is a crystal skull. There's no magicking going on, no Aleister Crowley-style conjuring of the devil; somebody just gave it to me, I put it on my desk, and it'll be there until it topples off. The third thing I have on my disk is a little candy dish with maybe two hundred business cards in it from restaurants, other poets, a producer from the Canadian broadcasting association, and so on. It's a kind of diary. Also, once in a blue moon I have to dive in and say, "Aha! There's that guy in Buenos Aires I've been meaning to get up with."

(A classic you've long been wanting to read)

I'm haunted as we speak by the Histories of Herodotus, which is covered by a light coat of dust that grows increasingly thicker every day.

(Why haven't you read it?)

The usual bad-student reasons: too much work, had to take the dog to the vet, got "food poisoning" last night (i.e., drank too many Kamikazes with my bros down at the Crazy Horse), had to write a proposal for the charitable foundation I'm starting, my roommate forgot to wake me up. I intend to start soon, though. Barbara and I have the habit of reading aloud to each other, and just last week, she said, "How about we do Herodotus next?"

(Music that puts you in the mood to write)

I notice most other respondents answered this question by saying something along the lines of "I don't listen to music when I write." Well, of course! Do you play table tennis while you're having sex? Coach Little League while consuming a five-course tasting menu with wine pairings? I don't think so. Who could listen to music worth listening to while sifting through the thousands of chewy, crunchy words in our language looking for exactly the right one? But let me take your question at face value and say anything from the mid-fifties in the funk, rock, soul, and rhythm 'n' blues department. The first rock is the best rock still, and the best music that's being produced these days is an extension of that beginning; take soul revivers like Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, Eli "Paperboy" Reed, Ryan Shaw, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears. Yesterday I was leaving the Toyota dealership after having my car serviced and heard Jerry Lee Lewis singing "Breathless." The dives from one octave to another, the gallops up and down the keyboard, the girlie trills followed by the growling sexual menace: man, I thought, that's what I want in my poems. That's what you call the full rollercoaster ride there.

(A favorite book in your possession: a favorite not just for content but for its actual physical qualities)

A book that can slip into my hip pocket is going a lot farther than, well, Herodotus. That's why I love my Kobo, which is actually six or seven hundred books; it's an e-reader like a Kindle but smaller. In old-school format, Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems is both addictively readable and sized appropriately. So are all those Top 10 travel guides; when we were in St. Petersburg this summer, instead of asking some perplexed Boris or Natasha where the Hermitage was, I just whipped out that little book like a Western gunslinger.