Visiting with Christopher Ankney
by Claire Guyton, Art + Life Editor
What inspired your poem “The Boundaries of Science”?
“The Boundaries of Science” was the first poem for me born out of teaching. In the midst of reading texts for my senior seminar course “Technology and Society” I came across an article called “Why the Future Doesn’t Need Us” by Bill Joy, one of the creators of JAVA language. In the middle of this computer geek’s cautions on the dangers of nanotechnology is a very beautiful line—one that I immediately circled and wrote “poem” next to. I took Joy’s line and broke it into four: And even if we scatter / to the stars, / isn’t it likely that we may take our problems with us / or find, later, that they have followed us?
The sentiment within Joy’s line, as well as the galactic image, was exactly what I was looking for to help push my first manuscript of poems outside of its thematic comfort zone. Limitations and contradictions are two great topics, and I was really frustrated with city life at the time. I’m a tree hugger living in Chicago, and I was annoyed with the lack of politeness and awareness I saw in the people around me. The city brings out terrible things in a person. I’m well mannered, but I found myself being very demonstrative towards absent-minded drivers and pedestrians. Joy’s question drew a perfect constellation for the poem.
I’d already shaped course lectures around the questions that explore whether technology is really progress. Our tools have changed, but are we smarter or more polite? We have fancy gizmos, but we are still human. We still get mad. We still have limitations. Most of us (myself included) don’t really know how any of this technology works; only that it does. Subtly, the poem found its ending in these explorations despite a shift to the contradictions and limitations of a relationship between two lovers. The shift in tone from frustration to optimism is necessary. In the end, I have to say I prefer rapture rather than repulsion.
Tell us about your writing process—either generally or specifically with regard to the birth and development of this poem.
I think way too much. Many people, from family to students to strangers, have told me so. The most successful poems I write seem to come when I am exhausted from thinking, when I am less aware of what could be part of a poem. When I intentionally try to write a poem I most often fail. The content of my work always comes from an emotional base, but only after enough time and thought, and then non-thought.
However, once I begin a poem, the lineation and punctuation of the poem are determined within the first two lines. I’ve always worked like this. I have to consciously see and hear the line before I can move on down the river. I have a very dear friend who breaks poems into lines only after the whole draft is finished. I can’t do this. My emotions and interest in what I’m writing come from the music of a broken line, a broken piece of thought trying to find itself in the next line or two.
However, what I am most proud of with “The Boundaries of Science” is the use of colons! I often use en dashes, but dashes would have killed this poem. Dashes allow for a larger shift in view and voice, whereas the colons within this poem serve as doors, connecting each scenario to the next. I normally like “quiet” endings, but for this poem the speaker is opening door after door, which allows for the build-up to the final, joyful crescendo.
What’s the sound track to this poem?
Perhaps it’s the theme music to Star Trek? Perhaps the incessant horn-honking of urban-living? Perhaps the energetic battle of wits between lovers?
In the end, I’d have to say James Tate is the bassist, Terrance Hayes is the drummer, CK Williams my lead guitarist, and Jane Austen and I are doing a duet in this particular song.
Have your writing habits changed over time?
My adorable dog demands and gets too much attention, one of the reasons my writing habits have changed.
Yes. Definitely. I started writing poetry nearly ten years ago, at eighteen, out of displacement. I wrote in silence in my unshared dorm room. I wrote voraciously, and often skirted a social life for my pencil and notebook. I was a clumsy lover, thinking I had to write each line perfectly, and I wrote with too much tortured control.
Now, I share a desk with my wife in a very noisy city life. I don’t have the walls I once did. I have to take advantage of my “free” time now—as husband, dog-owner, full-time job-seeker, and performer in the circus of adjunct life at two colleges, devoted to helping young writers bloom. However, I do find the perpetual motion of city life a bit liberating.
The chaos has resulted in more and more unfinished drafts, more and more throwaways. This part isn’t so bad, though I do look forward to someday having my own little room again to work on both poetry and my fiction. I have so much fiction building up inside of me, and the older I get the more jealous of poetry I see the fiction getting!
*Contact Claire with any questions or suggestions for Hunger Mountain’s Art + Life section at hungermtnal@gmail.com.
