Sarina Bosco is a chronic New Englander.
You can read Saltfeather in the October 2024 issue.
If you didn’t write poetry, how do you think you might access the same fulfillments that poetry offers in your life?
I don’t know if this is going to come across correctly, but I think just being a witness to life, and the lives of others. A lot of poetry, for me, is paying attention to the small mundane things and finding beauty there. That takes quieting my mind, going out to intentionally explore the world, and slowing down. Sometimes it takes the forms of walks after dinner with my husband—recently we were both in awe of huge black walnut husks that we found, and I’m always on the lookout for the beautiful orb weaver spiders. Other times it’s people watching from a café or trying to understand someone’s experience from their point of view instead of my own. Ultimately this kind of paying attention to the world around me is what leads to poetry, and I think it’s also the true fulfillment. If I wasn’t writing poetry I’d still want to be actively in awe of the world and beauty around me. Poetry is just how I try to bring it to others and put it in their hands.
How do you revise your work?
I have such a not-great revision process…usually it involves me writing the poem and going “Wow! Brilliant! Crazy that I haven’t had publishers begging me for a full collection yet!” And as soon as that’s out of my system (usually a few minutes) I just let the poem sit. For me, going back to the piece immediately isn’t helpful; it’s like the “you can’t see the forest through the trees” scenario. Sometimes I just need to wait a week, sometimes it’s longer. I’ve had poems sitting for years that I haven’t been able to revise yet. In a way, the revision process feels like it’s a mix of luck, prayer, and waiting. The waiting is usually for a missing piece—maybe there’s something I haven’t experienced yet that will inform how the poem needs to change. Mostly, I end up going back however long after initially writing the poem, and I can see where it’s lacking. I can plug holes or turn phrases differently to try and capture the feeling I was initially trying to capture.
As a poet, what does creative success or achievement look like for you?
This, for me, has two answers. The first is very personal. Many of the poems I write are trying to capture a memory or feeling that is specific to something, or someone, I’ve experienced. So if I’m successful, every single time I read that poem to myself it will feel like I’m reliving that memory or feeling. Even if they’re really hard, shitty memories and feelings.
The second part of being successful creatively is when it captures someone else’s attention. Over the years I’ve been lucky enough to write pieces (both poetry and otherwise) that nudge readers to reach out to me. Sometimes they tell me who in their life it reminds me of; sometimes they just thank me for writing it. This started years and years ago when I wrote a poem for a class and, later, my English teacher called the house and left a voicemail (on those old cassette machines) thanking me for writing it, because she’d experienced something similar recently and she felt less alone. Even though I was only 12 at the time, that message stuck with me. Knowing that something I wrote helped someone in some way is the best achievement I can think of.
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 have kind of a wunderkammer at home that probably looks insane to most people. I don’t even think my husband has seen all of it together yet, since we haven’t settled in enough for me to have an “official” writing space. I don’t know how to describe it, but sometimes I just need to pick up an object to be led down a certain path. Here’s a short list of the items that currently live on my desk and exist, in some way, in stories and poetry I’ve written:
- A jar of wolf teeth
- A cicada shell
- A ring of random old keys
- A very large book of baby names
- Several roles of typewriter ribbon
- A doodle of a sphincter (thanks to my husband)
- Post-it notes about how anxiety and fear are cousins, not twins
- Several small, empty specimen jars
- A Fun-Dip packet
- My dog’s canine tooth
What are you working on now?
I have so many silly projects happening all at once, but it’s actually the best way for me to write. If I get “stuck” on one, I just jump to another, and by the time I return to the original project, I’m unstuck.
Right now I’m working on a children’s book involving my dog, Echo Charles. I’m chipping away at a fantasy heroine’s journey that I’ve been telling myself in my head for years now! And lastly, I have an ongoing personal project since my dog Jasper passed away a year and a half ago, clattering out poems on an old typewriter related to grief/nature/spirituality for the moments when I feel him around still.
What are you reading or watching or listening to lately that intrigues or inspires you?
I’ve actually been listening to the “Disordered” podcast a lot, and it’s been great for the little pockets of anxiety I experience sometimes. It’s inspiring in that it reminds me that I can see the negatives in my life as challenges, and as soon as I get into that mindset everything seems much less daunting. Sometimes I need this with my writing, too, especially if imposter syndrome starts to creep in.
My taste in reading is varied so I never know what I want to read next until I pick something off my bookshelf. Recent favorites have been “Rough Beauty” by Karen Auvinen, “Ninth House” and “Hell Bent” by Leigh Bardugo, and pretty much anything written by Bernd Heinrich.
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?
As much as I think people will hate to hear this, an important part of the revision process is also reading my poetry out loud. Only to myself! Or my dog. But hearing the words aloud, hearing the flow (or lack thereof) is a gamechanger.
I used to roll my eyes at that advice, but then a college professor/mentor really drove them home. He had everyone in the Cultural Poetry class read their work out loud once a week, and we also had to read other poems out loud to identify their meter. During office hours I’d sit across from him and he’d ask me to read my newest poem aloud. I’d squirm, but jump into it, and usually I’d pause here and there and make notes without any input from him at all! I remember being surprised by how easy it became to tell where something just wasn’t working. While I don’t often write metered poetry, I do love reading my own out loud to identify the dips and rises; I feel like it helps me zero in on the exact tone I want to convey. So even though it may feel embarrassing at first, I think it’s a must for any writer.
Do you belong to a writer’s group? If not, where do you find poetry community and feedback?
I do not belong to a writer’s group, and I worry I’ll never find one. Although to be fair, I’m not putting much effort into the search. Throughout college I was in several groups out of necessity and found them to be 80/20 – 80% helpful feedback and genuinely wonderful people, 20% hyper-critical and pretentious attendees. I’ve been in very small groups, too! The smallest was a group of three, including myself.
I find poetry community in very different places—magazines on the writing craft, for example, but also day to day conversations with people I know or complete strangers. Sometimes I’ll see someone reading a book and ask them if they like it, and that will start an often-long exchange about what we’ve read and liked or didn’t like, and why. I’ve also found poetry in conversations with friends about the aching parts of life: our guilt, losing a loved one, what we’d be doing if we didn’t have responsibilities, being on the cusp of a new chapter in life, the voices in our heads, etc. I think it’s important to remember that poetry can be—and should be—found in things that are not poetry, and that’s where you’ll also find your community.