Renée M. Sgroi (she/her) is the author of two poetry collections, life print, in points (erbacce-press) and the just-released, In a Tension of Leaves and Binding (Guernica Editions), which was on the 2024 CBC Books fall poetry preview, and the November preview. Her poems have most recently been published in yolk literary magazine, Augur Magazine, Funicular Magazine, Parentheses Journal, and Literary Review of Canada with work forthcoming in The Prairie Journal and FreeFall Magazine. A member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, the League of Canadian Poets, Canadian Authors Association, the Association of Italian-Canadian Writers, and Amherst Writers and Artists, and am a contributing editor for Arc Poetry Magazine.
You can read and in the evenings we watch the moon in the January 2025 issue.
Would you like to tell us a little bit more about your poem? For instance, how or why you wrote it, or perhaps provide some extra context?
This poem emerges from my experience as a caregiver. In terms of process, I don’t write with a plan or a particular concept I’m trying to express, so when I began writing this poem, I had no idea where it would go. I suppose I was thinking about how vulnerable we are, and yet beauty is still there to be found, if we’re willing to look for it.
Is there a collection of poetry or even a single poem that acts as a touchstone for you?
I am absolutely in love with Frank X. Gaspar’s Late Rapturous. I’ve read it twice, and am tempted to read it again, but I’m trying to hold off for a little while so I can read other work. Gaspar’s collection is a touchstone for me because the poems welcome a reader in, as if one is settling into a comfy chair, but the reader is then taken on a voyage of discovery that is both beautiful, human, and profound. It’s stunning, stunning work that looks and feels so effortless. Honestly, for me it’s poetic mastery.
As a poet, what does creative success or achievement look like for you?
If I said that seeing my name and my work in print, or receiving an award for a poem or public recognition for my poetry didn’t matter to me at all, of course I would be lying, and I wouldn’t trust anyone who claimed to espouse that belief either. Having said that however, I don’t write for that purpose, nor do I see it as the full measure of creative success. Instead, I’m finding that my sense of myself as a writer sits more comfortably on and within my being these days, and that to me is success. And I’ve become part of a larger writing community, and have people in my life with whom I can discuss poetry and writing, and those conversations and those friendships are also a success because they are so meaningful and inspiring. But sure, if I ever write a screenplay that wins an Oscar, I will definitely thank the Academy!
We love the artistic underdogs, the experimentalists, the lovely weirdos — who or what might you get creative joy or energy from that others might not be aware of yet?
I’ve already mentioned the work of Frank X. Gaspar, and I’m not sure if this answers the question, but I definitely get creative joy from reading Hannah Green’s Xanax Cowboy, which I’ll likely reread this year. As much as it’s heartbreaking at times, it’s also pure poetic energy to me. And add to that list just about anything by Diane Seuss.
How do you know when a poem is finished? / Is a poem ever really finished?
I love that the question included space for “is a poem ever really finished”, because I’m not sure that it is, even after it’s been published in print and/or online. Sometimes I look at a published poem and think, oh, there’s that comma, or, I should’ve changed that word or line… But in terms of craft, I think it’s finished when I reread it, and it just feels satisfied with itself. Unmovable, and settled.
How did you begin writing poetry? Was there a specific inspiration or reason?
In grade two, my teacher asked the class to draw a picture and write a poem about it. Much to my surprise at that time, I learned that I could rhyme, and I was so pleased with myself, that I decided from that point on I was a writer, although it took several decades for me to start thinking of myself as a poet. Thank you to inspirational teachers!