From Poetry and Poetics Centre

Tête-à-tête with Amelia Walker

Megan Boyd

When reading your works it is clear that you have an interesting view on life and your surroundings. Who or what first introduced you to the art of poetry?

To be completely honest, I never really enjoyed poetry when we did it in school. I thought it had to rhyme and be about flowers. My first exposure to 'real poetry' was when I was fourteen. My sister and I were looking through the bookshelf our parents stuck in the spare room, which was filled with books they didn’t read or want anymore. We often went to this bookshelf when we were bored because it had risqué stuff .
This one particular day we found a book that looked innocuous enough. It was an old Penguin Modern Poets series collection featuring (Gregory) Corso, (Allen) Ginsberg and (Lawrence) Ferlinghetti. We opened it up and the first thing we saw was a Ferlinghetti poem called ‘Underwear’. We literally tore the book in half both trying to read it first (I still have that copy, with gaffer tape down the spine !). I was blown away by the realisation that poetry could be a form of rebellion. I quickly became obsessed with reading and learning about the lives of all the Beat poets. Interestingly, though, Ferlinghetti remains my all time favourite poet. Not so much for the underwear poem, but his other works—particularly the verse novel Her—and because, in my opinion, he was really the driving force behind the Beat movement. He published Ginsberg, (Jack) Kerouac, all of them. He still runs the City Lights bookstore in San Francisco. He was the one who got Beat poetry out there, made it known.

What was it that first inspired you to use this form of expression?

I went to my first poetry reading when I was sixteen. That was the next big revelation. For two years I’d been reading and writing loads of poetry, but it was a secret world I never spoke about. Nothing I’d written had gone further than my bedroom. Then I discovered this community of people who were getting up on stages in cafes and pubs, reading their poems out loud, discussing poetry and all the things I’d been longing for a chance to discuss with others who wouldn’t think of me as being pretentious or dumb. I immediately got hooked. The writers I met at the open mikes all inspired me and encouraged me to keep writing, to submit my work. They pointed me in the direction of interesting poets and journals I should read. They taught me so much, still teach me so much.

In your works you are very generous, allowing your insides to be put on public display. Is there anything of yourself or a situation that you wouldn’t write about?

Generous is a kind word! Others have said self-indulgent, attention-seeking, obscene. 'Confessional Poetry' is one of those terms that instantly makes people cringe. But nearly all of my favourite poets are confessional—Kamala Das, Denise Levertov, Brian Patten, Leonard Cohen and of course the Beats are examples of a few. So if I like Confessional Poetry I figure there must be at least a few other people out there who do as well. I’ll come right out and admit that I’m voyeuristic. I like to know the details of other people’s lives and emotions. I like to read poetry that pushes the boundaries, talks about stuff that isn’t polite; reading this kind of poetry reminds me that life is more than just the faces we put on for our functional work lives, that underneath the surface niceties all human beings are really gutsy-gory-gross-emotional-weird-possibly-insane creatures.

Having said that, I try very hard not to just write about me for the sake of self obsessing or 'therapy'. I try to always consider why what I’m saying would be interesting or relevant for another person. I hope that my poems give the reader something they can understand and connect with, something that might make another person feel less alone. I wrote a poem called ‘Confessional Poetry’ to make light of myself as a Confessional Poet. It’s a very silly piece about a Confessional Poem that arrives at 4am naked and screaming obscenities on my front lawn. When I let it in it raids my liquor cabinet and trashes my house, then runs away to go to a party with the other Confessional Poems, doesn’t even invite me. It’s based on a true story.

There’s not too much I wouldn’t write about in terms of me. Stuff that involves other people, though—family, friends, partners—is always very delicate. When I was younger and used to fight with my Mum a lot, I’d always storm out of the room exclaiming I was going to put her in a poem. It was the ultimate threat. Like turning someone into a frog with my pen! I never did it. Not to Mum. Ex-boyfriends are another matter…

Your writings are in many cases very descriptive and deal with non-mainstream topics. For instance, ‘Flesh’ and ‘Beautiful’; how do people react to these?

Poets are generally fairly open-minded. I’ve never really felt judged in that atmosphere. I hid the ‘Flesh’ poem from my family when it was first published. I was scared how they’d react. There was quite a bit of awkwardness when they finally did see some of the 'kinky' poems. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, though. I’m lucky to be part of a close, caring family who may not always like the things I do and write about, but accept me nonetheless. Work is another matter. Some colleagues once got their hands on some of my more risqué poetry. It was all I heard about for months. My just-another-ordinary-respectable-nurse act was busted. They knew the truth. They wouldn’t let me forget it. The nurse in charge (who was very old-school and finicky) told me outright that my writing was filth. A few others seemed to avoid me. But quite a lot of people liked it, too. I was saved by one of the nurses on the ward who started a relationship with one of the doctors—I was forgotten in the wake of a new scandal.

You were a student at UniSA. How did this experience help you with your writing career?

Unfortunately I only got to do one writing subject!!! I guess that’s what you get for doing a Nursing degree. The subject was Scriptwriting with Myk Mykyta and it was the highlight of my week. Myk was probably the best teacher I ever had for any subject through the whole of my education. He had a ridiculous amount of experience in theatre–fifty years or so. His level of knowledge was mind blowing. His lessons were always engaging. He has a really great dry kind of wit and he'd always made time to give us extra help if we wanted it, which not many lecturers do.

I also went to the UniSA ‘Written Off’ open mike nights that Dov Spinks used to run. They were fantastic gigs. I miss them. There’d always be crazy stuff going on—musicians jamming in the middle of the pub; impromptu limericks; fireside philosophy. I met some amazing writers there, heard amazing poems, had amazing conversations.

Studying writing at a tertiary level is something I would still really love to do. I didn’t do it when I finished school because I wanted or rather needed something that would give me a stable income to support myself as well as some life experience. I have mixed feelings about the choice. Some days I wish I’d just been a little more brave when I finished school and done writing despite everything. Other days I think I’ve made the right choice because it’s helped me gain life experience. Now I have so much more material for writing than I did when I graduated. Also, being in the workforce has made me realise that the opportunity to study is an incredibly valuable thing. I know I will make the most of that opportunity when I do study writing. I’m saving up!

Who is your biggest critic (besides yourself)?

I belong to a workshopping group with two other poets, Andy Jackson and Luis Gonzalez Serrano. We meet about once a month to share our new poems and give each other constructive criticism. I think that anybody who is serious about writing should find or create a group like this. It’s just impossible to be subjective when editing your own work. Like a mother with a newborn baby: that baby might be the ugliest thing in the world, but she won’t see its faults. I need somebody who isn’t personally attached to the poem to say, 'Mealz, this line, what the hell were you thinking?!' Not that they’ve ever said it like that. They’re very tactful. The workshops are fun, too. We drink coffee and moan about rejection slips, arts grant applications, financial woes. It’s good to be reminded you’re not the only one dealing with these downsides of the whole poetry thing. We share opportunities too and let each other know about new places to get published.

You're featured in the book Heart of the Matter: here you mention that you were writing a book about a woman with ‘diet pill problems’. How is that book going?

Ah, I worked on that for a year and finished it, but it will never see light beyond my laptop. It was a dud. A good learning experience, but a dud. I have written lots of duds. I think it’s just part of the process. I don’t know who but someone said you have to write a certain quota of terrible books in order to complete your 'apprenticeship' as a writer. I like that notion. I tell myself that even if I am writing crap I am not wasting time because writing the crap is part of a process towards eventually writing something not-crap.

You have moved to Melbourne. Are you still involved in the poetry movement there? And how is it different from ‘friendly’ Friendly Street here in good ole Adelaide?

I miss Friendly Street!!! I visit Adelaide frequently, though I usually try to time my visits so I can go along and catch up with everybody. Friendly Street is unique. Melbourne may have a much bigger population than Adelaide, but the poetry readings still don’t draw the crowds that Friendly Street draws.

What I love about Melbourne is that there is simply so much poetry. You could go to a poetry event every night of the week (if you were insane). Any time you’re kicking back thinking 'Hmmm … not much on tonight … wonder what I’ll get up to …' you can check the Overload e-group or log on to Pam’s Poetry Gig Guide and find three or four poetry events to choose from. The irony of this is the tendency to get blasé and not go to poetry gigs because you know you can go next week. I’m spoiled these days and I take poetry for granted. Not like in Adelaide where I’d be holding my breath in anticipation for a whole week before a gig.

Has your nursing career given you a new outlook on life? And how has this affected your writing?

I enjoy nursing. It’s a great balance for writing because it’s opposite in nearly every way: social as opposed to solitary; physical as opposed to sitting at a desk. It uses the problem-solving side of the brain as opposed to the creative side. At the end of the day, though, I’m no Florence. The reason I do it is to pay the bills. I view nursing as my job and writing as my career.

Nursing has taught me a lot about human behaviour and the human body, two things I love to write about. Nursing lets me see people in a wide range of situations, some happy, the majority sad. I see a lot of death. The death itself doesn’t usually upset me so much as the suffering that comes before it, and for the family afterwards. I also see a lot of people dealing with loss of control—of situations, their bodies, their lives. One writer (I’m not sure who) spoke about the idea that at some point everybody has to realise s/he is 'chained to a dying animal'. That really rings true in what I see. What interests me is not so much the situations but the reactions, the coping mechanisms. I don’t tend to write a lot of poems set in hospitals, but I do write about the human strengths and weaknesses I have seen in hospitals; I pluck them out and put them into made-up settings and situations.

To be blunt, I have seen a lot of naked people. I have given enemas, inserted catheters, sponge-bathed 100 year olds … I don’t have too many hang-ups about the human body. I have a tendency to forget what is and isn’t appropriate in polite conversation (don’t ever ask me about work if you plan on eating in the next 24 hours). It’s natural that this creeps into my writing, which is probably another reason why some people say my work is obscene. I also did a brief stint on an eating disorders unit (aforementioned Psych Nursing disaster) where I saw some pretty scary stuff. To say that eating disorders are about beauty and body image is over-simplifying the issue way too much. It’s much more complex than that. But we do live in a society that places a lot of stress upon body image, and upon unrealistic body images. I like to challenge that by presenting different versions of beauty: I try to take things that are normally considered unattractive, or not even noticed at all, and turn them into beautiful things. I don’t know if I succeed, but it’s something I try to do. Grace Nicholls is one poet who really inspires me in this aspect.

Some people think that the art of poetry is a ‘waste of time’. What would you say to these people?

I think it’s sad that these attitudes exist. Those people probably haven’t ever read or heard real poetry. They’ve been frightened away by the rhyming iambic pentameter flowers stuff. They’re missing out.

Getting poetry to 'non-poetry' audiences is a big challenge. I’ve done a little bit of guerrilla performance in my time and that’s one way. The most recent was about a year ago over in Western Australia. A group of about five of us bought all-day train tickets and just rode back and forth on the Fremantle line reciting our own poems as well as some stuff from books. We made it a bit comic because we wore coloured wigs and tutus and stuff like that. The responses were really interesting. A few people were negative, but the majority said they really liked it and that it made an otherwise boring train ride fun. Some even came up and asked for copies of the poems! And they weren’t the sort of people you’d look at and think would be interested in poetry.

As for waste of time … how many reality TV shows have we got now?

Where do you see yourself going creatively in the future? Do you have any aspirations?

At the moment I’m involved in a couple of collaborative projects. One is poetry and the other is theatre. Working with other people is great because you bounce ideas off one another and think of things you ordinarily wouldn’t. The other person can also push you to pursue things outside your comfort zone, which is always a challenge and a learning experience and sometimes the results are surprisingly good.

I don’t like to say too much about where I am 'going' because I don’t want to jinx myself. The best ideas seem to be the unexpected ones. I’m all for pursuing tangents. However, the thing I’m really interested in at the moment is the evolution of language. I’ve been working with school students lately and it fascinates me that they actually think and speak in the language of the cyber age. There are kids out there who seriously do not know that L8R, Gr8 and M8 are not real words. In fifty years time, maybe nobody will know. The language we use now will seem as quaint as Shakespeare’s English seems now. Some writers get very depressed and panicky about this idea. Sometimes I feel that way, but mostly I feel excited about the possibilities it opens up. I mean, language always changes. That’s part of what makes it exciting. The difference now is that it’s changing so much more quickly than in the past. The future of writing is very hazy. As writers, we can shy away from that future in fear, or we can meet it face-on and take the opportunity to mould it.