artist's interview: MELANIE FARLEY

presenting Melanie Farley, poet

*** the following excerpt (on the nature of day light) is from
Melanie Farley's project, dog breath etudes

sun
etches
steel
the
idiom
the
what
- see
cracks
of
pave-
ment
a shoe
nerves
those
with
system
excuse
me,
does
that
mean we
get to
light
things
on fire?
sitting thinking surely, i could be just sounds. it's rainy and chilly and as
usual nature doesn't give a fuck about our problems. let’s say i came back a eucalyptus tree. peeling
peeling this everything is just enough. no water down the stairs no soap and they refuse to
creak the wind


blowing those curtains and a molecule that's moving some direction or

other

this window that
moves sometimes and not the brown dog that is afraid of everything
the woman selling flowers to keep looks aimless

5 things i love about ksw ~

1. something shared:

2. you are so solitary. so disciplined and so confident in your intuitions. (i guess that's three related things; i’m cheating.)

3. i remember first being struck by your optimism. remember when you looked at me, sparkled, said: "we are the revolution!"?

4. dance dance dance! i love that you love to do it and i love dancing with you!

5. i love your daydreams. they inspire me. i just saw your lighthouse covered in fog. the light shines through to where i am.

6 things ksw loves bout Melanie ~

1. i love that you believe in my lighthouse. i just daydreamed you attending an event there, and we have the best time ever. you laugh a lot and fall in love with the opening band. (insert: hot dance moves) ~ ~ ~

2. i love your sense of adventure.

3. i enjoy your willingness to try new things.

4. you are deep, like the belly of a silver whale.

5. i enjoy that you are brave about experiencing.

6. your history is slender-loud-quiet ~
it’s like a squirt gun or something else cool. (relate.)

Melanie Farley is never afraid of anything, ever. except. talking about herself and other things too. she lived in some places. did some things. so far, she doesn't have any regrets. she writes poems because she's always written them. because they calm her down. because she likes beautiful things. she lives in san francisco and just got an mfa from california college of the arts. yaaaaaa hearda, worda!

1. damn, yo. what up? it’s been a minute, but you always live on in my mind. i swear, i can feel your experiences sometimes, but perhaps that is far too presumptuous a thing to plainly admit. anyway, you’re in San Francisco. why? do you love it? is San Fran a good place for feeling sunshine? for feeling?

it has been a minute. i think of you too. and it's not presumptuous. we don't always have to speak. we get it. you know? well, i came to San Francisco under the pretense of grad school. but, really, i kind of always wanted to move out west and i visited san francisco for the first time when i was 19 and have wanted to move here ever since. yeah, i love San Francisco. it's like a little paradise-fantasy-land. i mean, really, everything is so beautiful it's almost unreal. and i've seen some of the strangest birds and plants and trees (and people for that matter!). i saw this bird that looked like a fat, middle-aged, jewish man. seriously. so, yeah, i think it's a good place for feeling. as good a place as any. i mean, i know it's cliché, but i think that probably what's going on in your mind is more important for health than the view outside your window.

2. grad school. tell me about it. where do you go? you done? this experience (for you) is like … fill-in-the-blank.

grad school. i went to California College of the Arts and i finished in may. so, i’ve got an MFA now! my experience there was mixed. it wasn't really what i expected, but i’m not sure what i expected. i did learn a lot, but not necessarily in the ways i thought i would learn. hmm. i did learn that poetry is a really difficult thing to do (for me anyway) because it requires something different from you, then, say, a research essay. sometimes, it requires you to look in dark places and i've always been a little afraid of the dark. so, i didn't want to do that. i really fought against it. so much that i thought about quitting grad school a number of times in the two years i was there--- which (to me) meant that i wanted to quit writing poetry. anyway, i’m super-emo when it comes down to it, right? haha. i didn't quit school and i probably won't quit writing poetry. but, the whole experience of putting a book together, for example, did feel almost traumatic at times. and i think i’m probably still processing---i’m not sure what it all means. but, i know that something did happen to me in those two years and it's probably a good thing that it did.

3. you have been given the gift of $11.11. what do you do with it today?

that reminds me. i’m kind of hungry. so, i'd probably get a slice of pizza at the Indian pizza place downstairs. i can't really think of what else to do with it. i guess i would just put the rest in my pocket and wait until i need it for something.

4. now it is tomorrow. you have been given the gift of $11,111. what do you do with it? 

smells like free time! i'd quit my job and pretend to be a mad scientist all day.

5. you are surely a queen of observation. radar. what does your radar tell you about poets? i mean, have you picked up on any commonalities shared by writers? ... and do you still smoke lots of ciggies? ... drink thee good beer?

hmm. not really. i mean, sort of. it's difficult to tell what commonalities exist amongst people. i’ve noticed that certain kinds of writers get together because they want to be like each other. they imitate each other. and after awhile, they're a group. they share ideologies, gestures, speech patterns etc. so, they share certain commonalities, but does that mean they share commonalities as people? i don't know. people have always grouped together like this, but the privacy of the mind is a strange thing. and yes. i still smoke too many cigarettes and i would never refuse a cold beer.

6. identity. what is it like? yours. i mean, changing? i mean, moons? i mean, what?

"i mean, what?" sounds pretty good. haha. i don't know. people like to talk about identity a lot. i don't know if i’ve ever really thought about myself in those terms. i mean. isn't identity consciousness? i think about the pros and cons of human consciousness a lot. sometimes i think i would like to be a tree or something. then, my identity could be: tree. and i could have my toes in the dirt all day long and hang out in the sun (or rain) and the wind can blow all of my leaves around. plus, if i were a tree, you could sit underneath me, and i’d shade you from the sun. so, i guess that's my identity: wanna-be tree.

7. i have a memory of chillin on top of Union Hill back in wild Wisco with you. our pal Brian had given you a joint and we were huffin and puffin. you said, "man, sometimes i think that this place (Lawrence University) is an insane asylum." do you remember this? can you elaborate on what was meant?

ha! i remembered that night on the hill right away. i remember it like it's a photograph. i remember the sky and the water and how the factory smoke always looked weirdly magical at night. as for the insane asylum thing, i still feel that way about Lawrence. everyone was kind of crazy in their own ways, and it didn't seem to matter too much, or maybe it made us feel more of a bond with each other, i’m not sure. it felt like weirdos were safe there, somehow. and even though we were weird in different ways we could still laugh and drink a beer together. it was pretty cool. i'd like to see more of that in the world.

8. would it bore you if i became a lady-monk and never drank with you again? do you still reference your sun-moon book? do you dig on some good Indian eats out west? do you have a pet? do you recall a recent daydream that made you giggle?

no way, dude. i never thought that drinking was what held our friendship together. we just like each other. we like to just sit with each other; we like to talk to each other. plus, we're master gigglers. i do still reference the sun-moon book sometimes, but i think that i’m a bit too advanced for it now. what i mean is, i need more astrology books with more information! i've been trying to learn how to draw charts and get all the angles and weird science-y stuff down. it's kind of fun, but admittedly i haven't had much time to pursue it recently. still love indian food. i live within a half a block of two different indian restaurants, lucky me! but, i don't eat Indian food as much as i would like (like e-v-e-r-y day!) because it is much more expensive here in Cali. and i don't really cook. i still miss Sai Ram. i am constantly bragging to my friends out here about what they are missing. i don't have a pet, though we do have a very fat stray cat who sleeps in our backyard most nights; he's kind of like a pet, i guess. he hangs out sometimes, lounges in the sun next to us. the daydream, i just thought of one. Paul Feyertag showed up outside my door in Exec in the middle of winter with one of those pool noodle things. do you know what i am talking about? i can't remember exactly how i responded when i saw him standing there (he didn't say anything), but i probably said something like: "what the fuck is with the pool noodle thing?" then, i invited him to sit on the couch for a little while. the whole scene just makes me laugh.

9. please name your top 11 poets and top 11 (favorite) things that bring a smile to your sweet-pretty-golden-face.

in no particular order ~

poets:

Eleni Sikelianos

Cole Swenson

Vladimir Mayakovsky

Charles Baudelaire

Kate Greenstreet

Lorine Neidecker

David Antin

Antonin Artaud

Emily Dickinson

Guillame Appolinaire

Hannah Weiner

smiles:

warm days and warm nights— especially when i get to take off my shoes and put my toes in the dirt or grass.

sitting on my roof and drinking a bottle of wine with a good friend

walking down Mission Street on a sunny day and stopping by eagle donuts for a black coffee and a sugar twist donut. the woman who works there is so friendly. we always have a nice chat.

reading on my back porch in the morning before everyone gets up.

hanging out in my clubhouse (in the backyard) rain or shine and thinking or listening to music or writing things or all of the above.

telling & hearing ghost stories.

romping around in nature or just sitting with some trees or near some water. the ocean is a kind of magic.

sitting around a fire with friends (fire is also a kind of magic). it's even better if we have instruments and can have a sing-along. i’m a big fan of the sing-along.

swinging on a swing set

home improvements— it's really fun to fix a place up. we've done a lot of painting, redecorating, gardening, and general cleanup around here and it has made a big difference.

doing something i’ve never done before. i like to have little adventures, even if they are simple, like trying a new restaurant, or going to an art opening, or an astronomy lecture, or whatever. just little things that challenge me. those things make me smile.

10. you write some rad-strange-lovely-strange poetry. talk to me about the project i just read, titled, dog breath etudes. i am very curious about Mr. Willoughby. i mean, fire and ghosts and a bath on Tuesday ... if he can figure out what day is Tuesday … what can you provide (informationally) about this project? … in the way of meaning, processes, or intentions?

well, actually, the bath on Tuesday thing is directly stolen from our friend Bryan Teoh. Bryan visited Portland when i lived there and we went around recording people saying: "note to self, Tuesday, take a bath." we thought it was hilarious. i thought it fit with Mr. Willoughby. so, i used it. overall, i don't know. maybe dog breath etudes is just sort of asking: can we have a revolution now? will you bring the guitar? can you hear me? i think it enacts questions about meaning, processes, intentions. and i think it shows a process of exploration which includes confusion, disorientation, moments of clarity and music. maybe that's how i experience the world. I’m not sure. but, the project does feel really personal and i feel weirdly protective of it. one of my classmates once said that the poems were like echolocation and maybe they kind of are. i know they are a bit strange, but maybe i’m hoping that they're not that strange, that other people can share in the kinds of feelings and movements that i try to develop.

11. what is? what do you desire, coming? as in: movements for the future are like? … is that even something we can grip, this future? … ultimate aspirations in this lifetime … what do you manifest from your heart’s dreamiest crevice?

well, you've got me a bit stumped. i guess i’m a little lost, but i think being lost is okay and maybe necessary sometimes. so, i’m going to let someone else speak. maybe that will shed some light on that dusty crevice you refer to. i've been re-reading Nietzsche's 'On the Genealogy of Morals.' so, i'll share a bit from Nietzsche's preface: "We are unknown to ourselves, we men of knowledge--and with good reason. We have never sought ourselves--how could it happen that we should ever find ourselves? ...Our treasure is where the beehives of our knowledge are. We are constantly making for them, being by nature winged creatures and honey-gatherers of the spirit; there is one thing alone we really care about from the heart--'bringing something home.' Whatever else there is in life, so-called 'experiences'---which of us have sufficient earnestness for them? Or sufficient time? Present experience, has, I am afraid, always found us 'absent-minded': we cannot give our hearts to it--not even our ears! Rather, as one divinely preoccupied and immersed in himself in whose ear the bell has just boomed with all its strength the twelve beats of noon suddenly starts up and asks himself: 'What really was that which just struck?' So we sometimes rub our ears afterward and ask, utterly surprised and disconcerted, 'what really was that which we have just experienced?' And moreover: 'Who are we really?' And, afterward as aforesaid, count the twelve trembling bell-strokes of our experience, our life, our being--- and alas! Miscount them. So, we are necessarily strangers to ourselves... we are not 'men of knowledge' with respect to ourselves" (15).

and later, Nietzsche tells us about how he came to believe the ideas that he develops in the book. he writes that his ideas were not "...isolated, capricious, or sporadic things, but [they came] from a common root, from a fundamental will of knowledge, pointing imperiously into the depths, speaking more and more precisely, demanding greater and greater precision. For this alone is fitting for a philosopher. We have no right to isolated acts of any kind: we may not make isolated errors or hit upon isolated truths. Rather do our ideas, our values, our yeas and nays, our ifs and buts, grow out of us with the necessity with which a tree bears fruit---related and each with an affinity to each, and evidence of one will, one health, one soil, one sun---whether you like them, these fruits of ours?---but what is that to the trees! What is that to us, to us philosophers!" (16).

so, i hope that tells you something. i’ve been ruminating on this question for a long time and for some reason i felt like these passages start to answer it for me. in any case, they are beautifully written, i think. so, at least you can enjoy them now too.