A.E.: Your work so far seems to be an autobiography; by which I mean to say they are poems of the personal. Yet they are much more than that. Could you elaborate on this?
D.O.: My poems tend to swing between personal subjects and historical ones, I think. Even in Noble Gas, Penny Black, though there are a number of poems about travel and relationships, there are also things like “Tales from the Revolution” and “Boswell by the Fire.” And, of course, just because the poem uses an “I” doesn’t always mean that it’s me. I’ve written several first-person poems that appropriate a voice. “Powerboat” for example. But I like the directness of the address. Again, it’s tone. Sometimes a poem works as a third-person narrative. Sometimes the narrative needs to be reduced to pure lyric description to have more effect.
A.E.: Critique after critique – like that a 2003 Book Ninja discussion of The Vicinity betweenPaul Vermeersch, George Murray and Jennifer LoveGrove or George Elliot Clarke and
Alessandro Porco’s reviews of Noble Gas, Penny Black in MTLS issue #3 and Canadian Notes and Queries respectively – suggests a need for you to go further as a poet. The impression is that you are been held to ever more rigorous standards than your peers. For
example George Murray opines: “I am, holding O’Meara to a higher standard than we might another poet.” Why is this so?
D.O.: Sheer cruelty, I guess. Delusion and high hopes? No, really, I’d have to go back to those comments and figure that out. I’m hoping it’s just a generous compliment. Maybe I talk a big game and need to be held to account. Or knocked down a size. That said, I am holding their reviewing to a higher standard than I might another reviewer.
A.E.: Perhaps the measure of your importance in contemporary Canadian poetics is reflected in the fact that you were Canadian judge for the 2012 Griffin poetry prize competition and edited the anthology deriving from that award. What was that experience like for you?
D.O.: It was three and a half months of very intense reading. It’s roughly 100 days and there were 481 books to read, so 4.8 books a day and that’s if you don’t miss a day. Miss one and it’s 10 books the next day. I would get up at 8 a.m., make coffee and start reading, often until midnight. When I couldn’t think straight, I’d go for a walk or do the dishes. I made delegated piles of “bad,” “good,” “very good” and “exceptional.” I tried to get 7 or 8 read a day, because I wanted to go back and reread the really good ones. It’s no way to read poetry but it’s the only way you can do it conscientiously for this. The Griffin process is the best I’ve seen though because when you deliberate with the other judges, you have at least three separate conference calls with a week apart, so you can go back and reread what others have praised, or disliked. There’s time to reconsider and think as you whittle things down. It’s a unique opportunity to see the breadth of poetry produced across the globe for a single year. I’m still rereading the ones I liked, whether they made the shortlist or not.
A.E.: I know I referred to that work above, but I want reiterate by asking again: in what ways
has A Pretty Sight surpassed your previous efforts?
D.O.: What I like about this new book is how there is a braid of ideas flowing through the poems, a group of themes, that tie the collection together but in an organic way. With The Vicinity, for example, the theme was cities and urban life, so there was a more stamped-on criteria to fit a poem into the book. Was it about cities? If yes, keep it in. With A Pretty Sight, the poems play off each other in a more subtle, interconnected way. Each poem is a separate room, but part of the same house. Images or metaphors appear and then reappear in a later poem. The same historical figures drift through at certain points, haunting the stanzas and their subject matter. But it was never prescriptive as some kind of strategy or concept. Concept-books are very often dry as dust. It’s way looser than that. I let myself be open to the occurrence, let the resonance happen if it presented itself. I guess I’m trying to say I’m trying to lose control of directing the poem. Accepting a rough-hewn art. But my method is always the same: write a whole bunch of poems and then cut the crappy ones out.
A.E.: Lastly I’d like to say that despite the critiques of your work which I mention above, there is a deliberateness and self-assured voice in your poetry. I get a feeling that this is a patient poet bent on going his way despite the critic. Comments?
D.O.: Critics have actually been very generous with me, so I can’t complain and wouldn’t anyway. It’s a tough job. A lot of times when people complain about what critics say of their work, they could probably listen a little; there is probably some truth to it. There are bad critics certainly. It’s pretty easy to spot a critic who is just posturing rather than assessing work fairly. Their poker faces are there, but the tells show over time. They turn a small weakness into a carnival or just keep missing the essence of the work. You have to learn to ignore names and read others. As far as going my way, I have no other choice, do I?
A.E.: On behalf of MTLS I will like to thank you for taking the time, David. We appreciate
it very much.
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