Vivian Eyre
A conversation between the poet and Village Voices editor, John Harkey.
Whales, Grandmothers, and Edward Weston
On Being a Poet
John: Vivian, thank you for meeting with me. It seems appropriate that we’re in the Barrington Library. Tell me, has poetry always been your calling?
Vivian: You’re welcome, John. Happy to be here. I had two careers before becoming a full-time poet. My first career was as a human resources executive. My last position in that field was VP of HR for Macmillan Publishing Company. I was one of two women who sat on the executive committee. Those roles offered me a unique perspective about the challenges women face when trying to advance in the workplace.
When I left Macmillan, I started my own company called Partners for Women's Growth. My focus was leadership coaching and helping women break through the glass ceiling. During those years, I designed and taught a class entitled Women in Leadership at Cornell’s School for Labor Relations which combined leadership assessment tools and diagnostics for organizational culture.
John: Hmm. Diagnostics for organizational culture. You’ll forgive me, but that doesn’t sound like a setup for a career in poetry.
Vivian: Those 20 years as a coach and consultant were my most rewarding years. Working with clients, I learned about their values and their dreams. It was enormously satisfying to be a part of a “village” of mentors.
John: I see; your lens was turned both inward and out. Is this a defining quality of a poet?
Vivian: Poets practice the skill of looking. We are people of witness responding to what we see, whether an image, or a humpback whale as in this collection, Ishmael’s Violets. Poets latch onto all kinds of things that speak to them. A poet’s craft is in luminous images, language, sound, rhythm, mystery and creating resonances off the page.
Cover painting by Mary Dondero
John: You said a humpback whale?
Vivian: I had left New York City for the North Fork of Long Island. One day in 2016, a local newspaper reported that a humpback whale had beached and died. I was shocked. There was no further
information. As a child, I loved whales, those majestic creatures. It’s breathtaking when a whale breaches. We're watching an animal the size of an eighteen-wheel tractor-trailer truck fully loaded leap out of the sea. I mean, sometimes I can't even get up from my knees.
I've been writing poetry for a little over 20 years. For the last 10 years, my obsession has been rescue and endangerment. And I feel those categories apply to the marine world and the human species.
Ishmael's Violets is in the genre called
ecopoetics, advocating to protect nature — in my case, the sea and marine life.
John: There’s a host of contemporary problems for whales, right?
Vivian: Yes. For example, entanglements from fishing nets and lobster ropes. The nets or ropes cut into their flesh. Infection is possible. Sometimes the rope is twined round their mouths. Then they can't eat. Also, there are more vessels in the sea increasing the likelihood of a collision. This surprised me—the highest likelihood of hitting a whale is in a recreational boat. Of course, there’s marine debris, plastic, that is susceptible to being eaten by sea turtles, by whales. Noise: Many of the whales communicate about food sources or mating through echolocation. All the increased noise from ships interferes with that. My challenge was figuring out how to “translate” those facts into poetry.
Vivian in front of Whale, Sean Landers
John: You had defined a mission for yourself.
Vivian: Definitely. I read research papers and spoke to scientists. The facts are interesting. For example, one whale can support as much carbon storage as thousands of trees. I’m grateful to the marine biologists at the Center for Coastal Studies in Provincetown, Massachusetts, for their research and whale disentanglement programs. The New Bedford Whaling Museum allowed me to work in their library and read whalers’ journals. It took about six years to finish this poetry collection.
John: You say you loved whales as a child. Was there also an inclination toward human empathy for this girl who’s a “city person.”
Vivian: Early in my life, I spent time with my paternal grandmother who lived in an Italian enclave in Brooklyn. She spoke English and was fluent in reading and writing Italian. Her neighbors would receive letters from the old country and give them to my grandmother to respond on their behalf. People would walk to us on the street and hand an envelope to my grandmother. It made quite an impression. In her apartment, there was always a stack of letters on the desk. She called those letters “her homework.” Why am I telling you this story? My grandmother instilled in me that if
you're going to live in a community, you must be part of the community.
With that in mind, during my whale research, I wondered what else can I do? So, I volunteered with New York Marine Rescue in Riverhead, Long Island to be part of a team that rescues cold-stunned sea turtles. This organization’s hospital also hosts sea turtle rescues from the New England Aquarium, Woods Hole, and other places in New England. Their goals are rescue, recovery and return to the sea. It’s an amazing place. Even the veterinarians volunteer their time.
In Southold, Long Island, there’s a small whaling museum adjacent to the Horton Point Lighthouse Museum. The Director invited me to become a guest curator and share some of my research. These activities infused my desire to complete the book.
John: Maybe it’s just me but it seems that there are now many more people interested in poetry, attending readings, or writing poems.
Vivian: Yes, and even producing manuscripts, a collection of poems. Poetry has had a kind of Renaissance.
John: What happens when a poet decides they have a manuscript that they'd like to publish?
Vivian: Any writer comes to a point of deciding: Do they want to self-publish, or would they prefer to submit a manuscript to a small independent press? My first book, To the Sound, was published by a small independent press. So, I decided to go that route again even though it’s a competitive submission process.
John: What does a commercial press want from a poet?
Vivian: Often independent presses require a percentage of your poems to be published in literary journals.
So, you write poems, research which journals might accept your work, sending out poems. Then wait. Sometimes it takes six months or longer for a response. It’s a process.
The second aspect of business is marketing. The publisher required me to submit a marketing plan with my manuscript. That was scary. I felt pressure to sell books, and that’s not natural to my personality. I needed a website, presence on Instagram, and to find venues to read poems.
John: As a novice, I wrote a book and decided not to try a commercial press for publication. Instead, I relished the craft of creation, then the joy of giving away the book.
Vivian: I get it, believe me, John. If you don't want to go through the angst, of course, it makes sense. I’m grateful to the published poets who guided me. What helped me sustain my writing practice was being a part of a wonderful feedback group. Those poets helped me see where I was being didactic, unclear and how stronger verbs can hold emotions.
John: Your website opens, to me, a new aspect of poetry, Ekphrastic Poetry. I understand that to mean composing a poem in response to an existing artwork. What is it that appeals to you about this form of poetry? There's such a difference between responding to a fixed artwork and the unfolding experience of a day.
Vivian: In my early 20s, I lived in Queens, New York. On Sundays I’d take the subway into Manhattan to go to MOMA because it was free then. That was my favorite part of the week. The first photographer who meant anything to me was Edward Weston, with all his vegetables that looked like bodies.
Pepper No. 30, Edward Weston
Art filled me with wonder. Many years later, I had a chance to collaborate with a painter friend who was in an exhibit that combined poetry and art. The challenge for the poet is not to repeat what’s represented on the canvas. The poem isn’t transcription. Maybe it’s easier to give an example. Here is my ekphrastic poem from the exhibition EKPHRASIS 2026 at First Unitarian Church where the 6-foot-high sculpture, Freight Forward by Marita Torbick, was exhibited along with my poem.
Freight Forward, Marita Torbick
Essay on Consumption — after Freight Forward by Marita Torbick
There’s something I can’t bring myself to ponder —
this pillar, totem, omen — cardboard boxes,
the kind full of desires, mugging on every doorstep.
A creation from cardboard strips because a boxcutter
sharpens the day. The weft spines it to Stand Up
like a kind of species. Hear it gasp from the broken crown
where dreams enter. The charred region of spirit’s
pain. Our muchness is too much to think about,
the waste of it. Consumption. Wasting away.
Epic in the 1900’s. You could catch it. The cough,
foreboding reflex, blood stains dotting your handkerchief.
Pale, paler, royals and commoners. The equality of wasting.
The disease believed to be in your genes, handed down
from father to progeny. I blame my consumption on father’s
fervor for Cracker Jacks’ decoder rings. How much
caramelized popcorn can one eat? A box
can only hold so much, the way it can be mostly full
and also empty, how the cursor’s click-click, can be a pillar
of solitude and kinship, that impulse between hand and eye.
— Vivian Eyre
John: Artworks are usually exhibited without the artist’s guidance to interpretation. I'm sure there have been times when the artist whose image you're responding to is surprised by what you pull out of it.
Vivian: Sometimes artists feel poems are “off the mark.” Other times, artists feel poems expand their vision. I don't want to disrespect anyone. My “goal” is to write why the artwork moves me. I try to use my five senses as a pathway to meaning.
John: Are you involved in other collaborative projects?
Vivian: Yes. I’m a community member at Imago Foundation for the Arts in Warren. We offer the East Bay community amazing art exhibits, artist talks, concerts, a film club and a variety of workshops. I’ve given an ekphrastic poetry workshop in the gallery as well as facilitated a Poets in Conversation series. During the Warren Walkabout, Imago hosts a poetry reading where local poets come and read at the gallery, which everyone enjoys.
John: Speaking of “community,” will you tell me a little bit about you and the Bristol-Warren Village? How did you find it? Are you a volunteer?
Vivian: I’ve been with the village for about two years. I had a health issue and was anticipating a need for some assistance. Someone recommended Barrington Village. I met Laura Young who is a leader in the Village community, and an amazing person. She helped me make the decision to join the BWV. Now I visit a homebound gentleman who is a New York baseball fanatic. So am I. During our visits, we talk about baseball’s box scores, trades and gripe or praise players. It’s a complete joy for both of us. Being a writer — you don’t get to connect, to share with someone else or to help another person. It's such an amazing thing, you know, seniors helping seniors. It just seems like a perfect organization.
What the Sea Told Me
How the poem was made.
John: Vivian, will you read aloud one of your poems?
Vivian: Sure. Happy to. This poem, What the Sea Told Me, is the first one in Ismael’s Violets.
Painting by Vincent Van Gogh
Click the play button to listen to Vivian read aloud as you read,
"What the Sea Told Me"
Lately, I've been practicing to stay.
I stand here like a sea wall.
It's too cold to sit down. At the water's edge
scored by rollers, there's a glacial moraine
flat topped like a seat. Maybe it's a chair rock
where the ancients once sat with their guides
at sunrise asking for the sea's blessing.
In this kingdom of slate gray waves,
I have slipped far down into myself.
On cobbles of feldspar and quartz
my fears rise. If only I had paws
or a leaning staff to walk across
what doesn't give. A rush of wind
through my coat, that urge to turn away,
that old way to flee. It came to me
like a person: What changes me
is outside of me. The rip rap loosens.
A kind of grace how I found this cove.
Without the asphalt road cutting through
the corridor of pines, lofty shadows,
juncos & sparrows
without the villager’s hand-sketched map,
I never would have heard the sea's words —
Come closer.
John: When you were in this environment that became the poem What the Sea Told Me, were you aware of what you were absorbing? Do you write a poem only upon reflection, or are you composing in the moment?
Vivian: That’s such a good question, because either of those things can happen. Let me go back to how I decided to take on a writing project about the endangerment of marine species. It was right after I’d read about that humpback whale dying on a local beach. One day, I was walking along the shore, mulling over whether I had the skill and the stamina to take on this project. It would involve a lot of research. I’d need to set aside my current writing project. As I walked and listened to the sound of the surf, something was resolved. It’s hard to explain. That line in the poem, It came to me/ like a person: What changes me/ is outside of me, actually happened. I don’t think the sea spoke to me. Perhaps there was some kind of transmission that brought resolution. I couldn’t turn away from the image of that beautiful whale dying alone on a beach. Writing about endangerment and rescue felt like the only tangible thing I could do.
You asked if I compose in the moment. I don’t think I’ve ever composed an entire poem in a swish of energy. First there’s observations and reflection on images. I ask myself questions about the image. Then questions such as: What is it’s true purpose? What does it love or fear? What would it say? In my notebooks are lists of words, synonyms, antonyms, quotes. Reading drafts out loud helps accentuate rhythm, pacing and sound. My poems come alive in revision. It's nothing to revise a poem ten or more times. It took years to accept that I write slowly and trust that thoughts will evolve.
John: How do you know when a poem you’re working on is complete?
Vivian: Maybe a poem is only complete at one moment in time. When the poem is in the book, it’s complete. On the other hand, we’re learning and growing all the time. I’ve been known to change phrases or words of poems during my readings.
John: Do you intend that your poem will bring about a change within the reader, or listener?
Vivian: I'm hoping to create a resonance that will stay with them and bring them to some kind of conclusion, be it comfortable or not. I hope these poems deepen a reader's mindfulness of the marine environment, to reestablish their connection to the natural world. The sea is asking us to Come Closer.