Grief is a common thing to experience and a difficult thing to write—the vulnerability and honesty it takes to still its convulsions, take a snapshot of a time-frozen scene, and then edit for public consumption without photoshopping out the red-eye or less desirable angles is, at the least, a generous act that embodies what poetry, at its best, can accomplish.
Christian J. Collier’s new book, Greater Ghost (Four Way Books, 2024), beautifully envelops shared and personal grief with lines like “mourning doesn’t die. Its hunger is ever-gnawing,” and “anything unable to be escaped from is a prison.” One thing I appreciated while reading this collection is that both the integrity of each heart-wrenching moment and the dignity of the deceased are served simultaneously. There is a nuanced invitation to not only witness the speaker’s grief, but to substitute our own, to watch it play out, to know along with the climax, there will be a finale. Maybe not a resolution, but perhaps a way out. If this sounds like I’m describing a movie, the kind you must experience in a theater to fully appreciate, that’s not by coincidence. I’d read previously that Collier views himself as a film director: “I am crafting the shot from poem to poem, line to line, for whoever’s on the other end of it.” The result of that philosophy is a stunning collection with lines like “baby, we are blood & blood is the oldest god any of us can look to & always find” that drive the reader down the page, and poems that intertwine and culminate into the book’s final credits.
Initially over Zoom and later by email, we discussed keeping the reader on their toes, the power wielded by line work, and the parallels between poets and horror film directors.
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The Rumpus: Can you tell us about how this collection, Greater Ghost, came about?
Christian J. Collier: I started working towards the book during the summer of 2019. I’d recently abandoned a manuscript I’d been laboring over for years, and I wasn’t sure what would be next.
That July, I attended the Frost Place and worked with Tyree Daye. He had us write poems every day, and during the course of that week, I wrote poems that were doing and saying new and surprising things. When I returned home, the idea struck me to try to interrogate the makings of a ghost. That provided me a vast field to write into, and it allowed me to incorporate more of myself and my personal narrative into the work.
Rumpus: Greater Ghost weaves personal tragedy with the barrage of Black tragedy that held the news and social media in a vice grip for a long time, but intensely so for the last decade. Depending on the reader’s level of similar experience, they will find it enlightening, reassuring, or perhaps, in the best case, they will find a path. What did it take to reach this level of vulnerability?
Collier: I would say that living is the culprit. I think there’s a certain level of truth to the saying that, as people age, they become less concerned with what people think. For me, the older I’m blessed to get, the more interested I am in getting deeper and deeper into the truth of what I’m writing about.
Also, enough time has passed, and enough work has been done to grant myself the distance required to wade into the topics I explore in the collection. I think if that wasn’t the case, this would be a drastically different collection.
Rumpus: The names of the bereaved are blacked out. In some ways, I think this is both calming and jarring for the reader, and I suspect, for the speaker of the poem as well. Would you mind telling us more about this choice and how it works in the manuscript and within your practice?
Collier: Sure. I started using redacted text in my chapbook, The Gleaming of the Blade. In 2021, I was asked to write a poem about what it was like to be Black in 2020. I struggled to figure out what to say, but eventually, I got the idea to write the piece in vignettes, and that ultimately became “When My Days Fill with Ghosts.” At some point, it occurred to me that the work included people who had passed on and, as a result, couldn’t consent to being in it. I decided to black out their names to preserve privacy, but also, the blacked-out text serves as invitation for the reader to insert their own names or identity markers.
I still use redacted text in my work. I think it’s something that, when it appears, serves as a kind of signature for my poems. Also, the balance between what gets revealed and what gets withheld is something I’m really attracted to. Redacting information is one way to play with that dynamic.
Rumpus: I love the idea of redaction as invitation. It becomes another way for the reader to access their own grief, almost becoming the speaker of the poem itself. It’s interesting that this practice started with “When My Days Fill With Ghosts,” because it’s the last poem in the book. I feel like everything leads into that final poem, including this continued invitation to the reader. How did you go about crafting that momentum?
Collier: Eduardo C. Corral did a virtual reading a few years ago, and he talked about how braiding themes can make not just the work but the conversation the work is having with itself stronger. When I sat down and rearranged the manuscript using that approach, it felt right, and I thought it, among other things, allowed me to give the different narratives their own arcs and resolutions in a way that added more collective weight. I think that, as a result, there’s a particular energy that propels the reader through the collection, and I really enjoy that.
Rumpus: I’m seeing really interesting line choices here and a few poems that have a lack of end punctuation. I think this adds a breathless, just-trying-to-find-a-way-out feel to the poems, and perhaps also a tone that attests to priorities, rules, guidelines, expectations will never supersede grief. Did you have a specific approach in this collection, not just with grammar but with lineation and other choices?
Collier: I’m really attracted to line work. I feel like so much can be done in a single line. I’ve long believed that, if a poet so desires, they can show you through text how to read the poem. By using caesura, foregoing punctuation, etcetera, they can speed you through a piece or slow you down, show you where to breathe. For me, because the work is so invested in exploring ghosts, I thought it made sense to also make breath and white space characters.
Since 2019, I’ve been interested in my poems being able to be read from the first line to the last, and then from the last line to the first. If they work both ways, I know that the information from line to line is sound and doing what I would like it to. I use this method as a way of editing my poems and seeing where things are a bit muddy or can be tightened up.
Rumpus: That blows my mind! I’ve written a handful of poems that can be read forward or backward but hadn’t thought about it as a revision aid for poems in general. Looking back over your work now, I can see it and it’s astonishing. Pursuing that kind of clarity must give you a stronger sense of confidence in the work.
Collier: I would say that’s accurate. If everything is lining up, I can, at least, feel confident that as far as the narrative is concerned, things are in a good place. From there, I might jump back under the hood to see what more I can bring out of what’s already there but having one less thing to drive yourself crazy over feels good.
Beyond that though, one of the things I feel has become a point of intrigue for me is the multi-textured nature that text has and can have. It’s something I find myself leaning more into as I’m working my way through my grad school thesis. Research and experimenting with new and different techniques to shape and reshape existing text is granting me fresh permissions, and that’s really enticing.
Rumpus: One of the most common tips for becoming a better writer, for good reason, is to read more, more, more! Aside from that, what would you say is the most common advice you find yourself giving to poets?
Collier: Aside from reading, I would say that it’s important to have a working idea of one’s poetics. I think it’s helpful to know what one finds exciting about poetry, what they aspire to do in their work, the people they feel like their work is, or could one day be, in conversation with, etcetera. These things are significant because they serve as a foundation for everything. Also, it’s a helpful practice to keep doing because as one ages, as one gets exposed to newer, different things, their poetics will change.
Rumpus: We both have a spoken word background, which is a powerful starting point, in my opinion, as it tends to lend greater urgency to the work. I think there is something to be said, too, about how accessibility and musicality develop within the oral tradition. How do you think your experience with performance poetry has influenced the poems you write for publication on the page?
Collier: My experience has worked wonders in training my ear. Gregory Orr says that music is one of the four temperaments of poems. When I was studying poetry in undergrad, leaning into the sonic qualities of poems wasn’t something that was really encouraged for me. I think language is inherently musical, though, and it’s disingenuous not to honor the musical qualities and/or possibilities that are present when we make work.
One of the last things I do in revising my poems is to look where I can amplify the music. I want the work to sing on the page and, if someone were to read it aloud, sing as it exists in the air.
Beyond that, though, my experience in reciting work has greatly informed the way I prepare for readings. For a long time early on, I was getting up in front of people who might not like poetry. Maybe it was a couple’s date night, or they were coming to support a friend who was sharing the stage with me. In order to resonate, I found it useful to match the same energy of whatever they had playing in the car on their way to the venue to give them something familiar to hang their hats on. After that, I could stretch out and take them somewhere different, but that journey wasn’t going to happen if I didn’t find a way to hook them from the beginning. I still think of my sets in that manner, although the approach and execution has changed a bit.
Rumpus: Greater Ghost is thematic, as was your chapbook with Bull City Press, The Gleaming of the Blade. In general, do you have recurring themes or obsessions that you return to? I might be asking whether there is anything, or combination of things, that push—or pull—you inexorably toward poetry? Does it sometimes seek other mediums?
Collier: For sure. I’m a big fan of obsessions. The chapbook was focused on race and the South. The work in Greater Ghost is focused on absence, intimacy, vulnerability, and life and death. The newer work is in conversation in a personally interesting way with some of the things from my chapbook. It’s exploring manhood and the intimacy that exists in and around a Black, male body, and much of the work is rooted in the city and town I grew up in.
I feel like poetry allows me to pull myself into the work in ways that allow me to turn the subjects I’m most drawn to over and over and access different things to say more than any other genre. I’ve been writing fiction and nonfiction the past year. I’ve enjoyed working in those genres a great deal, but the way poetry permits me to wade into a topic and walk around in it feels like a particular kind of lane.
Rumpus: You’ve said in previous interviews that you like to compare yourself to a director—which I think is such a wonderful insight—and your love for film, horror in particular, is well documented. When it comes to narrative style and the infinite choices one can take to raise the stakes, what film director do you most identify with and why?
Collier: I’m a big Mike Flanagan fan. He directed The Haunting of Hill House, Midnight Mass, [and] Doctor Sleep. I enjoy so much of what he does in his work, and there are several things I’ve picked up craft-wise from him that I’ve worked to insert into my writing.
In The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor, he sets up mystery and tension to lean into the viewer’s expectations, then moves the viewer away from their expectations. Where he ends up in each series is a much different place than he began. I love that. I love a work that isn’t afraid to subvert an audience’s expectations, and, in poetry, I’ve always been drawn to a work that moves from one point to another in a way that I didn’t anticipate. Also, I think that it adds layers to a piece. The same poem that is sexy, for instance, can also be heartbreaking. Both can occupy the same space and impact a reader.
Rumpus: Fascinating, and really in line with how this book began, by interrogating the makings of a ghost. As the director of your poems, how do you consider the audience as you’re writing and revising?
Collier: For me, the first audience is myself. I’m most interested in making sure things are being executed on a particular level and that they are moving in a certain way. I tend to revise as I compose, which is why I refer to myself as a slow writer. My belief is that if I am surprising myself from line to line and making work that is textured and has things in it that a reader can return to more than once and discover something new, I’ve rewarded their time and attention. There’s a saying that no matter how much someone loves poetry, they’re always seeking a reason to stop reading a poem. If I can keep them on their toes and seduced from line to line, there’s a good chance they might finish a poem and, perhaps, sit down for another one. If I play my cards right, maybe they finish the book. If I’m further blessed, maybe they return to the book and find that it has more to say.
Rumpus: “Always seeking a reason to stop reading a poem” is a sobering truth! I think this holds true for all art mediums, including performing a poem, and watching a film . There is a natural line between passion and craft—writing something we love versus writing something we know is technically proficient. If we let either one overrule the other, the result may not be as sharp. Do you find this is true for you? Where does seduction begin?
Collier: I would say so. I think there’s always a balance in everything, and it’s often hard to see or know. However, nothing made is going to be loved, hated, or understood one hundred percent of the time by one hundred percent of the population. One of my mantras is that everyone comes to the table differently, and that’s perfectly okay. The older I get, the more I’ve found myself just hoping that I feel I’ve succeeded in the moves and choices I’m making and that the people on the other end of that work who are supposed to get it will.
I love the question about seduction! I think seduction begins in several ways—or, perhaps, begins again in several ways. As we write, we are making any number of decisions to seduce a reader, so seduction is always present. Initially, I was going to say that seduction begins with thought, but I don’t think that’s always the case. I’m going to say that seduction begins with choice. If you’re a formal writer and you decide to try to make the next piece you write a pantoum, you’ve chosen a path with which to seduce a reader. If you’re someone like me who operates from accumulation and arrangement, even though the process is not overly governed by intention, my body is still making choices regarding how it goes about manipulating and moving text into something that starts talking to me.
Rumpus: Weird segue here. A good shout-out tells you a lot about what’s important to a person and what shapes them. In some ways, it tells you about their circle and almost always forms a potential reading list. Maybe this is an opportunity for a shout-out. What are you reading? Whose work has been on your mind lately?
Collier: I love this. I’m currently working on my thesis for grad school, so a lot has been on my mind. I’ve been thinking a great deal about Reginald Dwayne Betts, Aaron Smith, Saúl Hernández, Sharon Olds, and Yusef Komunyakaa lately.
Rumpus: What’s new, exciting, and next for you?
Collier: I’ve got some readings lined up that I’m over the moon about. As I’m answering this, I’m in a hotel in Pittsburgh, and I’ll be launching the book later tonight with Joy Priest. Besides that, I’ll hopefully be writing a lot of new poems in the next few months and celebrating my birthday toward the end of next month.
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Author photograph courtesy of Christian J. Collier
