Jacob Lee Bachinger lives, works, and writes in southern Alberta. He spends his days teaching at University of Lethbridge. His work has been published in Canadian journals such as The Fiddlehead, The Malahat Review, and Riddle Fence, among others. In 2021, Radiant Press of Regina published his poetry collection, Earth-cool, and Dirty.
You can read Winter Marriage in the October 2025 issue.
How do you revise your work?
I tend to write and revise using pen and paper. These revisions can be numerous. Once I feel the poem might be publishable, I type it up. The process of typing it, formatting it, seeing the poem as it might appear online or on paper to a reader, then initiates a new wave of significant revisions.
I have wondered why seeing the poem in 12-point Times font should provoke a series of rewrites. When the poem is in longhand, it’s still mainly for me, I suppose. When I re-read my poem formatted on the screen or page, I imagine the scrutiny of readers, and this prompts me to get back to work, dressing the poem in its marrying-and-burying suit.
How or where or with what does a poem begin?
For years I’ve carried around a series of notebooks, and I do truly mean carried around. Whenever I leave the house, my current notebook and a good pen are must-have items, like my keys or wallet. Most of my poems can be traced back to those spiral-bound books.
Have you ever received advice (or has there been something you’ve learned on your own) about writing or revising poems that has made you a better poet? What was it?
Zachariah Wells, one of Canada’s finest poets, edited my book, Earth-cool, and Dirty. While editing my manuscript, he gave me great advice regarding the all-important last lines of a poem: “Don’t overshoot the runway.” Don’t force the poem to a crashing conclusion. Instead, pilot those final lines to a precise, subtle closure.
Do you have a trusted first reader and how did they win the honour?
My wife, Shannon, has, for years now, been my first reader and editor. The honour came through marriage, but it’s not just an ex-officio role. She has a talent for reading critically and editing. Her suggestions have been invaluable to me. She is a fine writer herself and uses those instincts to guide my poems, when they’re still in a state of becoming, towards better versions of themselves. Perhaps she is doing the same with me?
Do you write by routine or do you wait for the poetry to visit you?
I believe you need routine to experience those visitations. Almost twenty years ago, I spent about a month at St. Peter’s Abbey in Muenster, Saskatchewan. The abbey is a mecca for writers in western Canada, and the abbey’s guest list reads like a who’s who of CanLit. While living with the Benedictine monks, I learned that their days followed a careful routine. For example, the bell would ring for vespers at the same time every day, then the monks would gather in the church and pray. This made an impression on me, and I took it as a lesson: if an activity is important (like prayer, like poetry), you must schedule it as part of your daily routine. This increases the chance of those inspirations and visitations.
In terms of poetic style or craft, is there a big question you are trying to find an answer for?
When I lived in northern Manitoba, I heard a Cree Elder tell a gathering of university teachers, “Happiness comes from happiness, but joy comes only from the Creator.” To my mind, this means happiness is a choice, but joy has deeper roots. Perhaps poetry can share in that root system? Perhaps poetry is joy or at least can express joy? In one of his essays, Dennis Lee suggests that joy can be subversive, and that’s a tasty thought to contemplate. Wouldn’t it be good to find the tao of subversive joy? Wouldn’t it be good to find it right there in front of you in your own handwriting?