Ansuya Patel & Batya Weinbaum: “We chose the theme courage. We both wrote a draft initially and used couplets to weave our experiences into one story. We had both been attacked by a stranger in a car many years ago. Writing in couplets allowed us to create the journey that changed us forever and remind us that courage has no gender. We have reclaimed our lives and the open road, proving that resilience is a formidable force in the face of adversity, and that no experience however dark can define the boundless potential within every individual.”
Herb Kitson & Ray-J Nelson: “We have been working on projects together for a long time and enjoyed working on poetry collaboration for Rattle. Ray-J (age 13) is the content/ideas man, and I’m the form-style-structure man. To borrow from Robert A. Pirsig, Ray-J is the Romantic mode of understanding; I’m the Classical mode. He either wrote down or told me what he wanted to convey, and I assisted him in putting the material in ‘poetic’ form. We had lots of fun trying to use metaphor in each poem. Each of us contributed two metaphors. He wants to be a great writer someday; I’m pushing him toward medicine because we poets are poor. Maybe he’ll be another William Carlos Williams.”
George Bilgere: “When I was eight years old my parents got divorced. My mother packed her three kids into an old Chevy station wagon and drove us from St. Louis to Riverside, California, looking for a fresh start. She had visited there when she was an Army nurse stationed in LA during the war and fell in love with the place. That cross-country car trip, full of cheap diners, cheap hotels, and desperation, changed my life. I fell in love with the vastness and beauty, the glamor and tawdriness, of America. I’ve travelled all over the country since then, on that ancient and deeply American quest, the search for home.” (web)
Mariko Kitakubo & Deborah P. Kolodji: “We started writing ‘tan-ku’ sequences and sets during the pandemic when neither of us could travel. Mariko is a tanka poet and I am a haiku poet. We started having poetic conversations via Facebook Messenger where Mariko would write a tanka and I would respond with a haiku and vice versa, often at odd hours due to the time zone differences between Tokyo and Los Angeles. Some of these poems are only two verses, but others are six, and sometimes more. We were born the same year and have common experiences, but also cultural differences which has been a learning experience for both of us. We have found that sometimes our poems take unexpected turns.”
Ryan McCarty: “I’ve been so struck by all the people I hear talking about their plans to watch the solar eclipse. Everyone is traveling, planning, convening. Thirty-one million people are supposed to be traveling to get somewhere within range. I love cosmic phenomena, but I love the way people obsess about them even more. I find myself wondering exactly what they hope to see—what they imagine—and if there’s any chance that one of these hyped-up celestial flickers might just one day change everything while we’re all standing around staring, together. Add in the almost apocalyptic warnings that accompany these kinds of events – communications breakdowns, gas shortages, traffic pileups, snack shortages—and I can’t stop imagining. That’s where this poem started.”
Julie Kane & Erica Reid: “We messaged back and forth over the course of three days as the villanelle grew a few lines at a time. One of us wrote the first 2 lines, tercet 3, tercet 5, and the second line of the quatrain. The other one wrote the third line, tercet 2, tercet 4, and the first line of the quatrain. That gave us one refrain line each; or, as Theodore de Banville put it, the gold thread and the silver thread of the villanelle. We both find collaboration joyful, as it restores the element of play to poetry when we start to get too serious about it.”
Michael Chitwood (North Carolina & Virginia): “Several summers I worked for my uncle’s construction company and my job, because I was under-age, was to read the grade transit. It was solitary work, standing behind the tripod. It’s like writing poetry now, huge machines rear and grind all around you and you are quiet and alone.”