Sunday, July 19, 2015

"RIPTIDE" Interview



"Riptide'" explore the process and scope of chronic illness through everyday accounts, as well as traumatic episodes. This chapbook is divided into two sections. It begins with the poetry, and then moves into an essay form for the author’s statement of poetics. "Riptide" utilizes the extended metaphor of being unable to escape the clutches of a rip current, along with water imagery, to frame the narrative moments of the text. The reader undergoes a "pull from safety," while the speaker exists within the space of simply being and experiencing. Cauller achieves a gritty, raw, and real perspective on the cycle of illness and the inescapability of its grasp. 

Visit amazon.com to purchase "Riptide"

Below is an interview with Author, Renée E. Cauller:

Jasmine:    How does the sequencing of the poems reflect the speaker’s understanding/non-understanding of their condition? Do you see the speaker swimming back through the current, or remaining adrift indefinitely?

RC:    I definitely see the speaker swimming through the current and healing. Perhaps not in this piece though. Getting out of the riptide could be a whole other project in itself. The process of healing is a long one and I wanted to share the moments stuck in the current. I believe that the only way out of an issue/problem/illness or whatever is through, experiencing and feeling every moment – being present. I am still going through this, personally, and thought that it was important to remain in that space for the poem and not to conjecture unnaturally out of there. The last line ends on a positive/hopeful note – which could answer your question.
The sequencing is not linear in time. However, I do think it holds meaning. If I put a dense/heavy block of text, I like to give the reader a reprieve with a lighter poem after. There is definitely a trajectory to my piece. It is the process of working through these things. It is the cycle of progression and regression.

Kara:      If you had no illness, you do you think that would affect your writing? Do you think that the medical aspect provides you with a positive influence for your writing?

RC:          I chose to center the topic on illness for this piece. It is something that inspired me. It was something I needed to get out/express. Anything I’m working through emotionally or personally is something that fuels my writing. I don’t think a lot of the people in my life, including even my family, really don’t know what it is like to deal with these things on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps that is something that I needed to get out there – the darker moments of it all that weigh me down. I choose to center around illness in the piece. However, other pieces that I have written have nothing to do with this and include other interests and research topics. For example, I have written a chapbook titled “Dendrite” that explores development, neuroscience, astronomy, and psychology. I wouldn’t say that illness provides a “positive influence” for my writing. At times, it is quite negative due to the medicine making me quite foggy and not clear headed – which is not the ideal mindset to be writing in. However, it did give me inspiration to fuel this project.
Jason:    Your poetry is personal. To what degree, if any, do you limit how much of your personal experiences and feeling you are willing to share through your poetry?

RC:    I don’t really limit myself. My poetry has always been personal to some degree. Once I started submitting my work for contests, getting published in literary journals, and attending readings – having to read my work in front of people really shattered that potential fear of not wanting to fully reveal myself. I think some of the best work can come from emotionally charged things, and I wouldn’t want to put boundaries on that. I guess the only limit I would impose would be in the editing part of the process – cutting out text that doesn’t function effectively.

Chamara: In your poetics, you call poetry “feeling” saying that the “truth leaks through,” as inescapable process. Do you think it is always possible to convey that feeling and truth to your audience? Do you write with your audience in mind? Do you expect people to be able to feel, relate, or understand through your poetry?

RC:    I would love for my audience to be able to relate in someway. At the very least, I want my work to invoke feeling/emotion. I cannot predetermine or assure that my readers will get the same truth that I am getting from the piece. Writing is cathartic to me – and perhaps I let it out on the reader, so they may not get what I am getting from the work. But if I can invoke some type of feeling, I am satisfied. However, anyone can interpret my work however they naturally do. I don’t think there is ever one way to interpret a text – even if the writer’s intention was specific. I don’t really write with a specific audience in mind.

Brittany:   Why do you believe found language impacts individuals to the extent that it does? How can one “lose” language? What exactly do you think the difference in impact is if the reader is aware that the language is found, from where, and under what circumstances, versus leaving it unmarked?

RC:    In this draft, I actually edited out the found language. For such a personal piece, it wasn’t functioning in the right vein with the rest of the work. There got to a point in writing when it didn’t really fit anymore. Found language is tricky because it may have more of an impact on the reader if they know where it is from. If it is unmarked, the writer almost claims the language as his or her own – which can be problematic. I think found language can be quite powerful if used in certain ways, but for this piece it ended up not adding much.

Verisha:     How do you plan on creating a pull from safety within your work besides the obvious medical concerns?

RC:    By disorienting the reader and keeping them on their toes. Switching up the heavy blocks of texts, with light, flowing, minimalistic text. Reality is constantly shifting for the speaker, the medical and the sense of hope in tandem. The pull from safety you’re referring to is the extended metaphor of the riptide. But using water/ocean imagery as well as the form I mentioned, I keep the metaphor constant throughout the piece.

Brian:    Do you see a relationship between chronic illness and poetic form in your work? How would you describe it?

RC:           The sections of my poems that are heavy blocks of text set up a direct relationship between form and illness. These blocks are rushed and everything is presented all at once - overlapping and intertwining. It is overwhelming and intense. Then there is a slight reprieve: a lighter poem, in content as well as in form. This is similar to illness and the process of getting sick and getting better/progression and regression.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

If

If you are reading
this
I love you


If I love you
you
are reading this

Friday, September 5, 2014

On the current circumstances; disconnected musings on death and love

Aug. 31 11:29pm bedroom

Today I was inspired to write, after a long period of having little inspiration and words turning into smoke before they hit the page.

Today I wrote about ghosts. Subtle bodies and protectors. Living ghosts and haunting. Peace and dwelling. Today I wrote about ghosts.

I found out, about a half hour ago, that Chris passed away in a car accident. My legs went numb and I started shaking. For the short time I knew him, he always had a smile on his face. He always made sure to include me in conversations and games of pong. He loved his friends fiercely and he was loved by his friends equally. My heart is absolutely breaking for his best friends.

The thing that unites the deaths that I have experienced in my life is smiles. Each smile is unique to its own but each smile is strong and bright and beaming. My Great Uncle Tom always had a smile plastered on his round red face and a cigarette in his hand. When I was little I used to think he was Santa Clause in disguise; silly and jolly and ho ho ho. He died from lung cancer.

Anthony always had a smile on his face, with dark hair covering his eyes. Every time I saw him in the hallways of my high school he was always smiling, and often wearing a black under oath hoodie. He died from suicide.

Every time I saw Chris, he was ready to party, dressed with a smile. I don't think I ever saw him unhappy or not having a good time. He would tease Luke and laugh, he would crack jokes, and laugh; he talked through smiles.

He died today.

A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.

"Everything a person is and everything he knows resides in the tangled thicket of his intertwined neurons. These fateful, tiny bridges number in the quadrillions, but they spring from just two sources: DNA and daily life. The genetic code calls some synapses into being, while experience engenders and modifies others."

Sept. 6 1:22am bedroom

But what happens to all that when one dies?

Sept. 1 1:07am Text Message

I know, I know. It's something so incredibly hard to get your mind around. It's something so unfathomable, I don't think it will ever seem real. But you know what is real? All the times you two shared together, all his smiles and laughter and love for his friends. I remember how he always used to mess around with you and poke fun at you and I always thought that's how you can tell how strong your friendship was. You two are brothers. And although he was taken away, that is something that can never ever be taken away from you.

Sept. 6 1:24am bedroom

Love doesn't die with him

Aug. 31 9:03pm bedroom

There is some comfort in ghosts
friendly little shapes when you're not looking
an intuitive ghost busters

Sept. 1:21am Text Message

Floating and sinking - there's so much polarity right now:
disbelief and understanding, wonderful memories and horrible pain, support and love and tearing apart.

Aug. 31 9:08pm bedroom

I look after a little olive of a boy named Oliver and whenever he falls down he says "oh it's just gravity"

Oh it's just gravity - something to blame for mishaps
Oh it's just ghosts - something to blame for us haunting ourselves

Sept. 4 1:07pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope

nostalgia is warm
nose to neck

goodbye goodbye goodbye
see you in the night

You had foreseen it - dreamt it
I believe there are the signs in life, sometimes microscopic, but humans haven't quite figured out how to decipher the clues, the foretelling
Was it a warning or glimpse
subconscious fear actualized

Sept. 6 1:34am bedroom

When we tear apart the petty little bullshits of everyday life the most important thing that is left bloodied and ripped is love - this pulsing steady thing. Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with him.

comfort in past comfortable comfort in soul sucking conversations that rattle the depths of who we are

Sept. 4 1:09pm Septa train. written on a stray envelope

What ties me to him has always been you. If I hadn't ever knew you, I wouldn't have known him. Seen his smile, heard his laugh.

Does it take a death to be the catalyst for the realization and expression of love.
Does love ever die?
Love doesn't die with the physical body
Love doesn't die with him.

Aug. 31 11:58pm bedroom

I'm worried about his soul.
He loved life so much - what if he wasn't ready to go?
How could he possibly be ready to go?

Sept. 1 8:44 Text Message received

"The problem is that everything I liked he liked. Every song had something with it."

A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis M.D., Fari Amini, M.D, Richard Lannon, M.D.

"In a relationship, one mind revises another; one heart changes its partner. This astounding legacy of our combined status as mammals and neural beings is limbic revision: the power to remodel the emotional parts of the people we love, as our Attractors activate certain limbic pathways, and the brain's inexorable memory mechanism reinforces them.
Who we are and who we become depends, in part on whom we love."

Monday, March 31, 2014

Sight (excerpt from "Dendrite")

The human eyeballs are slung within the orbital cavities of the
skull and those well-slung eyeballs see. See that there are 
twenty-two transparent jelly-fish inside your vitreous body. 
Crystalline. Like the crystal you hang around your neck for 
strength every time we collide. The ones in my window that 
cast prisms on my pillow. Lay your little head down to rest, 
hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a 
mockingbird, And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s 
gonna buy you a diamond ring. And a looking glass. And a billy
goat. And a cart and bull. And a dog named Rover. And a bunch 
of other pointless shit that you can’t use because you’re a baby 
and Mama thinks she can buy your love. 






Nearly all newborn babies have the blue blue ocean eye - as the 
pigment of the iris delivery is backed up because the brown-
paper package got lost in the mail and the iris stork had a 
broken left wing, sling. Later, in due time, after birth,
pigmentation will turn brown, hazel, green. And all the baby  
blue eyes will sink to the bottom of the ocean. Fish food.








Sensory nerves provide the link between tooth and nail. The 
nail in the fourth step of the stair’s floorboard, that eavesdrops 
on your whispers and whispers mocking whispers: “glucose coat 
my blood vessels, chlorophyl my lashes” But you always run up stairs.
Childhood fear chasing you up, up. If you don’t go fast enough 
it will catch you, grip you. Instead, run up and down my central 
nervous system twenty times, and don’t you stop until you reach 
my cerebral cortex! Place your lightning-bugged mason jar here. 
X marks the spot where we repel, where the oil paint meets the 
turpentine. Go ahead, thin me. Prune. Prune those neuron 
cells; enhanced efficiency. That magic forest of incredible
beauty; luxuriant growth. Plasticity or deforestation?





One cortical neuron will respond to that stimulation. I’ll even 
spill my guts, show you the precise topography of the receptor 
surface, all the exact somatic sense pathways that resemble a 
map of my body’s cortex. Be careful, make haste, there’s a 
considerable area of cutaneous surface. Traverse to treasure 
chest.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Dendrite (Except 2 from my Self-Published Chapbook)


The human eyeballs are slung within the orbital cavities of the skull and those well-slung eyeballs see. See that there are twenty-two transparent jelly-fish inside your vitreous body. Crystalline. Like the crystal you hang around your neck for strength every time we collide. The ones in my window that cast prisms on my pillow. Lay your little head down to rest, hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And a looking glass. And a billy goat. And a cart and bull. And a dog named Rover.  And a bunch of other pointless shit  that you can’t use because you’re a baby and Mama thinks she can buy your love. 











Nearly all newborn babies have the blue blue ocean eye - as the pigment of the iris delivery is backed up because the brown-paper package got lost in the mail and the iris stork had a broken left wing, sling. Later, in due time, after birth, pigmentation will turn brown, hazel, green. And all the baby blue eyes will sink to the bottom of the ocean. Fish food.
















Sensory nerves provide the link between tooth and nail. The nail in the fourth step of the stair’s floorboard, that eavesdrops on your whispers and whispers mocking whispers: “glucose coat my blood vessels, chlorophyl my lashes” But you always run up stairs. Childhood fear chasing you up, up. If you don’t go fast enough it will catch you, grip you. Instead, run up and down my central nervous system twenty times, and don’t you stop until you reach my cerebral cortex! Place your lightning-bugged mason jar here. X marks the spot where we repel, where the oil paint meets the turpentine. Go ahead, thin me. Prune.   Prune those neuron cells; enhanced efficiency. That magic forest of incredible beauty; luxuriant growth.  Plasticity  or deforestation?





One cortical neuron will respond to that stimulation. I’ll even spill my guts, show you the precise topography of the receptor surface, all the exact somatic sense pathways that resemble a map of my body’s cortex. Be careful, make haste, there’s a considerable area of cutaneous surface. Traverse to treasure chest.