In The Field: Conversations With Our Contributors— Kathleen Kimball-Baker

Your poem “The Musher’s Daughter” speaks of a running girl in a picture. What sparked the creation of this poem? Is there an actual picture it was based on?

Yes! I saw the picture on Facebook. I’m friends with the daughter’s parents, Iditarod veterans Jennifer and Blake Freking, who have a racing kennel in Finland, Minnesota, where they raise leggy, beautiful pure-bred Siberian Huskies. The Frekings’ two daughters (Elena and Nicole) began interacting with the dogs as babies. All their lives, they’ve been holding new puppies, feeding huskies, observing play, doing chores in the dog yard, teaching “sit,” and, eventually, running their own teams. The Frekings have an enclosed free-run area where the dogs can race around, wrestle, sniff, dash about, jump on humans, and have a blast. It was a picture of Elena running with the dogs in the enclosure that inspired the poem. I was so taken by her childhood, all that exposure to pure boreal forest and the freedom to run wild with the dogs. She was 12, a time in a girl’s life so full of possibility and choices. I can’t think of a better way to rear daughters than how Elena has grown up. Frankly, I’m envious!

The title of the poem flows into the poem itself. At what point in the writing process did that happen?

Thanks for asking that question. Originally, the poem was titled “Elena Runs with the Wild Dogs.” I was so focused on working out the pacing, rhythm, and form of the poem, I didn’t try to tackle the title ‘til around the tenth version. I’ve had the good fortune of studying with the brilliant narrative poet Jude Nutter, who wrote I Wish I Had A Heart Like Yours, Walt Whitman, winner of the 2010 Minnesota Book Award in poetry and voted Poetry Book of the Year by ForeWord Review. Jude completely understands my obsession with dogs, cold, and wilderness and she pushes me toward compression in service of the lyric. Her comments on the poem helped me shape the final draft. And when I considered submitting the poem to Water~Stone, I realized I had an opportunity to showcase the beauty of mushing and the radiant example of raising a daughter in a wilderness environment. I wanted the title to have some mystery but relatable feel. I’m attracted to books with “daughter” in the title. I also love the whimsical art of Kenspeckle Letter Press in Duluth, Minnesota. I have two prints from a series called “The Trapper’s Daughter,” which features a young woman in intriguing natural settings. (And now that I think about it, the daughter reminds me of Elena!) These influences came together in my head, and there you have it, the final title of the poem. I chose to let it flow into the poem as a way to engage the reader quickly and to be a kind of “run-on” line (that I hope isn’t as annoying as a “run-on” sentence).

There are breaks within the stanzas, and in those moments, it almost feels like the leaps of jumping over a fallen branch as someone races through the woods. What was the impetus for you to put breaks where you did?

Oh, wow. I love that interpretation! I wish I could say I’d been crafty enough to intentionally evoke that image. But you’re right. A human running would make that leap over a fallen branch. However, If you’re running a sled-dog team and come upon such an obstacle, most likely you’ll stop, set the snow hook, jump off, move the branch or grab a saw from your sled bag and cut it off. The breaks within the stanzas work for either scenario. There are times, too, during mushing where the trail has “moguls” and moments of feeling briefly airborne, then landing hard. I love that sensation; it’s a bit jarring but exhilarating, too. My thinking during revision was that I wanted to emphasize “she runs” while also providing a breather to reflect on the images in the stanza. The pacing is brisk (which was so fun to write), but I’ve found in writing dog-sledding poems (as in dog-sledding itself), a full-out fast read (or run) isn’t sustainable. I don’t want to wear out the kind people who take the time to read my mushing poems. I want them to feel the thrilland have the opportunity to enjoy the scenery!

I love the lines “as if / the woods want her / to own them as if owning // is a real thing” and “as if people / ought to know a girl / can be fluent in wild.” Can you talk about these lines?

I’m so glad those lines stood out to you.

I’ll start with the “as if owning // is a real thing . . .” More and more I find myself obsessed with the concept of ownership. I don’t think of myself as a dog “owner,” which feels like a slippery slope toward enslaving. Some research suggests humans and a proto-dog that emerged from wolves saw complementary hunting strengths and began cooperating to take down prey and protect it from scavengers. As humans and dogs have co-evolved over millennia, like it or not, the balance of power shifted to humans. I prefer to see our role as companions and stewards responsible for dogs’ wellbeing.

I also recognize that individuals among wild creatures (foxes, raccoons, deer, crows, even fish) sometimes choose to be in a relationship with us, which feels more primal. What does it take for that to happen? Curiosity, familiarity, integrity, deep trust, and mutual agency. The concept of “as if the woods want her to own them” is a nod to such interspecies relationships. I believe Elena, because of her exposure to and understanding of the wilderness, is the kind of human the world needs if we are to survive as a species.

As for “as if people / ought to know a girl / can be fluent in wild,” let me say that I am a huge fan of adolescents, and spending time with them helps me see the world in startling ways. I have great respect for their knowledge, energy, vision, passion, and role as a resource to their communities, But I’m not sure that feeling is widely shared in the US, so I tend to call out the splendidness of teens whenever possible. Elena is so comfortable in the wilderness and working with dogs, it felt important to point out such fluency, especially in a 12-year-old girl. If more girls could spend time in the wilderness, just imagine the kind of leaders who might emerge, women who are so deeply connected to the more-than-human world that protecting and conserving it would be, well, second-nature (no pun intended).

We don’t realize the poem is speaking about a picture until halfway through. What was your intention behind this?

Because rhythm and pacing are important elements in the poem I wanted to establish that feel early on. But I also wanted the inspiration for the poem (the photo) to help ground it in real experience. 

What does your editing process for poetry look like? For this piece?

Editing begins when I type the handwritten poem into my computer. Reading it aloud always leads to changes. No matter how happy I am with it at any stage, I put it away for a week or so, then come back with a fresh eye. Patience isn’t innate for me, but poetry is a greater teacher.

More and more I’m interested in meter and its influence on tone and tension. When struggling, I’ll scan my poem to figure out if meter is the problem. I’ve learned so much from Jude about meter, line breaks, and about openings and closings. I’ve read every craft book, article, and blog post I can get my hands on about closings. Sometimes, I consult a nerdy deck of index cards I made with ideas and approaches I’ve gleaned. It’s rare that I feel a poem is ready before five versions (though my record is 32 versions over 7 years). I bring the poem to a workshop or to two poet-friends and use their comments to guide further revisions.

But does editing ever stop? I play with syntax, line breaks, then compress and compress and compress until I’m satisfied every word and every line break has earned its place. My final stage is making sure the title engages and offers just the right amount of context, perhaps a bit of mystery. I’ve heard many poets say revising is their favorite part of working on poems. I’m inclined to agree. For me, editing is when surprise enters. If I push too hard to what I think should be the exit, the poem tanks. Like most things in my life, letting go of a certain outcome allows something far better and surprising to emerge. 

Do you find you return to different themes in your writing?

Yes! I recently tried to order a group of poems into a manuscript (my third effort in seven years). Two larger themes emerged, dog-sledding and my relationship and experiences with the more-than-human world.

I jump at every opportunity that comes my way to spend time in wilderness settings. I’ve played tag with juvenile seal lions (their idea) in the Midriff Islands in the chilly February waters of the Sea of Cortez; been in a fishing boat off the coast of Dingle, Ireland, surrounded by a pod of gigantic basking sharks filter feeding, their toothless mouths wide open and reflecting the craziest light; been pelted with acorns by squirrels in my front yard; had a standoff with a lynx who wouldn’t budge to let me continue driving down the Arrowhead Trail in northeast Minnesota; and been raced in my car on a remote gravel road by a gorgeous young moose that at first I thought was a horse. While training my sled dogs north of the Twin Cities, a huge crane lifted up from a mucky pond and flew right over my team, so low I could hear its wings moving.

All of these magical times inspire and eventually enter my poems. I love the term that Wisconsin poet Thomas R. Smith (another wonderful teacher I’ve had) uses for such experiences: “peak emotional moments.” 

Who inspires you? What authors or creatives are your favorites?

I came to poetry rather late, so I’ve had so much to learn in a short time. In 2020, I worked for a year with Gretchen Marquette (May Day) to fast-track my knowledge. She’s been a never-ending source of  generosity and inspiration–and we share a devotion to dogs and other creatures. 

Among poets I return to often who model for me qualities I highly respect–honesty, humanity, humility, and mastery of craft–are Jim Moore (Prognosis), Marie Howe (Magdalene), Ross Gay (Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude), Mark Doty (Fire to Fire), Maurice Manning (Bucolic), Michael Kleber-Diggs (Worldly Things), and Connie Wanek (On Speaking Terms).

I love the inventiveness and originality of Deborah Keenan (Saint of Everything), Patricia Smith (Blood Dazzler), Devon Walker-Figueroa (Philomath), Kamiko Hahn (The Narrow Road to the Interior), Jericho Brown (The Tradition), Emily Dickinson, Aracelis Girmay (The Black Maria), and Felicia Zamora (Body of Render).

Ilya Kaminsky’s book, Deaf Republic, should be taught in civics classes in every high school in the US. The book seemed prescient in Minneapolis when federal agents occupied the city to carry out indiscriminate rounding-up of immigrants. In fact, I suggested it many times when people around the country checked in to see how I was doing as the best example of what occupation and resistance feels like.

What are you currently working on?

Little by little, I’m compiling a manuscript of poems and essays about being a biracial Latina dog sledder obsessed with wilderness, and extreme cold. (I feel euphoric at -30F! ) As our blue planet heats up, I feel a responsibility to preserve through literature the beauty of the boreal forest in winter, the awe it inspires, and how even a native Texan with absolutely no Nordic genes can be transformed to feel most alive and connected to the wild during extremes of winter in frozen landscapes. With luck, the manuscript may become a book before the season of winter disappears altogether.

Thanks so much for your curiosity about my poem. It’s been such an honor to have “The Mushers’ Daughter” in Water~Stone!

Kathleen Kimball-Baker is a Minneapolis poet and dog-sledding enthusiast. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in Water~Stone, Nimrod International, Poet Lore, The Hopper, Magma (UK), The Avenue, The Nature of Our Times (poetsforsciene.org), and other journals and anthologies. She is a Pushcart nominee and is compiling a hybrid chapbook about being a biracial Latina dogsledder (originally from Texas) obsessed with extreme cold and boreal wilderness.