Every Other Phone Call You Hang Up 
by Bren Simmers

Your father is dying, you say, he looks so thin. Before moving in
with his girlfriend, he dropped off the family photo albums in
a plastic bin. He wanted you to know they’re safe. Key fob around
your neck (safe?), you count laps in the home, race walkers and
motorized wheelchairs, the nearly dead. My brain needs a new hip,
you say. I don’t belong here. While he swims vacation laps in
Hawaii, you ask when are they going to let me out? We avoid calling.
We call. Your father is dying you say into the wrong end of the
receiver.

Originally published in EVENT 51/3.

Elena Johnson: First of all, congratulations on winning the CBC Poetry Prize a few months ago, and the Malahat Review’s Long Poem Prize last week! That must be quite the feeling. 

Your suite of poems, “Spell ‘World’ Backwards,” that won the CBC Poetry Prize, was inspired by your mother’s experience with Alzheimer’s. The two new poems published in EVENT this month, including “Every Other Phone Call You Hang Up,” above, explore this subject, as well. Are these poems all part of a longer series? If so, are you working on a full-length collection on this topic?  

Bren Simmers: Thanks! Those poems are part of a longer series that are at the heart of my next book, Spell ‘World’ Backwards. The collection, overall, is a response to living with grief and illness. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2018, my sister-in-law with stage four cancer shortly after, and in 2020 I lost my father to a sudden heart attack. While this new work is built from my personal experience, many conversations over the past few years have convinced me that a lot of people can relate. The book acknowledges how loss can fundamentally alter our perspective and also allow us to appreciate each moment more deeply.    

EJ: I can imagine how challenging it must be to write about such intensely personal and emotional subject matter. In a 2021 interview for Concrete and River, you explain, “…writing about these topics without retriggering emotional wounds has been tricky. I’ve had to adapt my writing process to work in shorter stints and take lots of breaks.” And in an interview with CBC books, you describe “…this hard work that you’ve been doing, this work of crying and writing and eating chocolate alone in your room…” Can you tell me a bit more about the process of writing these poems—how they began, how they progressed into their current form—and how you managed to work on them? Were there any other strategies you found helpful for writing about such difficult topics?

BS: These poems began as a release valve. I had to write them. They were simply a response to what was happening in my personal life, and I filled a file folder with prose poems. It was only later that I realized the work might have meaning for someone else. So, I returned to the stack and selected the poems that had the most energy, to begin the work of revision. (One of my strategies as a writer is to generate a lot of first drafts—only about a third of these end up being successful. It’s not that the other attempts aren’t useful; they just act as stepping stones toward what I am trying to express.) At first, I could only work on the revisions a couple of times a week before it started to affect my mental health. I spent a lot of time watching clouds or hucking rocks into the ocean, and then got back to it. Grief has a weight to it that you have to learn how to carry. Writing these was my way of breaking it down into smaller pieces.

EJ: You mention watching clouds, and I noticed that your poem that just won the Malahat Review Long Poem Prize is called “Cloud Études.” Was this written during the same period of time? And will it be part of this next book?

BS: “Cloud Études” was actually the seed for this book. I started writing it in 2017 to help me cope with a period of uncertainty. I was making the leap from the West Coast to the East Coast and trying to learn to live in the moment. As I started to edit the poem during the pandemic, the present-day narrative of illness and loss started to creep in. I had originally included the series in the new manuscript, but decided that it stood better on its own.

EJ: Are you working on anything else these days, or is the Spell ‘World’ Backwards manuscript your primary focus?

BS: This manuscript was my primary focus until very recently. I’m delighted to say that Gaspereau Press will be publishing Spell ‘World’ Backwards in spring of 2024. I tend to work on one book at a time (with the exception of Pivot Point and If, When, which overlapped). Right now, I’m reading a lot and thinking about what’s next. After working on such a heavy book, I want to incorporate a sense of play into my work. Where that will take me, I’m not sure, but I’m following my curiosity to where it leads next. 

EJ: Congratulations on the forthcoming book! And this means you’ll have published five books and a chapbook within a period of fourteen years, which is quite an accomplishment. What keeps you motivated to (a) keep writing and (b) complete your manuscripts? 

BS: I have to write. If I don’t, I’m not myself. It’s that simple. So I have a regular practice, block off a few days every week where writing is my focus. I’ve constructed my life in a way that prioritizes regular reading and writing. Some people can knock out a book in a few concentrated bursts, but I need consistency. I suppose everyone has to figure out what rhythm works best for them. There’s also an online writing group I’m part of that participates in NaPoWriMo.  Having a supportive community to share new work with definitely helps motivate and inspire me.  

For me, pulling a manuscript together is a gradual process. As poems accrue, I find that themes emerge. Eventually there are enough poems in conversation with each other that I start piecing them together into a book. Rearrange, add, delete, repeat. I love tinkering with a manuscript until there’s nothing left to add. When I think a book is ready—it’s almost always not ready—I let it sit for a month or two. Then, read it again, revise some more, before sending it out to a few trusted readers for feedback. My community of artists that engage me in good conversation is crucial. They help me better see my writing, examine all the issues and ideas, from a variety of perspectives.

EJ: In your first poetry collection, Night Gears (Wolsak & Wynn, 2010), there’s a long poem, “Weather Observation Record, Cline Lookout,” which you wrote during the summers you spent working as a fire-tower lookout in the Rockies. That always sounded like a dream job to me—so much quiet, and so much time to write and think. (Except when fires were happening nearby, of course. And I imagine it would be a very different job these days, in the time of climate crisis.) How long has it been since you worked at Cline Lookout? How many summers did you spend there, and for how many months at a time? Do you miss those long stretches of alone time? Do you find you try to cultivate that sort of feeling in your daily life, to accommodate poetry? How else do you invite poetry in, or make time for your creative work, amongst the busyness of everyday life and being the publisher of a small press?

BS: I worked at Cline Lookout for five glorious summers from 2000 to 2005. Each stint was about four months long with monthly mail and grocery delivery. It was an incredible experience and one that forever shaped my nature as a hermit. Those uninterrupted blocks of time are so important to me for the percolation of my thoughts. I used to joke that poets only write for a couple hours a day, while fiction writers put in a full day. Now I realize that my writing also includes rounds of the garden, neighbourhood walks, staring out the window—poetry requires pockets of loose time for reflection. So, I do my best to create windows of time, to value all the activities that feed my writing, and protect that time alone. Sometimes that means turning down social events and minimizing weekly commitments. I have also chosen jobs that are seasonal or part-time, working weekends and evenings in order to have more time for creativity. Right now, I allot three days a week to a “day job” and three days to writing. Plus, I take one day off just to be human. 

EJ: That sounds like a really good balance. What does an ideal writing day look like to you?

BS: I like to start the day with reading poetry or non-fiction, usually over breakfast, followed by a couple hours of writing or revision (all still in my pajamas). Then, I’ll have a late lunch before putting on real pants and going for a walk. Or not. If I feel inspired, I’ll head back for another writing session in the late afternoon. It’s a balance of input, output, and moving my body. I just read Haruki Murakami’s Novelist as Vocation where he talks about writers needing to be in good physical shape to withstand the demands of sitting at a desk all day. Getting outside and moving through space also helps to glean ideas, images, and encounters that you can store away for later. 

EJ: Spell ‘World’ Backwards will be your fourth poetry collection. Have you noticed the focus of your work shift, over the years? Has your approach to poetry, or to manuscript-building, changed? One thing I notice, for example, is that your first collection, Night Gears, centred around a variety of themes and geographic locations, whereas your next two, Hastings Sunrise (Nightwood Editions, 2015) and If, When (Gaspereau Press, 2021), each focused on a very specific location and particular themes; they could each almost be read as a long poem, as well as a book. Do you find yourself drawn naturally to writing long series of poems, or is that an intentional choice?  Do you find that your notion of what a collection can look like is changing over time?

BS: Oh, the long poem! I love how it gives me a perfect container in which to explore ideas, circle back, and develop themes. From series to book-length poems, the long poem has been a lifelong obsession of mine. As is place, or geographic location, as you put it. When I am attuned to and inspired by my physical surroundings, it is difficult to not find that aspect of place creeping in. I also spent a decade working in environmental education in BC, so those ideas have snuck in and out of my poems. In this next collection, the poems map out an inner landscape, which is a different direction for me. There are two longer series, and two sections of stand-alone poems, which is similar to my first collection. Each book has been a different compositional process as my notion of what a collection can be continues to change and flex.

EJ: What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever been given, or have ever come across?

BS: While taking a second-year poetry workshop at UVic, Patricia Young told me to stop hiding behind my poems and say what I mean. That has stuck with me ever since. More recently, 

I came across the American composer Ned Rorem, who wrote “Why do I write music?  Because I want to hear it— it’s simple as that. Others may have more talent, more sense of duty. But I compose just from necessity, and no one else is making what I need.” From Rorem, I take to heart: Write the best poems that only you can write. 

EJ: What have you read recently that you found especially inspiring or interesting? What else has been inspiring you lately?

BS: Tony Hoagland’s posthumous collection, Turn Up the Ocean, flattened me. It is excellent and I highly recommend it. Other favourites include The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón, Margaret Christakos’s Dear Birch (speaking of long poems) and Adam Sol’s Broken Dawn Blessings. Right now, I am devouring Sina Queyras’s Rooms: Women, Writing, Woolf.

EJ: You moved from BC to PEI a few years ago. Are you feeling fairly settled in there now? What has surprised you the most about PEI?

BS: If by settled, you mean running out of places to put books, yes. One of the first things we did when we moved into our house was plant fruit trees. They take three years to fruit. Our life previous to now has been transient, moving from place to place across the country in search of a better work-life balance. So, it feels good to put down roots. 

What surprised me most, besides the honour-system potato stands along the highways and the rolling hills dotted with hay bales (such pastoral beauty!), was the ease I feel living here. The scale is perfect for me. I can walk to the sea. Friends occasionally drop in. There is a strong intergenerational artist community. As a small island (172,000 folks at last count), the isolation helps to forge a strong connection among creatives. When we moved here, so many people went out of their way to welcome us. And at the centre of literary community of PEI is The Bookmark, our independent bookstore where people greet you by name when you walk in.  

EJ: Sounds wonderful, and it makes me miss the Maritimes! You’ll actually be heading west sometime this year – as the winner of the CBC Poetry Prize, you’ve been awarded a residency at The Banff Centre. What are you most looking forward to about being there?

BS: Being surrounded by mountains and tall trees again! I kid you not. The highest point on PEI is 449 feet above sea level. Talk about perspective!

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Bren Simmers is the winner of the 2022 CBC Poetry Prize. Her four books include If, When (Gaspereau Press, 2021), the wilderness memoir Pivot Point (Gaspereau Press, 2019), Hastings-Sunrise (Nightwood Editions, 2015), which was a finalist for the Vancouver Book Award, and Night Gears (Wolsak & Wynn, 2010). Her poetry collection Spell ‘World’ Backwards is forthcoming with Gaspereau Press in 2024. She lives on Epekwitk (PEI).

Elena Johnson is the author of Field Notes for the Alpine Tundra (Gaspereau, 2015), a collection of poems set at a remote ecology research station in the Yukon. She is also one of the editors of Watch Your Head: Writers and Artists Respond to the Climate Crisis (Coach House, 2021).