In The Field: Conversations With Our Contributors—DeMisty Bellinger
Your poem, “Ode to That Turquoise Bra,” has a whimsical feel, yet also carries the gravity of honoring and thanking this piece of clothing. What inspired this poem?
Firstly, thank you for inviting me to do this interview!
It was a real bra that I had. It was probably the sexiest bra I owned as an adult, so it was a little disappointing to get rid of it. I think I wrote the first draft in a writing group, and I forget what the prompt was (something about odes), but the bra immediately came to mind.
I haven’t found a bra as sexy but useful as that one, but I refuse to go back to wires. And I no longer own anything lacy for underwear! Sigh. Looks like I have to go shopping and stop being so utilitarian.
It was a really cute bra.
Odes are quite reverential, and within honoring the bra, I also felt that this poem honored the body that the bra helped carry. Did you find that thought in your mind as you wrote?
As much as it is an ode to a bra, it is also a celebration of my own body, and what it has endured and how much it has changed. It is also an ode to other women who have carried extra weight in the form of children, and who have aged, and who have learned to be grateful for all that their bodies have allowed. So, yes, I’m trying to honor and thank my body for bringing me through so much, including bringing my twin kids into this world.
There’s a heightened language you use (“sheath,” “pristine”) that makes this poem feel grandiose—this language adds both to the gravity and comedy of the piece. What was your process for creation and revision with the language?
There is a definite nod to the antiquity of the ode. Even when it’s not serious, it is a serious poem. And the form kind of requires a formal language. I can think of many contemporary odes that employ similar language, including Ellen Bass’ “Ode to Fat,” but I think I was really thinking about Neruda’s “Ode to My Socks,” which I have always loved. It’s not so much that his diction is heightened, but he did elevate the ideal of the socks, which is what I tried to do. I wanted to take something as mundane as a bra and raise it to something worthy of glory.
Plus, it’s a little absurd to talk about a dead bra like that, and absurdity is always fun!
You are a prolific writer, and write across poetry, fiction, nonfiction. How does your work in each genre inform the others? Do you ever start a piece in one genre that transforms into another?
For that second question, yes! For instance, I tried to write a short story about Typhoid Mary, but instead of Typhoid, I wanted it to be a lovesick waitress. It wasn’t working for years, so I tried it as a poem and I loved it immediately. It didn’t need an entire story! Oftentimes, revision is rewriting it in a different genre. Maybe you’ll have an epiphany about how to revise in that original genre, or, of course, you’ll find that the topic works better in another genre. I suppose it’s all what you want from the writing, who you want it to reach. I wish I had a more definitive answer there.
As far as whether the genres inform each other, yes, they do! Firstly, I think all writing should have a rhythm, and sometimes that rhythm may be aural but as I learn and grow, especially in the arenas of accessibility, I’ve learned that there are other ways to satisfy rhythm in writing, and that includes visual rhythm. And there are other ways to add musicality to both poetry and prose.
Nonfiction is difficult to me, and honestly, if I have to write an essay, I avoid it for as long as I can. Sometimes, though, the topic demands an essay or an article.
I would like to get into more hybridity, but I wouldn’t know what to do with it. The hybrid work usually stays in a notebook or in a digital file.
Do you return to certain themes in your work?
Probably too often, yes, I do. I’m always afraid that I’m going to write the same thing. Animals as escapism or animals as truth happen quite often in my writing. A student pointed out a theme of animals in my fiction, which took me by surprise; I never noticed the menagerie before! Since then, I can’t unsee the beasts.
But yes, I do have favorite themes, such as equity and class issues.
Do you have favorite novels or authors you credit with being influential in your creation process?
I think everything we read informs our writing somehow, so I never know how to answer this question. There are writers I return to time and again, and I try to consume all of their writing. These include Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison, Patricia Smith, Edwidge Danticat, Ha Jin, Lucille Clifton, Susan Orlean, Gish Jen, Colson Whitehead, Camille T. Dungy, and Stephen King, among many others. Lately, my fun-reads writer is Grady Hendrix. Great horror humor writer and also a good thinker. I suggest his essay “Beloved: The Best Horror Novel the Horror Genre Has Never Claimed,” which encouraged me to read his fiction. There’s no great epiphany in it for many, but it was refreshing to see a white male horror writer include Morrison’s Beloved as a book that should be celebrated as slipstream horror. Also, since it’s written for a general audience, it’s a very accessible essay.
What are you writing now?
I just finished writing a novel (which is in submission) and my first collection of short stories, All Daughters Are Awesome Everywhere, is coming out this fall with the University of Nebraska Press. As a break from longform, I am returning to my experimental roots with funky poems and flash fiction just for fun. I am reading a lot, too.
DeMisty D. Bellinger is the author of the novel New to Liberty and of the poetry collection Peculiar Heritage. Her work can be found in various journals and anthologies, in print and online. Bellinger is a creative writing professor in the middle of Massachusetts.
