Yannis Ritsos: “A poet is the first citizen of his country and for this very reason it is the duty of the poet to be concerned about the politics of his country.” Why do you think the political voice of poetry in American is relatively “weak”?

I don’t think of the political voice of our poetry as being weak. Consider the Sam Hamill “Poets Against the War” project and the brave, clear work of so many poets from Robert Bly to W.S. Merwin to Alice Walker to Chana Bloch to Fady Joudah — weak? The listeners may be weak in their willingness to imagine where poetry can take us. The politicians might be weak in their response or imaginative linkage, to all that’s going on. But I don’t think the poetry is weak.

What can poetry do, then, to help engage listeners and politicians to be stronger in their listening, willingness, response or imaginative linkage?

Well, we need to keep extending imaginations, pressing, repeating, invoking, suggesting what other realities might exist, instead of the nightmares of war and hatred and conflict. Sam Hamill’s “Poets Against the War” project has given us all a strong awareness that we’re not just isolated beings, calling into the dark, which is a good thing, because sometimes it does feel that way. No child votes for war. No child votes for further heartbreaking chaos. If we are to be honorable, we must continue to invoke the best dreams of childhood and not be talked out of them by powermongers and weapons-producers and righteous fundamentalists of every stripe. People often ask me about the fundamentalists I’ve known — most of them have been Christian. I met a man the other night who said he used to work in an weapons factory in Israel. I said, Oh, very regrettable, my Palestinian father would have loved to have a chat with you. The man, who was very kind in behaviour, and neither Jewish nor Arab nor Middle Eastern at all, said he had loved the hospitality of the Arabs and always liked to be with them as much as possible. He also said, “I would much prefer peace in the world, you know.” Yet he made weapons, for a whole decade. It was a job. Too much money in war.

No child votes for war. No child votes for further heartbreaking chaos. If we are to be honorable, we must continue to invoke the best dreams of childhood…

Would you agree that the American poetry scene today resists more, as compared to other cultures, in reminding us of specific things we are forbidden to see, for fear of “politicizing,” yet ironically “idealizing” the image of poetry as a form of art?

Not really. I don’t know. I keep mentioning the time I flew on a plane a few years ago and was the only person on the plane with all my limbs. The rest were soldiers, en route to a conference “with other people like us” — said my seatmate. “To learn how to live again.” I wished all Americans who were buying into Bush’s bullying tactics could be on that plane, see the sadness on those faces. We need to see more than we see, that’s for sure. When Americans really see how Palestinian people are treated, they change in their feelings about Israel, the so-called democracy.

A significant part of your work consists of keen contributions to children’s literature. How can poetry and its metaphoric density work towards not ostracizing children? Is there really a so-called “children’s literature” after all?

More of childhood is poetry than adulthood will ever be. For children, the land of metaphor is still very close, very rich and available. Too much analysis of the dry kind ostracized generations of readers. No one listens to a jazz concert and goes out into the parking lot to analyze it. We bask. More basking in poetry has always been needed. The world of “children’s literature” and yes, I do think there is one, but adults are also invited, is one of the best worlds going. My son, age 23, and I just read Allan Ahlberg’s My Brother’s Ghost and adored it. But, I might also read it to the 5 year old down the block and feel right at home.

Empathy and accessibility are two of the most appealing facets of your work. How do you finetune your poignant naturalness in writing?

Years of practice. Thanks for saying that. I don’t know. I am a simpleton in many ways and always was, and that helps.

Do you believe in a woman’s voice coloring a poem (or any other form of literature)? Has the role of women writers truly evolved in contemporary American poetry?

No, I really don’t. I’m more interested in how we all contain everything. Surely the role has evolved. There are more of us, we are everywhere, and we know it! Everyone knows it!

Many writers conceive their ideas in terms of one or the other genre. You write both fiction and poetry. In your experience, how does the creative process and energy differ?

They are entirely different animals but they bend to dine in the same field. And it’s an instinctive impulse, which gets written at which moment. I have very rarely switched from one to the other with a particular text. The energies, when writing longer prose works, require more focus for longer periods of time — difficult for us short-form addicts. A short-short doesn’t require a different focus. But a long and deliberate crafting of a poem also takes a certain ability to re-integrate into the original moments of impulse and linkage. It’s all hard, it’s all easy, it invites us into our lives. I strongly encourage people to “go for” even seven minutes of writing a day, to stay tuned. Even when you don’t have larger blocks of time — small blocks can help keep your focus clarified and exercised. You retain the ability to jump right into a page without too much hesitation or reservation.

Is there any agenda that orientates your current and/or new writings?

Fascination with narrative movement, characters being revealed so quickly through conversation.

Also, weaving my precious father’s voice (using his notebooks and unpublished writings and old letters to editors, etc.) through a series of poems to him — the ongoing conversation after a most-beloved person dies.