In The Field—Conversations With Our Contributors: Sam Stokely
In The Field—Conversations With Our Contributors: Sam Stokely
What was the spark behind your poem, “Ark/ee/awl/uh/gee,” that appears in Volume 27?
The spark was an ancient, buried loneliness that hit me while I was at home on an average day. Other disabled people might experience a similar feeling at times—knowing that every day will be a fight for life, and there’s often not a pearl at the end of all the physical and emotional pressure. I think I also rewatched Jurassic Park.
You use a lot of geographical references (“flashed forged rivers/sunken atolls”) within this piece. How did you come up with the idea of equating the body to geographical space?
This was easily the hardest question here because I think I lack the words to pinpoint a time when the body and the land were separated in my mind. My skin shifts like tectonic plates, blisters come and go like severe storms; when I bleed, I am the Mississippi River, remembering.
The ending, “to you know/what it’s like to feel/the pearl under your skin/not even bone can convince/doesn’t exist” is haunting. Can you talk a little about why you chose to end on this note, and what drew you to this particular ending?
There are tiny white balls called milia that grow under the skin inside damaged hair follicles, as I’ve come to understand it. You mostly see them in babies around their eyes and mouths, but they are especially prevalent in people with Epidermolysis Bullosa, and when they’ve been growing out of sight for long enough, they become, almost literally, perfectly hard little pearls that, using a small sewing needle, I can pop out of my skin like spring loaded relief. Often I don’t see the milia, but, like the princess’ pea, I feel something inside me, under the skin, stretching my flesh from the inside, and so I dig, and I dig, probing for the fossil that stops my tool in its tracks, knowing I’ve found the motherlode. Occasionally I’m wrong, and I can’t find the pearl, can’t put to rest the feeling of stranger living under my skin, and I know, like a when I’m writing a poem, that I have to stop before I’m left with a sink full of blood and not much else.
What is the significance of the title broken into syllables? Did the shape of the poem come right away or later in the process of creation?
Two questions in a trench coat! Re: the title—it seemed to echo many of the ideas and images that birthed the poem: the aged layers of dirt that represent times & eras, the idea that geography & time are pre & post language, the different sections of the finger where milia most often live. Once I broke it up phonetically, I also appreciated the words and ideas I was given: the “uh”s and “gee”s of people trying to navigate conversation with disabled people, the sharpness of an awl piercing leathery skin, an ark where loneliness was spiritually mandated out of existence by systemic soulmates.
Re: the shape—I tell myself, and my students, to stop writing boring poems. To me that doesn’t mean superfluous decoration, but rather a job assigned to me by the poem that I use every technique at my disposal to squeeze all the juice out of the poem. In this case, the shape serves many purposes, all designed to create more echoes bouncing around for the reader to catch. It is hopeful, pointing a way forward out of the loneliness and pain; it is sharp, like the archeological tools I use for my flesh digs; it lies in sections and layers like the millennia of souls I follow as a human and artist.
Do you find yourself circling back to particular themes in your writing?
Skin, politics, family is my go-to answer for what I “write about.” Skin because it has shaped who I am, politics because the radical idea that everyone be allowed a dignified life, that children deserve food, hospitals, all their limbs, is political, and family because it’s an idea I’m still working to understand.
What authors or titles have influenced you as a writer?
Inger Christensen, Monica Berlin, Olio, Spoon River Anthology, Gwendolyn Brooks, Sin Yong-Mok, Emily Oliver, Deborah Keenan, my Uncle Shawn’s life.
What are you working on now?
I am acutely interested in and investigating ways to take poetry from the page and into the world as an active disruptor and connector. Stay tuned.
Also, a book. And my IG: (@)bovinii
(This is unrelated to any question, but if Hamline follows through with the shuttering of their Writing Programs and of this very Water~Stone Review, they will feel the reverberations for generations and likely never will recover spiritually, artistically, academically. Sunset deez.)
In The Field—Conversations With Our Contributors: Christopher Gaumer
In The Field—Conversations With Our Contributors: Christopher Gaumer
It’s always wonderful to have a graduate of our MFA program in Water~Stone! What sparked the creation of your poem, “On a Farm in Iowa?”
Hi, Jenn! It’s wonderful to be close to Hamline again through Water~Stone!
My family lived in Perry, Iowa until I was nine. My mom took my two older sisters and I to a farm just outside of town. I recall this being a trip where we were being given a bag of corn from church friends. At some point, we all stood in the long gravel drive beside a field of corn and watched a snake slowly consume a rather big frog. What I remember clearest is that the frog’s head was inside the snake’s mouth, the frog was not totally dead, and it took a very long time to swallow the frog. We maybe even left before the meal was complete.
The line, “old gravel road corn field killing, church friends,” lingers in my mind with this sharp edge. Can you talk about why you placed these phrases beside each other, and about the layered relationships that appear in this poem?
This is a description of the literal action of the moment and also, I realize, an image that begs one to draw more associations. This type of layering is why I love poetry. I crave ideas that are clear on the literal level and deeply suggestive.
There’s a theme of consuming within this poem—the snake and the frog, the corn, Seth and the narrator. How did you develop this thread in your work? What other themes do you find that your work revolves around?
The honest answer is that I did not consider this theme during the writing or revising of this poem. This is how I like to work in general: revise until the poem is surprising and a bit beyond what I understand.
You teach at Randolph college. What is a piece of writing advice that you always give to your students?
Risk huge leaps of logic because they activate the reader’s imagination to invent narrative connections.
What stories or books inspire you? Who are some of your favorite authors?
Bianca Stone, Diane Suess, Gary Dop, Karl Ove Knausgård
What are you currently working on?
I have a completed poetry manuscript titled M O N S T E R on submission. Writing wise, I’m working on a feature film script and ramping up, with a whole crew of people, to direct a music video for a band, New Boss, out of Charlottesville, VA.
Christopher Gaumer‘s poetry and creative writing appear in The Southern Review, Sugar House Review, No Tokens, The Cortland Review, McSweeney’s and elsewhere. Gaumer won the 2019 Poetry Society of Vermont’s National Poetry Prize and has fiction in the Best Microfiction 2019 anthology. Gaumer writes and directs films and music videos. He is a founding director of the Randolph College MFA and a graduate of the Hamline University MFA program.
In The Field: Conversations With Our Contributors—MICHAEL CHANG
In The Field: Conversations With Our Contributors—MICHAEL CHANG
Your poem, “Orchestra Maneuvers in the Dark,” creates an overlapping conversation and giving of information. Where did the inspiration for this poem come from?
The starting point for all of my work is vibes. I wanted a poem that felt tropical, but not in a cliched way. So I introduced opposing forces like the coats and the old fashioneds. I also wanted to bring in a political slant (Cuba, China, Global South), subtly. Other elements in the poem include bits of an interview I did with my friend Robbie Myers, who was the Editor-in-Chief of ELLE Magazine for many years.
The word “orchestral” lends itself to the layered nature of your piece. What is your revision process like within the ephemera of these phrases?
It’s strange to acknowledge this, but I’m very concerned with sound. I don’t think a lot of poets are. That’s why you see so much clunky poetry out there, particularly with poems that end on a weird note (usually a THUD!). In my own work I first get what I want to say onto the page, the bones of it. Then I tinker with how phrases weave and flow, delete or move things around based on whether they glide. The end product has to be smooth, neat (not “with a bow” per se but close to that). The reader has to be satisfied.
You use brackets as stage directions, in a sense. Is this a common tactic you use in your writing? When did you develop this practice?
I’ve done it in maybe one or two other poems. I was writing a poem that was more overtly sexy or physical, and imagined how my favorite actors would “do the scene” although they didn’t appear in that poem at all. I landed on “[breathily]” and was pretty pleased with that.
I love the opening phrase, “doctor-patient confidentiality but totally public.” What do you look for in an opening?
I like something that grabs your attention immediately, that pulls you into the world of the poem before you realize what’s happening. The tension in that line is really cool. I love operating in contradictions.
You’ve written several poetry collections, including Boyfriend Perspective (Really Serious Literature), Almanac of Useless Talents (CLASH Books), and Synthetic Jungle (Northwestern University Press). When building a collection, what do you look for?
My latest are two named TOY SOLDIERS, a full-length and a chap, from Action, Spectacle and Abode Press respectively. Forthcoming are THINGS A BRIGHT BOY CAN DO, from Coach House, and HEROES, from Temz Review/845 Press.
In my head I always start “projects” (bad word, but good shorthand) with the cover image in mind, what a prospective cover would look like.
For example: I walked by a gallery in Tribeca right before they were closing for the day and they were doing a show on Peter Hujar’s portraits. There I saw for the first time the image that now graces the cover of my chap-length TOY SOLDIERS (Christopher Street Pier #2 (Crossed Legs)). I knew I had to have it. I thought it would be a reach but the Peter Hujar Archive was very supportive and kind. So I guess it is that kind of manic energy when I totally obsess (another bad word) over something and the poems organically extend from or build off that.
Do you find that you return to similar themes in your writing? If so, what are they?
No. I don’t think so. I guess if you wanted to talk about it at a remove, a 30,000-foot level, then sure, maybe. But you would be able to say the same about most art.
I think my writing has a clear point of view. It’s a natural reflection of my views (political or otherwise), how I see the world, how I move about in that space.
My work also celebrates the people I care about, my muses, their beauty, how much they mean to me.
What literary works and authors do you draw inspiration from?
I’ve been reading a lot of translated poetry to train my brain to think differently.
What are you writing currently?
Because I’ve been reading so much non-English poetry, I’ve been writing shorter poems (what I call “smol”, poems under 14 lines, usually 10 lines or so). These days, less is more.
MICHAEL CHANG (they/them) is the author of Synthetic Jungle (Northwestern University Press, 2023), Toy Soldiers (Action, Spectacle, 2024), and Things a Bright Boy Can Do (Coach House Books, 2025). They edit poetry at Fence.
A Conversation with Joni Tevis—WSR Contributing Nonfiction Editor
A Conversation with Joni Tevis—WSR Contributing Nonfiction Editor
Water~Stone Review is a collaborative project of students, faculty, and staff at Hamline University Creative Writing Programs. In addition to working with our faculty, and to fulfill a larger initiative of providing a place for new/emerging and underrepresented voices at Water~Stone Review, we now have rotating contributing editor
This is a wonderful opportunity for our graduate student assistant editors to collaborate with renown writers in order to expand our reach and further innovation. Past Contributing Editors include Sun Yung Shin, Keith Lesmeister, Sean Hill, Carolyn Holbrook, Mona Power, Kao Kalia Yang, and Ed Bok Lee.
In this post we introduce Vol. 28 Contributing Nonfiction Editor, Joni Tevis.
Welcome! We’re so excited that you are our CNF Contributing Editor for Volume 28. The topics you explore in your work are varied. What is your writing process like when selecting and beginning a new piece?
It always starts with a moment of attraction to something small, but visceral. I know it when I sense it.
As a professor, what do you hope to impart to your students?
Pay attention! Pay attention to your life. Pay attention to the details that life throws at you every single day. Pay attention to what you read and how you react to it; you can always use that to work on your own writing. And be kind to yourself.
What draws you in when reading a nonfiction piece?
A sense of voice. I like to feel that someone is speaking directly to me. And I like to learn something from a piece of nonfiction that I didn’t know.
What are you currently writing or working on?
I’m revising a book of essays about living in epic times. This is a challenging moment, but we can learn from others—Big Mama Thornton and Janis Joplin, Robert Hirohata and Red Adair (the oil rig firefighter who put out blazes so ferocious they could be seen from space). We can do this work together, day by day by day.
A Conversation with Jose Hernandez Diaz—WSR Contributing Poetry Editor
A Conversation with Jose Hernandez Diaz—WSR Contributing Poetry Editor
Water~Stone Review is a collaborative project of students, faculty, and staff at Hamline University Creative Writing Programs. In addition to working with our faculty, and to fulfill a larger initiative of providing a place for new/emerging and underrepresented voices at Water~Stone Review, we now have rotating contributing editor
This is a wonderful opportunity for our graduate student assistant editors to collaborate with renown writers in order to expand our reach and further innovation. Past Contributing Editors include Sun Yung Shin, Keith Lesmeister, Sean Hill, Carolyn Holbrook, Mona Power, Kao Kalia Yang, and Ed Bok Lee.
In this post we introduce Vol. 28 Contributing Poetry Editor, Jose Hernandez Diaz.
Welcome! We’re thrilled to have you as a Contributing Poetry Editor for Volume 28, after publishing your poem, “Ni de aquí, ni de allá: ni de la pinche luna” two years ago. What is your writing and editing process like when you’re in creation-mode?
Lately I have been teaching generative workshops with my students. Therefore, I have been responding to the prompts as well alongside my students. My philosophy is just to get the words out there in the initial inspiration without overthinking and then go back and edit until I am satisfied with it. After that, over the next couple of weeks, there might be additional minimal edits as well and then it is ready to submit.
As a professor at the University of Tennessee, what are some important writing techniques you impart to your students?
Get rid of the pressure with initial creation by acknowledging that it is a first draft. It likely won’t be perfect. Like building a house, first get out the foundation and then add the fine details later.
I also encourage them to think about the shape and form of their work. Oftentimes we are saying the right thing, evocative things, however, it is just not the most flattering line break or form. Like going to a job interview and saying the right things but dressed in flip flops and a t-shirt.
So, I encourage them to think about line break and form… as well as more is not always more. Sometimes brevity and condensed aesthetic can aid the mystery and intrigue of a poem. Lastly, specificity of imagery can oftentimes lead to immediacy, texture and pull a reader in.
When reading, what makes a piece of poetry stand out?
Maybe an exciting title, striking imagery, captivating voice, exquisite sounds, haunting storyline or imagery, emotional connection, intellectual stimulation, mystery, visceral fortitude.
What projects are you working on now?
I have a new manuscript, “New Year’s Eve at the Museum of Somber Paintings” that I am fine-tuning and submitting. Also, I have about 45 new poems that I will eventually organize into another manuscript.
I am enjoying teaching undergrads at the University of Tennessee as a Visiting Writer. Watching a lot of college football. Go Vols, Bears and Trojans. Dodgers playoff baseball is heating up. Ready for the Lakers new season. Trying to spread love, positivity and hope.
Jose Hernandez Diaz is a 2017 NEA Poetry Fellow. He is the author of The Fire Eater (Texas Review Press, 2020) Bad Mexican, Bad American (Acre Books, 2024) The Parachutist (Sundress Publications, 2025) and Portrait of the Artist as a Brown Man (Red Hen Press, 2025). He has been published in The American Poetry Review, The Yale Review, The London Magazine, Poetry Wales, The Iowa Review, Huizache, The Missouri Review, The Nation, Poetry, The Progressive, Poets.org, The Southern Review, and in The Best American Nonrequired Reading. He has taught creative writing at the University of California at Riverside and online for Hugo House, Lighthouse Writers Workshops, and The Writer’s Center. He has been the Poet in Residence at the Carolyn Moore Writers House with Portland Community College. Currently, he is the Visiting Writer in Residence at the University of Tennessee.