Four Questions With David Wheeler

Engaging with different voices is always important. In blogging it is so easy to concentrate on your own view, and let other views orbit around it. “Four Questions” is a series on Everyday Liturgy which looks to authors & artists to ask them four questions about their craft.

David Wheeler is the author of Contingency Plans and a fair number of essays around the internet. He lives, works and creates in the Seattle area. You can read some of his recent poetry on his site Dave Writes Right and a newly published poem “Through A Glass, Dim but Never Dark” on GENERATE Magazine.

Everyday Liturgy: As a poet, how do you see spirituality or faith influencing your craft?

David: Poetry has a musicality to it that has a rich history in spirituality, liturgy, worship and prayer. It’s meditative to write. In that sense, every poem I write is like a prayer, but that doesn’t mean I feel limited to spiritual, meditative, or even reverent subjects. I do, however, notice its influence on the tone I take, much of the time. Still, a poem of mine like “Your Bright Wounds” is a snide criticism of acting injured, a boy who cried wolf approach to taking things personally, self-indulgence. I don’t think critique like that falls outside the purview of spirituality, especially when self-important injury is an attitude I see so prevalent in religion today.

EL: When I was just starting to write poetry as a high schooler my poetry was highly devotional. It was like George Herbert kind of stuff (in tone and content, definitely not in craft!). I think that reading older poets like Herbert and Hopkins has set the tone that poets of prior generations have filled the blatantly religious poetry category, so to speak. Contemporary poets are urged to be more subtle. Do you find yourself trying being subtle with spiritual aspects in your poetry?

DW: Sure; I strive for subtlety. Not because I feel oppressed by earlier generations’ heavy hands (devotionally, confessionally, formally, etc.) but because one thing sticks with me from writing courses, and that’s Emily Dickinson’s urge to “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.” It’s boring of me to state that I’m, on occasion, dissatisfied with my body. I wish I was less bony, kept better posture, had a fuller beard, had a darker complexion. I’m not distraught; I’m just vain. But for me to truly get across how it is, I write a poem like “On Anatomy & Physiology,” infusing those feelings of ingratitude and vanity with the slanted truth that we are all fearfully and wonderfully made.

EL: Do you think there is a place for more blatantly devotional poetry in the poetry world today?

DW: Certainly. Scott Cairns, for one, is a powerful poet whose devotional poetry is clearly (at least to me) craved by many. And I don’t think we’d be the same without someone like Thomas Merton, who maybe falls more heavily on the devotional side, but is nonetheless a poet. Kathleen Norris, too, when she was publishing more poetry. Even Wendell Berry makes the poetry world spin inside and outside religious circles. There’s clearly a place and desire–Rumi and Hafiz are some of the toughest to keep in stock at the store–but like all poetry, tastes are nuanced. For me, I like Stephen Dunn, and I’m not even aware of his spiritual leanings. [Eds. note: David named three of my favorite authors—Berry, Cairns & Norris—all in one answer. We're tracking here!]

EL: I view the crafts of poetry and prayer as merging or blending together sometimes. How do you see poetry in respect to prayer?

DW: One of my favorite Barbara Kingsolver quotes is this: “When the writer converses privately with her soul in the long dark night, a thousand neighbors are listening in on the party line, taking it personally” (“In Case You Ever Want to Go Home Again,” High Tide in Tucson). I very much agree. Poetry is a type of prayer that lets others pray with you. I keep St. Augustine’s prayer book around my house. Every once in a while, I peek through the liturgy. There’s something about praying other people’s words that opens my soul up to bigger things; I appreciate that I don’t have to spend all my energy thinking of what to say. But in the rare instances I do have something to say, I can’t help but wonder who’s listening in, taking it personally (in a good way).

You can read my review of David’s book of poetry Contingency Plans on Englewood Review of Books as a special preview of their print edition.