Just before the first or second snow, J. Fossenbell measured out the correct amount of words and made them into a delicious jam.
Name: J. Fossenbell
Genre: Primarily poetry, but I dabble in lyrical essays, too, and one day I want to write a (good) novel.
Where are you from?
Born in a heat wave in the Show Me State. Raised two states over (skipping Kansas, as you have to), with one foot in the Rockies and one on the plains.
What was your commute to school like today?
Voyeuristic, as usual; I rode the light rail and the bus, and watched people, which typically becomes like a dramatic/comedic/depressing film, depending on the soundtrack (today: Autumnal Urban Melancholy…brought to me by Nick Drake).
Which line of poetry do you want to sew to the insides of your clothes or to the bottom of your shoe?
I grow old…I grow old…/I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. [Ed: Oh! That poem is diamond pollen.]
Which national holiday is your writing?
Definitely Halloween. Maybe sometimes Easter, the bloody-life-sized-figure-of-Christ-eastern-orthodox version, not the fluffy-bunny-Peeps version.
Tell us about a smell that means a lot to you.
Forest smell in the fall - sprucey/piney and aspeny, a bit decayed, a bit sweet-fresh. A green-brown smell, one that conjures my parents, Colorado, goodness and balance in the world.
Earliest bird or great night owl? Midday finch? Is that a thing?
I’m an after-sunrise bird: early but not too early. A little drowsy midday lark. Eyes too small to be a night owl.
Something you love about Minneapolis?
Blue Nile restaurant. Also, the bike trails. Also, all the water - the river, the lakes. Did I mention the availability of delicious African cuisines?
Hm. Don’t be scared of this question. How about something you don’t love about Minneapolis? (At least not yet.)
Minneapolis has so far failed to cough up a good job for my poor, relocated husband. Anyone have need for a web designer?
What are you looking for when you read a poem? What do you want a poem to do to you/your brain?
I want a poem to do something to more than just my brain. I look for a joint action on my emotions and thoughts. I look to be moved, though that could take a gazillion different forms. I look to be amused or amazed - by some sleight of hand, trick of the eye, language modification, sound-play, imagistic or mental trip, or experiential mirroring.
Make up this week’s horoscope. Mine or yours. I don’t care.
[Whatever you are] will enter an unprecedented period of existential destabilization this week. You may begin using flawlessly the Queen’s English, or decide astroturf is the new black, or overturn all previously stated convictions regarding David Spade “films,” or determine that apple Jolly Ranchers are it, 24/7, the answer to a better future. [Ed: My lighter says I am a Leo.]
Let’s talk about process. Describe! Describe! What is easy for you when you sit down to write? What’s difficult?
First lines are easy for me. I think of them all the time, and writing them down is a snap. The first little nibble of an idea comes frequently and fast, and so I’ve got several dozen beginnings. What drives me initially is often a particular voice, which I seem to pick up all the time from people and books around me. Often I start in with something electric enough to get me going, but as often as not I grind to a halt when I sense an unsatisfying ending is coming. I plan to write The Book of Beginnings and call it good.
A writer you really hope to see read someday or a writer you always want to send gushy fan mail to?
Jericho Brown, Li-Young Lee, Sandra Cisneros
Hey, what’s the escape plan?
That’s future Jen’s problem.
Read Jen’s poem, feel your pumpkin guts rub.