The Le Jennifer Interview

The following interview was conducted via telephone.

David Pollock: So, I’ve allowed you to take over my blog. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?
Le Jennifer: I do. Yes. But it’s your blog I’ve taken over. Maybe what’s more interesting are your thoughts.
DP: I’ve allowed you to take it over. I gave you that right, my password, etc. Yes, I have thoughts, but I’m the one conducting the interview. How about this: Why were you so open to taking over my blog? You have a blog of your own.
LJ: I had a blog of my own. Now I have yours.
DP: Right. What was wrong with your blog?
LJ: There is nothing wrong with my blog. Only no one read it.
DP: I read it.
LJ: Well, you apparently have nothing better to do. But I don’t have many friends. Two, to be exact. Your blog is linked on a literary journal page.
DP: Essays & Fictions.
LJ: I’ve read it. I like it. I read one of your stories. It’s interesting, but I don’t know…
DP: You don’t know?
LJ: I didn’t think this interview was about you.
DP: Fair enough. So, you’re pleased with the exposure you’ve been getting.
LJ: Pleased. (Makes noise with mouth.) Sure. I’m elated.
DP: Let’s talk about the blog as a form. A colleague of mine – someone whose opinion I really respect – questioned the blog as a format for poetry. She wondered if maybe the blog – the look of it, entry after entry – didn’t make it difficult to digest. When you have a book, you move from page to page; the pieces aren’t piled on top of one another. Even worse, she wondered if the blog format didn’t make the poems look like internet junk, like most web content.
LJ: Presentation. Is that right? We’re talking about presentation?
DP: Yes.
LJ: Presentation is the least of my worries. You forget, David, I used to work in real estate. One reason I got out of it was so I wouldn’t have to think about presentation. Not only is it boring, it can become offensive.
DP: But artful presentation is different.
LJ: Is it? I don’t think it matters. An idea I’ve pushed on some of my ‘friends’ is this idea of production over presentation.
DP: Could you elaborate?
LJ: Yes. I could.
DP: Could you do it now?
LJ: (Makes a noise with her mouth.) I’m not so much against presentation. It’s publication I don’t like. I don’t like showmanship. I like to write poems. I say ‘like’ as an understatement.
DP: So, you love to write poems?
LJ: I write poems because I am a poet. Sometimes I look in the mirror … Nevermind.
DP: Is it this feeling that you just have to get the poems out there?
LJ: No, it’s this feeling that I write poems. I don’t care if you like them or not. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you not. I’d rather the poems existed. It seems very presumptuous to me that a person, like you with your journal, might read someone’s work and decide if it is worthy or not. When I see something that exists – a lilac, a dog, a cactus, a stone, an automobile – I don’t wonder where it belongs, what worth it has. I know it exists, I consider it part of my world.
DP: Let’s go back a little. You talked about your ‘friends.’ You mean Elliot Le Ginn and Lepor. Is that right?
LJ: Yes. Unfortunately, these are my friends.
DP: I’m a big fan of both those poets. You all knew each other before I was familiar with any of you. I hate to use the word ‘scene,’ but you do, all three of you, seem to share a similar aesthetic.
LJ: How do you mean?
DP: What strikes me most is how you all seem to be playing with confessional tropes. You take the voice of the traditional confessional poet – the experience and the metaphor – and you carry it to the point of the absurd.
LJ: That sounds very learned.
DP: Thank you. Are you consciously confessional? That’s a bad question. What I mean is, who do you read?
LJ: Who I read. I don’t know. Can I tell you about a moment of enlightenment?
DP: Please.
LJ: Okay. Two. The first was when I was an undergraduate in college – I had been an English major before I went into business – and I read a John Berryman poem about boredom. The second was about three and a half years ago when I showed up to the office, and one of my co-workers – her name is Julia – Julia was wearing an obscene amount of makeup that day, and I thought her face was going to fall apart. I swear it was.
DP: That makes sense. Let’s talk about your work.
LJ: If you must.
DP: I would like to talk about your work because I think it’s very good. The poem “Le Jennifer is Not a Religious Woman; However” is one of my favorites. It’s very strange. The image of the angel, it occurs often in your poems. Is there any reason for this that you can state?
LJ: This is why I was hesitant to perform this interview. I don’t think I’m capable of answering a question like that.
DP: Can we instead talk about why you can’t answer that question?
LJ: The same reason I can’t talk about why I use articles the way I do: because it’s proper. Because, in the same way there are rules in grammar, there are also rules in poetry.
DP: I’m not sure I understand you.
LJ: There are angels. I see them. They are a part of my life. I find them poetic. Next.
DP: Let’s talk about your friendship with Elliot Le Ginn and Lepor. How do you know these guys? Were you friends before?
LJ: I have known Elliot since I was in college. We used to party together. I believe he attempted to rape me once. We’ve talked about it since, and it seems that he was drunk on beer and asked if I wanted to ‘try one.’ Elliot has always been an unattractive man, and while I’ve always enjoyed his company because he’s entertaining, I turned him down. He was out of his mind and threw himself on top of me. He woke up the next morning with a broken nose and a profound respect for yours truly.
DP: And Lepor?
LJ: Lepor used to be sexually fascinated with Elliot. They worked that out somehow. I think they try to better one another with their poems. Is it okay if I go now? I have to urinate.
DP: It’s been a pleasure talking to you. I would like to have another interview in the future, so we can talk a bit more about your work.
LJ: David, you need to stop. I have to pee.