The Poetry Closet: Christopher Luna
The next expedition
It’s been a busy month at The Poetry Closet…
Naturally, since April is dubbed National Poetry Month, all the poets come out of their caves, attics, closets, and other hiding places where they have hibernated during the winter and they share poetry. A lot of poetry. They write poetry too, some challenging themselves to write 30 poems in 30 days—NaPoWriMo—National Poetry Writing Month.
This is the first April in a few years that I have not partaken in the challenge. I wrote a few poems, but not every day. Instead, I focused on the “business of poetry”—getting a new book put together—a third volume of an eleven-volume project of mine, gathering pre-orders and working with a printing shop to make the book real. I also got to record the audio of that same volume in a studio this month. We often forget about this “business” portion of it, the busyness of putting poetry out there. And it does take up a lot of space in the life of a poet. Some of it has to do with (gasp!) spreadsheets and math.
There are poets who are exceptionally good at helping in that business by hosting events, running small presses, holding workshops and generally being very encouraging to both writers and readers of poetry. Which is why I’m excited to share the interview and poems of this month’s poet, Christopher Luna.
I met Christopher Luna through a mutual poet friend of ours and immediately was taken by both his poetry and his personal charm and grace. Since then, I’ve been a regular at Luna’s long-running “Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic” and wrote a few poems at “The Work”, his poetry workshop. Christopher is not only a prolific and incredible poet, but is also one of the helpers (as Fred Rogers’ mother said “look for the helpers”).
I could spend hours with Christopher, asking him questions about his evolution as a poet, about the process of collage poems, about all the things he has seen and done. When the pandemic is over and we are flitting about again like summer butterflies, I intend to do just that, if he’s willing. Meanwhile, here’s a small window into…
the vast world of
Christopher Luna
Truth & Light
There are at least
a thousand deaths
and rebirths
in the arc of a single day
masquerading as moments
of pure mundanity
When Thich Nhat Hahn tells us
that there is no birth no death
I really want to believe the guy:
the energy that connects all beings
is a gleaming force
I have felt course through my body
I have done everything I desire
I have accomplished nothing
I have lived the life I envisioned
I did not get any of what I wanted
I remain
grateful
& dissatisfied
cloud
wave
sheet of paper
waiting patiently
to be transcribed
transformed
afforded the opportunity
to reveal the cosmos
its emptiness
contains
Aquarius Spark for Morgan, collage by Christopher Luna
NAILED: You have been a poet for quite some time, how has that shaped your life?
Cristopher Luna: When I was sixteen, I promised myself that I would not have a boring life. I guess that at the time I felt that my life on Long Island was boring, or at least limited by geography. I felt as if I was literally separated from the United States of America. I used to have a nightmare fantasy that the bridges connecting the island to New York fell into the sea and we were all left to fend for ourselves. Eventually I did travel, and I saw a lot of beautiful things and met many wonderful people, but like a true New Yorker, I feel that it is the best place in the world.
The deeper you get into the study of poetry, the more relevance it has for your personal life, the more practical its application becomes. Many of the things one can do to improve their poetry will also improve their life. For example, Allen Ginsberg wrote “candor ends paranoia.” Being candid leads to better poetry and it can also improve your life, if only by allowing you to maintain your integrity and self-respect. One might think that he was advocating brutal honesty, which can be harmful, but I believe that one can frame one’s candid statements in a loving and constructive way. While we may decide to be quite brutal on the page, in conversation you need to check yourself to make sure that your impulse to speak is coming from the right place. Is your intention to help, or to harm?
Another example is Keats’ “negative capability”, which he defined as the ability to sustain “uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.” This state of not-knowing, of uncertainty, this paradox is where the creative spark lies. I have spent most of my life seeking the answers to “how” or “why” questions about the universe. Coming to the realization that it is much more important to ask questions than to know the ultimate answer to everything is liberating, and opens more possibilities in one’s life and in one’s thinking. Wanting to know more drives the work.
N: When did you come out to family/friends as a poet? What was their reaction?
CL: I have been a writer since I was eleven. I began by imitating my favorite writer Stephen King, writing fantasy and horror stories in the vein of The Twilight Zone. My family has always been very supportive. My parents bought me my first electric typewriter and have never missed an opportunity to let me know how proud they are.
N: What are the best, the worst and the weirdest moments of your poetry life?
CL: The best moments in my poetry life involve connecting with an audience, really feeling the energy in the room change because they are with you. This is one of the reasons that I have collaborated with musicians for so long. In my case, many (but not all) of the musicians have been jazz players, and I have come to understand that poets and jazz musicians speak the same language. You can tell a jazz musician how you feel about a poem, and they will play that, regardless of whether they have met you previously or we have had time to rehearse anything. In fact, some of the musicians I have performed with prefer not to rehearse or even see the poems ahead of time. This allows them to respond in the moment to what I say, and to my energy. Working with musicians is the closest that a poet can come to experiencing what it must feel like to be the member of a band. That being said, I have often confessed to audiences that musicians always make us poets look (and sound) better.
The worst part of my poetry life is receiving rejections from publishers. It never gets easier, and it always hurts. This is why when I talk to my students and coaching clients, I emphasize belief in self and building self-confidence. We have to start with a belief in the value of our work as a baseline, because there will always be people who don’t appreciate or understand it. Receiving a rejection from a publisher does not necessarily mean that your writing is bad, although it can’t help but feel that way. It means that your work didn’t resonate with a particular individual who, in most cases, has no familiarity with you or your work. If you are interested in getting your work out there, you have no choice but to brush yourself off and try again.
The weirdest moments are also related to the best moments. It is weird in a good way when someone has the courage to come up to me after a reading and tell me what my poem meant to them. This doesn’t happen more often because it takes guts. However, I always learn something about myself and the work from listening carefully to these comments. One thing these encounters have taught me is that our responses to art are very personal, and that our words are powerful because they engage in dialogue with our listeners’ hearts. I am always surprised by people’s reactions to the work. They almost always pick up on something that I did not have in mind while writing it. In a sense, once you share your writing with the public, it no longer belongs to you.
N: What is your “poetry closet”?
CL: The poet Ed Sanders advised me and my fellow Kerouac School students to create a workspace in the home that is only for writing. He encouraged us to personalize it and make it comfortable. He also asked us to consider what time of day felt best, and to do what we could to work at that time. My office/studio is set up so that I can easily reach books of poetry, spoken word recordings, or my own published works and notebooks. Everywhere I look there is an image of something or someone that inspires me. No matter how I’m feeling, a quick glance reminds me why I am doing the work, what I love about it. My workspace may seem chaotic, but it reflects the complexities of my thought process, the many ideas and images which swirl there. I also surround myself with music. While one cannot always work on poetry while music is playing, it really helps me the rest of the time. At the moment, Jimi Hendrix, Public Enemy, Nina Simone, Marvin Gaye, Prince, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan are keeping me going. I see it all as related to what Timothy Leary said about the importance of “set and setting” when embarking on psychedelic adventures.
The Heart of a Poet, collage by Christopher Luna
N: Would you share a memorable story from your time at The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics?
CL: Bobbie Louise Hawkins was a tough customer, a real “no bullshit” kind of person. She often entertained us with unflattering stories about her ex-husband Robert Creeley and others as a way to disabuse us of our hero worship. What was great about this is that it reminded us that our poet heroes are merely human, not flawless, god-like beings. One night Bobbie took me aside to compliment me on a performance I’d given. It meant so much to receive this encouragement from a trusted poetic elder. Years later, when I was in a position of leadership in the poetry community, I remembered encounters like this and did my best to encourage newer writers. One kind comment from someone you respect can sustain you for years.
The teachers at the Kerouac School have a lifelong impact on their students because they treat us as peers. I continue to coast on the knowledge and good energy given so freely by Anne Waldman, Reed Bye, Akilah Oliver, Lisa Jarnot, Anselm Hollo, Steven Taylor, Bill Scheffel, Ed Sanders, Diane di Prima, and many others. My short time there was lifechanging, and I continue to pass on what was transmitted to me there in my readings, workshops, and creative work today.
I also live with a deep gratitude for the old school Naropa graduates who took me under their wing and treated me with such kindness during those years, especially Randy Roark and Joe Richey. One of the great things about being a Kerouac School alum is that it makes you a member of an international community of writers and artists. I am still in regular contact with several of my poetry school friends, including David Madgalene, Vishal Khanna, Shin Yu Pai, John Chinworth, Natascha Bruckner, Jack Greene, Lisa Trank, and Derek Fenner. A number of the musicians I collaborated with, such as Jason Levis, Rob Ewing, and Tyler Burba have also remained friends for life.
N: Who sees your first drafts?
why things fall apart, collage by Christopher Luna
CL: I am fortunate to live with a great writer and artist. When I need feedback, I can completely trust my wife Toni Lumbrazo Luna because I know she has my best interests at heart. We are actually quite different, as writers and in terms of temperament and personality. This is really helpful in terms of receiving honest feedback.
N: What poetry book are you reading right now?
CL: I tend to read 10-20 poetry books at a time so that I can dip in and out according to my mood or interest. At the moment I am spending time with Finna by Nate Marshall, Homie by Danez Smith, Excoriation by Rebecca Smolen, Cosmic Pockets by Joann Boswell, Pax by Annie Lighthart, Patti Smith’s collected lyrics, and two marvelous anthologies: Black Girl Magic and New Poets of Native Nations.
N: What is your go-to “comfort” poetry book?
CL: I return regularly to Allen Ginsberg’s collected poems and Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, the two books that made me fall in love with poetry in my early twenties. As I grow and change, my relationship to the poems changes, and my understanding of the lessons they have to teach me is transformed as well.
N: Have you ever tried working in other art forms?
CL: This is a really interesting question, because most of the artists I know work in more than one medium. Nearly every poet I can think of in Vancouver and Portland also paints, or plays music, or something. In my case, I draw and make collages. I don’t see my visual art as separate from my poetry because I often use text in my collages and because many of my poems employ collage techniques, gathering and arranging fragments from disparate source material. During the pandemic I created many collages as a way to stay sane during the stay-at-home order. It is very calming. Several times a week I would listen to Questlove’s live DJ sets while working on collages, sometimes laying out four or five works-in-progress on the table at the same time. One of the great things about these shows was Questlove’s encyclopedic knowledge of music, and his incredible collection of rare demos, live tracks, and B-sides. I learned so much about music history and the history of our culture during his sets. I wish I could meet him so that I could give him a big hug and let him know what those Questos Wrecka Stow sets meant to me. If you’d like to see the collages I made during the pandemic, visit my Instagram: @christopherjluna.
Some Songs Perhaps Hold A Certain Unsettling Knowledge
Today is the day I follow my intuitions—
images, visions, projections, divination
—transpose my observations
into a language of my own.
Art is mistakes that we love.
Medicinal poetry.
A perfect exposition of mind.
The design has its own narrative.
It becomes more than just a simple object.
There was an insatiable need to
try to create a language for something
that I felt was there, that was real to me.
It was a language out of necessity.
It was what sustained me.
No is always on the table.
There’s some magic in working with the negative.
This dilemma of existing in a liminal space.
That conditioning, that story, is in me.
There’s so much potential in that uncertainty.
You risk nothing, you get nothing.
The idea isn't to blend. The idea is
to be a witness and a party to something
that takes your breath away.
I enjoy the result of clashing together different images, objectives and personalities as well as contrasting styles. I have never worked thinking about the result of anything. It’s not really a choice. The possibility of synergy and accident in the coming together of different creative powers is what is interesting for all parties. Space itself is important. Art functions through empathy…[When you] see someone else who is struggling with something and grappling with something, that creates a space for finding that within yourself.
People love symmetricality.
I like to touch every part of them.
Literally splatter [myself] all over the place.
The only reason I was able to do so was because
[I] was held so preciously by somebody, in that scaffolding.
Your calling is to be still.
Preternatural witness to things yet to come
Signaller calling urgently from an emergency
The poet must not close his eyes, must not avert them.
We need to keep decolonizing every day.
There is never any end.
There are always new sounds to imagine;
New feelings to get.
You better enjoy the moment,
‘cause you may not get another one.
No growth without loss.
All artifice is temporary.
All structures are just temporary.
The only thing that stays real is the energy.
Experience each day as a gift woven around wonder.
A moment of realization—reality really is love and the spirit.
All boundaries kind of disappear. Everything is just beautiful.
See the light in everything. Bring it into the world.
*sources available here
He's Building His Own Myth Out of the Clamor PRETTY DEEP SHIT, collage by Christopher Luna
N: How many hours a day are you a poet? What are you the rest of the time?
CL: I believe in being a poet all the time, no matter what else you might be doing. I learned from Charles Olson and Ed Sanders that there are no weekends for poets, meaning we cannot just switch it on and off and get very far. Like many Americans, I have done years of retail jobs. While some of them were soul-crushing or at best, boring as hell, I kept my mind active, composing poetry in my head or scribbling what I could during breaks. Whatever your obligations are, whatever you may be doing for money, you will progress as a writer when you understand that it is what you are, and that if you remain mindful and aware of your environment, everything you experience, however mundane, has the potential to become material for a future poem. We live in a capitalist society. Very few of us are independently wealthy, or privileged enough to be able to devote every moment to our writing. As it is we have to tear minutes and hours from the gods in order to focus on our poetry. If you wait until you find a half hour here or there to begin thinking about poetry, it will take much longer for you to develop. That is why I advise people to see themselves as poets twenty-four hours a day, and to never retract their antennae.
N: Would you share your intent behind your series of poetry workshops — The Work — and what your experience with those workshops has been?
CL: I learned how to design and lead poetry workshops from Jack Collom, who led the outreach program at the Kerouac School. Jack made a living for years by contacting schools and other institutions to offer his services. It was quite romantic, swooping in as a maverick unbound by curriculum standards. Showing up in a classroom as a “special guest” allows you to subvert the American nightmare by instilling a love for poetry in the young.
I admire Jack’s love for poetry and his belief that anyone can do it. His approach was so basic and so inviting that you can apply his methods to any age cohort by simply changing the example poems a bit. The model is pretty simple: present the students with an example poem, then invite them to try to do something similar, such as follow a particular rhyme scheme or work with repetition. Over time I have learned to also include prompts that ask the writer to contemplate some of the questions raised by the piece, such as “What are the advantages of taking risks?”
The Work comes from Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Memory Gardens,” in which he writes “Well, while I’m here I’ll do the work — / and what’s the work? / To ease the pain of living. / Everything else, / drunken dumbshow.” I also interpret it to mean the importance of taking our creative writing seriously, to regard it as work with a capital “W.” Writing is both hard work and a joyful process of discovery simultaneously. When one accepts that our language contains the power to change the world, you have to approach the work with a certain sense of responsibility. In our culture, the arts are often marginalized and misunderstood because they are activities which do not necessarily guarantee a steady income. One of the beautiful things about art is that it is something we do for its own sake, simply because we feel like creating something that did not exist before. We don’t need any other reason to do it. Nevertheless, it does help to approach our creations with thoughtfulness, intent, and purpose.
I just care that you stay woke, collage by Christopher Luna
N: You have been hosting the Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic in Vancouver since 2004. What's been your motivation to continue all this time? What are some of the highlights of that story of your life?
CL: When life gets crazy, my wife will occasionally ask me under what circumstances I would end the series. I tell her that I will continue to do it for as long as it remains fun for everyone, and people keep coming. When you host something that has been around for a long time, it is really important to bring in new people to keep the energy alive. We have been very fortunate. At most readings, the open mic readers are evenly split between die hard regulars and newcomers. That keeps things interesting.
Everyone needs to be heard. Everyone needs to be seen. We have fostered a loving, friendly space in which everyone feels safe to express themselves without judgment. The Ghost Town Poetry audience just wants to hear some good poetry, and they send a lot of love in the direction of the poet at the mic. Every time one steps up to the mic they make themselves vulnerable. Even for hams and veterans in love with the sound of their own voice, that moment is scary. How wonderful to know that whatever you say will be received with tenderness, compassion, and enthusiasm.
I really believe in personal freedom, so I have never commanded the audience to behave this way. I don’t like telling people what to do, and don’t like being told what to do. I have simply modeled a certain way of being, and every month the community must actively participate in that process in order for it to work. I feel very fortunate to have found so many willing to conduct themselves in this manner with such consistency. This is why I think that our series is a great place to read your work in public for the very first time, and many have.
It is also important to me to only hold the reading once a month. I have been to some weekly readings where the energy isn’t there, or the poets read the same pieces every time. When your reading only happens once a month, not only do people look forward to it, but they also write new poetry just to read at your open mic. I have had more than one regular tell me that Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic is the highlight of their month.
N: What’s a lesson poetry has taught you about life?
CL: Poetry has taught me that we are not alone, that words and language have magical properties, and that love is all that matters.
Souls Unfettered
John Stevens
I.
You’re a reincarnated Wordsworth.
Your poems are like sermons—
An emergence of their dirges—
Positive and skyclearing—
A terrific proposal for stretching the possibilities
Why not embrace the potential disorder of this day
in all its imagination?
A kind of cathartic quality to it.
It’s a day and a day be what it is.
A stretched timeline this.
The blessed, messed up brave
Remembering what we cannot know
As though you were going somewhere.
II.
The evidence is in:
we were all more permeable
than we imagined
I want this truth to penetrate every cell of my being
little epiphanies
how they pop
the sweetness
& suffering of life
intertwined
a very succinct vision
tracing knowledge
I felt immersed in it
my first dip into hybridity
wonderful how you used
the text and the subtext
letting patterns prevail
the little messages
left unsaid
seem to be a test
something to marvel at amidst peril: joy leaper
a gentle tornado
just a rambling
rolling river
that came down
to a chokehold
I’ll have a go at making the best of now:
with some hope it may propel me
into a fruitful What Will Be.
At Home With Yourself, collage by Christopher Luna
N: Why do you write poetry?
CL: I write poetry as a way to explore the mysteries of our existence and to attempt to understand my life. Writing helps me sort out what it is that I think and feel about it all. And while I persist in my desire to find Answers, negative capability allows me to survive without an unrealistic expectation about how many answers I will actually receive. While learning and growth occurs over time, artists are process-oriented individuals who understand that the journey is where it’s at. Once we’ve finished something we are quick to move on to the next expedition.
N: You were the inaugural Poet Laureate of Clark County for five years. What was it like? What does the title hold in both responsibilities and opportunities? What advice do you have for the future Poet Laureates?
CL: Being named poet laureate of Clark County was a great honor because the position was created to acknowledge a decade of service to the poetry community through Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic, Printed Matter Vancouver, and my work to build and nurture a literary scene in Vancouver. Fortunately, I had a couple of years practice because in 2011 Leah Jackson named me the laureate of her two businesses, Angst Gallery and Niche Wine Bar. Her decision was an honor because not only was she a dear friend, not only had she given me a space in which to put on poetry events and workshops since we met in 2005, but she was a driving force behind transforming downtown Vancouver into a thriving arts district.
I really enjoyed being an ambassador for poetry in Southwest Washington. The job opens doors and puts you in rooms where there are people who are curious about poetry but are not quite sure how to find their way in. As laureate, you are the first point of contact for the uninitiated. Every public interaction is an opportunity to create a good memory or to behave like an asshole. It would be tragic to be the reason someone rejected poetry because they had a negative experience with you. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to watch Allen Ginsberg handle the public. Despite his fame, and all the strangers clamoring for his attention, he handled himself with grace and dignity. When I had the opportunity to speak with him he was completely focused on me, and was able to be present there with me. He looked me in the eye, asked questions with genuine interest, took his time, and spoke kindly to me as he signed my copy of his collected poems, even though we were standing in the middle of a mosh pit of well-wishers, a vortex of need. The generosity of that moment stayed with me, and served me well many years later when I found myself in the position of being a public poet, a poet with a title in front of his name that creates certain expectations in people.
I love people, and I believe in poetry's power to bring people together and transform their way of looking at things. Being laureate requires you to go where you are invited to read poems, talk and teach about poetry, and on occasion write poems for ceremonies and events. Great laureates have a certain temperament, and an ability to be comfortable interacting with strangers. It is really fun if you can breathe and remain in the present moment.
Washington State has many town, city, and county laureates, and a great state laureateship. We are very fortunate to live where people value and enjoy poetry and literature. One of the most fun aspects of the job was those gigs that occurred outside the county, where I had the opportunity to meet and hang with other laureates and meet the amazing poets we have throughout the region. There are great scenes in Ellensburg, Everett, Redmond, and Auburn, for example. One thing that I really missed during the pandemic was public readings and traveling for festivals and featured readings. I look forward to doing all that again as soon as it is safe for us to do so.
My advice for future laureates is to keep in mind that our culture does not do a great job of helping people to value and appreciate poetry, so there is a lot of good we can do simply by being ourselves, being kind, and making sure that each person's memory of the moment you share together is a positive one.
This poem describes one of the truly mindblowing experiences I had as laureate, a reaffirmation of my belief in the power of poetry:
Schooled by the Young Poets of Ridgefield, WA
half a dozen
prepubescent and adolescent boys
persuaded by their librarian
to stick around after the
Dungeons and Dragons program
listen patiently to the adults’ poems about
weather, life on the Gulf Coast, and
holding on to one’s mysticism
devour a large tray of chocolate chip cookies
and ask thoughtful questions:
one wonders what I meant by
“destroying the capitalist nightmare from within”
listens carefully as I explain that, in America,
those whose work does not generate a steady income
are considered less valuable people than others
occasionally one of them uses a tablet
to look up unknown words
finally, they can no longer contain themselves
leap from their seats
to take over the podium
grab volumes of poetry by
Basho and Sam Hamill
displayed on a nearby folding table
the kids read the poems slowly, earnestly
and with great care
some even recite poems from memory
showing the professors how it is done
giggle and leap about like “magical elves”
to remind us that poetry is a joy
before it is a vocation
*“Magical elves:” Dene Grigar’s description of the boys.
times like these for Erin, collage by Christopher Luna
N: How can people support you and your work?
CL: They can buy a copy of my book Message from the Vessel in a Dream or make a donation through PayPal. I post poetry and collages on Instagram (@christopherjluna) and on my blog.
N: Would you give a single word prompt to write a poem?
CL: Engender.
The Poetry Closet is a semi-regular column of poetry and discussion, curated by Igor Brezhnev. You can reach Igor with inquiries, comments, and other messages pertaining to the closet at nailedpoetrycloset@gmail.com
Delve into the previous Poetry Closet, here.
Christopher Luna served as the first Poet Laureate of Clark County, WA from 2013-2017. He works as a poet, artist, editor, publisher, and teacher. Luna is the co-host, with Toni Lumbrazo Luna, of Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic, a popular reading series at Angst Gallery in Vancouver, WA which he founded in 2014. Luna is co-founder, with Toni Lumbrazo Luna, of Printed Matter Vancouver, a small press that also provides editing and coaching services to writers. He is the editor of The Work, a monthly poetry newsletter created to inform poets about events in Portland, OR and Vancouver, WA. His books include Message from the Vessel in a Dream, Brutal Glints of Moonlight, and The Flame is Ours: The Letters of Stan Brakhage and Michael McClure 1961-1978.
