A New Collection of Poetry by Ira Joe Fisher

the birth of snow

The Magic of Nature and Small Moments

Ira Joe Fisher has a sharp eye; he sees something special and unique in the ordinary and expresses his take on it with beautiful prose. The Birth of Snow is his latest collection of poetry and I had the wonderful opportunity to discuss writing and his life with him. Please see below!

oQ & A with Ira Joe

 Hello, Jennifer.  How kind of you to ask about my latest book and me.  And I am honored to bring poetry to your blog.

How happy I am that you remember some of my work on television.  I always hoped someone was watching!  And also that you acknowledge that I was reporting the weather.  I am not a scientist or meteorologist.  Just a humble reporter.  And have engaged in other broadcast endeavors (far more interesting than weather).  

When I was in high school, my English class was blessed with a teacher with great taste in literature.  We read Dostoevsky, Thoreau, and Shakespeare.  And he also “assigned” poems to read.  The first was “To a Waterfowl” by William Cullen Bryant (which I understood and loved) and then we read on to Frost and other 19th and 20th century poets.  And my love deepened.  Always had a book of poems in my pocket and mind and heart.

A look out a window, snow swirling, wind in bare, winter trees; wind in shuddering summer leaves, thinking about the sweet western New York village where I grew up (surrounded by bosky hills and meadows and creeks); love.

My books are a poem chapbook – Remembering Rew; full-length poetry collections – Some Holy Weight in the Village Air; Songs From an Earlier Century, The Creek at the End of the Lawns; and a book of essays, Wide and Wavy Out of Salamanca:  Sort of True Essays.

I have also written for magazines (printed and online) and newspapers.  And for radio and television (for which I have received two regional Emmys).

I usually feel that that the topic chooses me, rather than the other way around.  I see or hear something that prompts me to put pen to paper.  I write poems with pen and paper.  I type prose on the computer.

First I would reveal that poetry cannot be taught.  It can only be experienced, encountered.  Then, look out the window.  Go for a walk.  Notice what you see and what you hear.  Then, honor your thoughts by writing ’em down.  Then engage in the fun of shaping those thoughts into that which we call a “poem.”  Never be satisfied with your first draft.  But keep returning to what you have written and play with the words and the order in which you write them.

 First rule (my first rule, anyway):  never ask, “What does the poem mean?”  It means what it says.  Ask, “What effect does this poem have on me?”  And, often there will be no effect.  So turn to another poem.  And another.  But then will arrive that epiphanic moment when the poem actually …speaks to you!  There’s the joy.  And, like a good and frequent cheeseburger, you’ll want to read additional poems (and return, like a song on the radio, or to another cheeseburger, to favorite poems).  

I confess I don’t understand your question — wordsmith (as a verb).  My reading gives me every word that I write.  Just as happened to Shakespeare.  I am not putting myself in his league, trust me, but the words he employed (and invented) are sitting in the air and in our hearts and memories …waiting for that exquisite moment when they will be asked to take inky shape and mellifluous sound in something I write.  

That is a free-verse narrative poem.  It tells a story.  Simply that.  I wanted to depict the hills and the slight summer breeze and how a younger brother thinks and reacts with his older brother.  Auden said, “A poem is a verbal artifact which must be as skillfully and solidly constructed as a table or a motorcycle.”  I don’t consider a poem as being “constructed,” but I like Auden thinking …and saying so.  Regarding “Cycling,” I took a real memory and “shaped” it (to my satisfaction) into a narrative that allows me see the day, the adventure, my brother and how I — a young boy — felt.

I am honored by your close reading of my writing.  Again, “Obituary” is another narrative.  About a real place.  But the old woman and the encounter with the poem’s speaker is pure fiction.  Fiction that — in my thinking — expresses a truth in …what could have happened.  All of literature, all of art, is imagination.  Not necessarily fact (as in reporting), but …it must be truth.  I and all honest poets aim for truth. 

A couplet.  Two lines.  But expressing an important — to me — fact.  A friend, the late F. D. Reeve (father of actor Christopher) referred to me as an “anti-war activist.”  I was deeply touched by that.  I am a military veteran, but I am a human first and I anguish over the state of the world — wars and terror and bigotry and rising dictators or authoritarian wanna-bes.  

Nope.  Can’t bite here.  As with my children and all the Pups that have graced my life, there are no favorites.  I do take special pleasure in the title poem, “The Birth of Snow,” which I wrote in Frederick, Maryland, on a searing July day.  

Most of my Annville poems are about my boyhood hometown — Little Valley, New York.  But it is also often my current home of Ridgefield.  “Annville” is a composite.  

 Indeed.  Many.  And happily.  This collection is mostly (but not entirely) rather recent compositions.   

Not just one:  Frost, Emily Dickinson, Anna Akhmatova, Pablo Neruda, Edna St. Vincent Milay, Mary Oliver, Richard Wilbur, Mr. Shakespeare, Patrick Kavanaugh, Dylan Thomas, Seamus Heaney, Denise Levertov.

 I have a newly refurbished website:  irajoefisher.com. 

Ira Joe Fisher

About the Author

Ira’s poetry has appeared in Poetry New York, The Alembic, The New York Quarterly, Entelechy International, Diner, Ridgefield Magazine, The New Hampshire Review, and the anthology Confrontation. He is the author of Remembering Rew, a poetry chapbook, and three full-length collections, Some Holy Weight in the Village Air (2006), Songs From An Earlier Century (2009), and The Creek at the End of the Lawns (2012) and a collection of essays, Wide and Wavy Out of Salamanca (2020). 

He presents readings and conducts poetry workshops in New York and throughout New England. Ira has a Master of Fine Arts degree in poetry from New England College in Henniker, New Hampshire. He has taught communications and broadcast history at New England College and poetry at the University of Connecticut in Stamford, Waterbury, Torrington, Western Connecticut State University, Mercy College, and Founders Hall in Ridgefield, Connecticut.

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