Susan Wismer is grateful to live on Treaty 18 territory at the southern shore of Manidoo-gitchigami (Georgian Bay) in Ontario, Canada with two human partners and a very large dog. Recent publications include a chapbook Hand Shadows (Wintergreen Press, 2024) co-authored with Michele Green and Suzette Sherman. Hag Dances is out with At Bay Press in Spring 2025. www.susanwismer.com
You can read On Distance in the July 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?
It is almost impossible to imagine a life in which walking is the primary form of human transportation, but in this poem, I wanted to try. After all, it’s what we are designed to do. There are no simple solutions to climate emergency, to war, to the human tendency toward violence and destruction. I find however, that the slow pace of walking and the immediacy of two feet on the ground requires a level of attention and mutual consideration of people and planet that is a powerful counterbalance for much of what troubles me most about our human lives. In 2018, during 32 days of walking, I travelled 900km along the Camino Santiago. I met people from well over 45 different countries, all of whom were simply there to peacefully and companionably walk an ancient trail. I wish everyone could have that opportunity.
Is there a collection of poetry that never leaves your (perhaps metaphorical) nightstand?
It was Leonard Cohen who first made me want to be a poet; Adrienne Rich who encouraged me to believe I could write; Dorothy Livesay, Bronwen Wallace, Margaret Atwood, Lorna Crozier who let me know that there were Canadian women out there writing…..but all of that was long ago now. At the moment, on my nightstand: Ada Límon, Kayla Czaga, Sheila Stewart.
If you didn’t write poetry, how do you think you might access the same fulfillments that poetry offers in your life?
Walking does that for me.
How do you revise your work?
I do lots of revising of early drafts, looking for words that aren’t needed, listening for rhythm and sound, reading aloud to check line breaks, stanza breaks and punctuation. Then I return to the first draft, to the idea of the poem, to the excitement I felt when I first worked on it. It’s so important not to lose that! My poetry group, Dandelion, is a place where I can read my work aloud, receive comments and suggestions. I’m so fortunate to have their assistance.
As a poet, what does creative success or achievement look like for you?
There’s a feeling of flow that comes into the writing that I love. That’s what keeps me going. I enjoy sharing my work with others, in journals and at readings and (most recently) in a couple of books. Of course, that feels like success too. But for me, achievement is all about those times when the writing and I carry each other through our days.
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 love much of what I see in graffiti and other forms of street art. They inspire me greatly. I’m often sorry to see them ‘cleaned’ up, scrubbed away.
How or where or with what does a poem begin?
For me, it’s often an image or idea that sparks an emotion. Then I start the very difficult task of trying to find words.
Are there other art forms that inspire or inform your poetry?
Many. I am a musician and I am often inspired by visual art. But the wordless artform of contemporary dance, with its emphasis on rhythm, music, space and connection, and evoking a wide range of emotion seems to me to be inherently and powerfully poetic and was a very important source of inspiration for both my new book, Hag Dances (At Bay Press, 2025), and an earlier chapbook of poetry and still photos, co-authored with two dancers, Hand Shadows (Wintergreen Press, 2024).
How do you make space for poetry in your daily routine?
With some difficulty. I try to get away once or twice a year for a few days of writing retreat. At home, my goal is to write something, even a few lines, every day. I accomplish that by waking early and starting my mornings with my journal, writing a fairly short paragraph and a haiku before I do anything else.
What are you reading or watching or listening to lately that intrigues or inspires you?
I’m reading Su Chang’s The Immortal Woman right now. Both intriguing and inspiring.
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?
A musician I knew said that talent makes us at most 10% of what it takes to be a good musician. The rest is practice, passion and persistence. I expect something similar applies to poetry. At times when I am in awe of the talent I see among poets around me, I remind myself to simply keep at it.
Do you have a trusted first reader and how did they win the honour?
The Dandelions, my poetry group, are invaluable first readers. We were originally brought together by a poetry workshop with Chelene Knight and have been working together for several years now, which is wonderful.
Do you write by routine or do you wait for the poetry to visit you?
A bit of both. I like to exercise my poetry writing muscles regularly, like to make sure that I write at least a little daily. But then, there’s the ideas and images that cross my path and make me run for my journal.
How did you begin writing poetry? Was there a specific inspiration or reason?
At about the age of 6, I was desperate for a pet dog. My parents refused, and I wrote my first poem. It had only a few misspelled words but it introduced me to the comforts, satisfactions and inspiration of poetry.
In terms of poetic style or craft, is there a big question you are trying to find an answer for?
How to find words for the wordless. I think I’ll be on that quest for the rest of my life.