One Minnesota Crone

That Infinite Roar by Laurie Kuntz. Gyroscope Press, 2023. Poetry chapbook, 63 pages, $16.

Today, I’m in conversation with poet Laurie Kuntz, who has not only written several poetry collections, but also produced documentary films, taught creative writing, and edited poetry journals. We’ll discuss her latest poetry collection, That Infinite Roar (Gyroscope Press, 2023), and talk about poetry and creative process. As always, I’m interested in what makes a poet produce the works that matter to them. 

Read on and enjoy a peek into Laurie Kuntz’s creative life.

OMC: Hello, Laurie!  I read That Infinite Roar a few times over the holiday season and found that it was a nice, quiet space away from the daily frazzle of activity. Your poems are spare in a way that reminds me of haiku. I appreciated their focus on the small things that are the integral foundation of what matters to us most. And I found myself looking things up, like the Japanese word, komorebi, and learning more about the Japanese sensibilities infuse parts of this collection.

As I thought about the big topics in That Infinite Roar – aging, commitment, loss, and love – I kept coming back to those daily moments that anchor your poems and nudge readers toward mindfulness. This is something that resonates deeply with me, as appreciation and savoring of ordinary moments are a big thread in my own work and life.

Can you talk a little about the genesis of this collection, if there was a moment that sparked the poem that sparked the collection? Or did it start taking shape as you noticed a few poems talking to each other?

LK: I love that you picked up on the concept of haiku. I lived in Japan for 23 years and the haiku form greatly influenced my work. I love the concept of human nature reflected in nature, which is the basic element of the haiku. Many of my poems attempt to focus on the small details of life that reflect larger themes. If I have to pinpoint the moment these poems became a collection of poems that work in concert, I would say when certain poems started talking to each other. I love that image of poems talking to each other. Much of my recent work is about aging, which is personal aging and the aging of relationships. When I choreographed the poems, I tried to have the poems be in concert with each other.  For example, the poems in the first section of the book, which is introduced by an epigraph by Gena Showalter, “A whisper can become a roar,” focuses on poems about the roar of growing and sharing life experiences with a partner. The second section, which opens with the epigraph by Mary Oliver, “I have my way of praying as you no doubt have yours,” includes poems that deal with relationships with sisters, friends, family, and a partnership with the world. The third section of the book opens with another epigraph from Oliver, “The world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting;” the poems in this section are mainly about mothering in all of her stipulate definitions. And, the final section with the epigraph by Mandelstam, “I sense the spreading of a wing,” are poems offering hope and light and empathy. That final section features poems that reflect the other three sections and work to make a final statement about the thematic structure of the book.

OMC: And your poems talked to each other well throughout the collection. Poetry truly is an ongoing conversation – poet to self, poet to reader, poet to some higher consciousness perhaps, and then reader to reader once the poems are out there in the world. If that conversation keeps going, the poet has done their job well.

I listened to your recorded reading for Poetry and Prose for the Planet. There it was again, that spare, quiet sensibility with so much to say through deceptively small events – the butterflies after an unusual amount of rain in Los Angeles, the sea off the coast of Japan sweeping a mother’s offering into its maw as she walks away. I also read your interview in Moment Poetry and saw that you consider haiku masters Issa and Basho as an influence on your own work, which made me say ah ha! to myself. That’s why I was reminded of haiku as I read your poems. I would like to know how you define your territory as a poet, what you see as the topics that come up again and again for you.

LK: When I first started writing poetry seriously, I was living in Thailand and the Philippines, working in refugee camps educating Southeast Asian refugees bound for resettlement in the U.S.  So, much of my work focused on displacement, trauma, and assimilation to a new culture—all were a reflection of the experiences that the refugee population I was working with were having. I considered myself a political poet–then at the age of 36, I became a mother, which gave me an entirely new political spectrum so to speak. My poetic territory widened. I was living as an expatriate in Thailand, the Philippines, and for most of my adult life, in Japan.  My world enlarged as a parent, a witness of people displaced because of war, and of living in different cultures and assimilating to the various cultures, languages, and lifestyles. The topics that come up in my poetry are a pastiche of all of these experiences. And yet, each of these varied experiences is a sum of focusing on finely tuned details and an appreciation of the world and its diverse offerings. I think poets have to have a keen eye for the minute details of daily life that bring about bigger realizations.

OMC: I absolutely agree! This is another aspect of our job as poets – to bring about those larger realizations through observance of daily life. Your perspective is broad, which is such a valuable thing in the world at this moment. Your experiences living outside the US are such a rich thing to draw upon. As a mother myself, I learned that parenthood brought about a stronger sense of the political than ever because suddenly I had this little life that I was responsible for helping shape and everything seemed more urgent. Parenthood is a different lens through which to view the world.

I know that you spread your creativity to a lot of projects – documentaries, teaching, editing. I’ve long thought that the more we use our creativity, the more we have to offer. In other words, it doesn’t get used up; it grows and grows. Was poetry your first love or were there always side-by-side creative projects going on for you? How do you see each project rippling into the others?

LK: Poetry was absolutely my very first love. One of my earlier chapbooks, Women at the Onsen, is dedicated to my father who sat me down when I was very young to read me, “Casey at the Bat,” then he read, “The Face on the Barroom Floor,” and it went on from there… So, poetry was my first creative effort. I have a terrible singing voice, I failed miserably at the piano and flute, ballet lessons were a big waste of money, and I can barely draw a stick figure. My creative outlet was always poetry.  My 9th grade English teacher read the ee cummings poem, “Dying is Fine,” and that inspired me to become an English teacher. I thought if I could make money (albeit very little) by reading poetry to others, that is the profession for me! Although I am not creative in the other art forms, I do feel that poetry is a strong link to my humanity. All my endeavors and relationships are influenced by my poetic spirit and bent. I look at the world with the detailed and empathetic eye of a poet. 

OMC: I’d like to share two sample poems from That Infinite Roar to let readers get a taste of your new work. The first one is the first poem in the collection, “I Need a Title.” I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this poem the first time I read it – laugh? Understand the difficulty of titling a collection? Think of this one as a peek into your whole poetic process? I decided to enjoy the humor lurking around the edges, sitting side-by-side with the very not-funny line, “All that I hoped for, you rejected.” This is a little intimate slice of a poet’s life.

I NEED A TITLE



for a new collection

of recent poems.

My top choice:

"First Snow, Last Rose,"

you frowned, not again with flowers,

stay away from roses and moons and Junes.

My second choice:

"The Empty Heart,"

No hearts, no pinks, no puff of clouds...

All that I hoped for, you rejected.

I begged a title to yell that infinite roar

I hear in my heart, that I see in every pink

bud of the first rose that I wait for,

or in the moon waxing its round voice.

Then, there is that first snow

that bides me to hibernate, then renew.

What about that infinite roar?

Can you tell me about the creation of this poem and your choice to lead the collection with it?

LK: Funny you should ask because I loved working with Constance Brewer, the editor of Gyroscope Press. We had the same vision for the overall feel of the book; however, she thought this poem should go at the end of the collection, and I wanted it at the beginning of the book. I thought it was a good introduction to the process of putting a collection together. For me, the title for the book comes after all the poems “have auditioned” and find their place on every page… then, I look at the collection as a whole and come up with a title befitting the energy of the book. I was having trouble with birthing a title for this collection. I also like to use lines from my poems as titles rather than taking a title from one of the poems to be used as the book’s title. Truth be told, basically this poem came from a conversation I had with my son.  He is a documentary filmmaker, and I find filmmaking and writing are composed of similar creative elements, so I often turn to him for editing suggestions. I fed him some lines from poems that I was considering using as a title, and his responses were basically the italicized lines of this poem. This poem came from a conversation I had with my son about choosing a title. As I was going through the manuscript looking for possible titles, I read the poem, “First Banana,” which is about quenching hunger resulting in a passionate roar–the line in that poem spoke to me, and that is how I came to the title of my book and the writing of this poem. I wanted to begin the collection with this poem as it speaks to the process of choreographing a book, and it also speaks to one of the themes of the book, which is finding a thrill in all the passionate roars that life can offer

OMC: Thank you. I did wonder about the line, that infinite roar, showing up in, “First Banana,” so I’m glad you answered that question here. My son is a visual artist here in Minneapolis and I often bounce ideas off him, too. It’s nice to have another creative nearby. He created the artwork on the cover of my first chapbook, How We Learned to Shut Our Own Mouths. That made me so happy.

The second poem of yours I’d like to share is one I’ve chosen specifically for its great fit here at One Minnesota Crone and that’s, “My Wisteria.” By the time I came to this poem, I was already looking things up for meanings I may otherwise have missed, and the word wisteria in Japanese is fuji, which symbolizes youth, love, perseverance. Wisteria flowers can stand for resilience and longevity. This is something I think about with the continual bloom of creativity in women over 50, so this poem practically screamed at me to share it.

MY WISTERIA



Stagnant in December, a bare stick clinging

to a trellis--like a woman

stranded in the wind without the proper overcoat.



Memories of cicada filled nights,

and perfume, its scent

misting veranda lamps with ribbons of light

pouring on purple petals.



She remembers:



A lilac shawl draped over her.

In her season,

she was cloaked in everything that flowered.



Now, another year etches

itself on her gnarled branches.



She has no choice but to be content

until the murmurs

of all that blooms purple



happen, yet once again.

What can you tell me about this one’s origins?

LK: You are spot on with your interpretation of this poem. I lived in northern Japan in a very rural town. Wisteria was one of the flowering vines that draped every entryway to many of the houses in my little town. I loved the fragrance, the beauty and the voluptuousness of its essence. I also loved that it had a very specific season and when its season came to an end, it rested until it bloomed again. I likened this to the aging of women… we have our resting periods and then in every season of growth and aging we learn to bloom in our own specific ways.

OMC: There were so many poems in That Infinite Roar that I loved that I’ve decided I will never choose a favorite. But I am going to ask you if you have a favorite in this collection and what it is?

LK: Ah, to get a true answer to this question, you would have to ask me this on a daily basis. My favorites change all the time. But, short answer, I do have favorites, long answer, my choices are dynamic according to my feelings. I do especially love, “Anniversary, Again,” which by the way was nominated for a Pushcart and published in One Art Journal, I also love, “Old Married Couple Cutting Watermelon,” which was published in Gyroscope Review, and my son and my amazing daughter in law are visiting me today, so today, my favorite poem is, “Pinky Promise,” as it is a poem that I wrote for them, which was read during their wedding ceremony.

OMC: Changing your favorite on a day-by-day basis is fine with me! I always have trouble picking favorites, so thank you for indulging me with that question. What is the next creative work for you now?

LK: Well, I am working on a new manuscript, tentatively titled Shelter in Place, with new poems still dealing with mothering, partnerships, politics, and detailing the world through an empathic eye. And, of course my creative work includes a daily dose of living with appreciation and gratitude for the life I have and the people I share it with.

OMC: Gratitude is so important. It makes all our lives better, richer.

Do you have any other recent works of your own you’d like to give a shout-out to here? Is there something wonderful you’ve read by someone else that you’d also like to share as we head into 2024 armed with our fresh reading lists?

LK: My recent works have been playing with the stipulative definitions of specific words. That is, writing a poem about a single word… take the word round. I recently wrote a poem about all of the meanings that the word round can have and how it affects my sensibilities. I am trying this with words like copacetic, euphoria, kindness — just experimenting and trying to broaden my style.  

Here is an example of the kind of poem I am speaking of:

ROUND



A circular substance,

fleshing out the idiom--

making rounds, go around,

to move, travel, sail,

catching time in music,

and then the so many

useful shapes--

glasses, plates, balls, bangles, 

apples, berries, buttons, bagels,

and clocks, that circle of time

that brings me to you--

a spin of history,

our globe of years,

and the hug-- 

covering me in a safe embrace

rounding us out, still and secure, 

holding me so I don't fall

off that flat edge of the planet.

I also have recently read Nancy Murphy’s book, The Space Carved by the Sharpness of Your Absence, which is a wonderful collection. And, I want to give a shout out to Alison Hurwitz, who hosts this wonderful reading series, Well Versed Words. This online series features a poet a month giving a reading and interview. Alison picks wonderful poets who have recently come out with new work, and I  discover many new voices through the Well Versed Words program.

OMC: Laurie, those are great recommendations. And I really like the idea of working with just one word for new poems. I might have to steal that!  

Thank you so much for taking the time to have this conversation with me, and Happy New Year!

LK: Same to you, hope 2024 is giving you a stellar start! This was so much fun to do as it made me ponder my creative process and rekindled my purpose as a poet.

Copies of That Infinite Roar can be purchased HERE.

More information about Laurie Kuntz’s work is available at her website, https://lauriekuntz.myportfolio.com/books-and-chapbooks