julie lives here.

One of the things that constantly amazes and inspires me is how many creative, passionate people I’ve had the privilege to meet since I came to San Francisco. Because of i live here:SF, my world has become so much larger and colorful. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to live in a place where people are following their dreams and desires and creating all kinds of worlds that are fascinating to behold.

One of my goals in starting this new site is to share some of those people with you. I live here:SF lets people share their San Francisco stories, but there is much more information and I needed a place to put the extra stuff. I hope to keep publishing interviews such as this one below as I find people who are willing to share their stories with me and you, and hope you’ll find them as interesting as I do.

Silvi was the inspiration for my first post on this site and so it’s only fitting that she is my first interview. Two of our collaborative pieces will be shown at Secession Gallery this Friday, where Silvi and the Poetry Store will also be in residence. I’ll be there too. Please stop by and say hello.

When did you know you wanted to be a poet? Whose poetry influenced you and what do you like to write about?

i’m not sure i ever “wanted to be”* a poet but i knew i was one pretty early on. i learned to read when i was like three years old, and began writing words when i was three and four. as a little kid i was always writing, fascinated by words, making little books with drawings and stories like “the scribble family goes to the zoo.” my earliest memory of feeling like writing was not just something i loved and wanted to do, but something i had to do: i was eleven. i woke up in the middle of the night with a sort of desperate feeling i could only relieve by writing. it was a poem, something to the effect of, “coughing and wheezing/turning and churning/the voices are dying/to get out.” pretty horrible stuff by anyone’s standards! but the compulsive need to write, the almost desperate, it’s-uncontrollably-unmistakably-in-me feeling related to writing really started then and hasn’t really left.

*i say this because from a very early age i had some sense that writing was not a particularly vaulted or money making profession, especially not writing poetry. poets, though potentially brilliant, were crazies, creepies, weirdos, like edgar allen poe. i actually wanted to be a marine biologist for a long time. i loved whales, couldn’t stop checking out books from the library about them. and my initials are s-e-a. i thought marine biology was my destiny! then i realized: i hate swimming and the deep ocean terrifies me.

How does being a poet affect your view of the world?

i’m always looking for beautiful or interesting ideas and stories; i see metaphors in most everything; i am sensitive, and feel everything deeply; i am committed to truth and honesty; i have a lot of compassion and empathy. in grad school a professor said something about me that struck me as really true: “silvi’s always telling stories of the underdog, people who might not have a voice for the story that needs to be told.” all things considered, my view of the world is part incredible hope, part pessimism and skepticism, part passion behind both.  i really believe that passion matters, and is a great motivating, powerful force capable of creating great things, including happiness and big change. mostly, i’m interested in small things, and believe small things can make a big difference.

How do you use poetry in daily life?

wow, i don’t know why, but this question is stumping me… though maybe it’s a bit cliche or corny to say, i think everything is poetry, or has poetry in it, even a pothole or a toothbrush. so, how do i use poetry in daily life? it’s how i see things in the i’m.

How does your environment affect your work and where do you like to write?

lately i find myself writing with my typewriter on the floor. this started because i didn’t have a proper desk, but i have one now, and still, i kneel in front of my typewriter, crouched over it, oh so awkwardly. when i’m writing, i’m affected by the things i hear or see. this is in huge part how my work is created–observations of what’s in the room, what’s happening in the moment. when i’m not writing poems at a gig for other people, i have to write alone.

You have a special red typewriter. Tell us more about it.

i got my typewriter from san francisco freecycle. what a gift! i posted a want and literally 30 seconds later, a man named wolf replied. when i picked it up, wolf told me his wife, who died a year before, had made a living on the very typewriter he was handing me. in my memory, he got choked up a little, i thanked him profusely, promised him it would be put to good use, and we hugged. i am eternally grateful to him, and his wife, for giving me the most beautiful red royal i could have ever asked for.

Tell us about The Poetry Store. When and how did you start it? Do you have a special story you can share about someone you’ve touched because of the Poetry Store?

the poetry store is: n. 1. a typewriter. a poet. a vision: poetry for sale on demand. 2. objective + obstruction = art. i have been setting up the store at music and literary evets, art openings, weddings, parties, and get togethers of all kinds, for the last year. (in fact, i am the unofficial poet in residence at cafe du nord.)

here’s how the store works: you tell me what you want a poem about and who you want a poem for. then, you choose the paper you want the poem to be written on from my selection of beautiful and found papers. in three minutes or less, i will type the poem for you. no editing or revision, for better or worse. satisfaction always guaranteed.

though i love the poetry store for satiating my need to write, introducing me to all kinds of people, and affording me the opportunity to attend incredible events in the city–shows at du nord and GAMH; private parties; the 75th anniversary at SFMOMA–the poetry store is not just about writing poems. the store creates real human interaction, one person saying to another, “i think you have something to offer me, and i have something to offer you.” and i’m not (just) talking about money. i’m talking about ideas. hope. laughter. inspiration. an exchange of names and meaningful stories. moments. memories. real feelings. sometimes counseling. yes, this sounds very chicken soup inspirational. no, it’s not always like this. and i’m sure not everyone loves their poem. but, almost every time i set up the store, someone cries, someone tells me a secret they’ve never told anyone, someone says to their father words and feelings they would never have been able to express themselves. people have even gone so far to say their poem, our interaction, has changed their life (!).

to give an example: one night at cafe du nord, a woman came up to me, curious. i told her what the store offered, and she said she loved the idea, sure, she’d get a poem. she picked her paper carefully and then kind of quietly told me she’d like a poem about her father who died about a year ago, a man, she said, who was a great dad, a real stand-up guy, solid at the seams. she missed him, she said, and told me a little about how they’d go to baseball games. so, i took this all in, really having heard not only the story but the importance, the emotion in her quiet, in her hesitancy to look me in the eye lest hers started tearing. i wrote her poem. when she read it, she thanked me profusely, genuinely, in the way someone does when you’ve done something unexpected and beyond expectation. she excused herself and went to a corner of the room to weep a little (i told her where she might find some privacy there). she was that moved. the poem did that much justice to her dead father. and i think she was also a little surprised at my sharing the loss of my father, my understanding of her grief, how it just hits sometimes harder than we expect it to, especially when it seems we’re in an inappropriate place for crying.

though it seems a bit implausible, exaggerated, or like this is just a best of the best story, this kind of thing happens when people interact with the poetry store. i think they are surprised, and grateful, not just by the poems, but by the interaction, in seeing someone taking a risk and doing what they love to do.

in the last year or so, i’ve come to understand that the poetry of the store isn’t just in the poems. it’s also in what happens when two strangers meet over a typewriter–the anonymity an invitation to speak, the typewriter keys a willing listener.

You also teach poetry to seniors. Why is that important to you? Can you describe the work you do with them and what happens in your classes?

the first time i ever stepped into a nursing home, about three years ago, i knew i was meant to keep stepping inside. for so many people nursing homes are sad sad places where old people who smell weird, repeat the same stories, are waiting to die. for me, nursing homes are filled with people who have so much life in them and are in need of someone who’s interested in taking a real interest in hearing it, someone who understands that being old doesn’t mean you should be neglected, infantilized, pitied, or short-sold.

it’s important to me that people be treated as people, as they are, and not as stereotypes; that people who need other people are not neglected; that people who have time and care and love to give, give it to people who need it. so, my work teaching poetry to the elderly is not only about teaching the essentials of poetry but it’s also about meeting people where they are and encouraging them, as marc kaminsky said, to let what’s inside of them shine out of them. and what shines, is so luminous, especially when my students see it in themselves, “i never knew i could do that!” they say, or, “i wrote that? well, i think it’s pretty good.” in my class we use our imagination and our memories to create poetry that captures some small part of who we are and what we have to say. it’s a small feat, sure, but not in the lives of people who have lived more years than i’ve been alive without ever really having the chance, especially not in their “golden years.”

What other poetry-related projects are you working on at the moment?

well, i have had “finish poetry chapbook” and “send writing to be published” on my to-do list for years. at the moment, my energies are more focused on finding people to collaborate with, especially photographers. right now I have work in Secession Art & Design with your fabulous photos and Armand Emamdjomeh’s. it’s thrilling to work with such talented, creative people.

Who is another poet you’d like us to know about?

Dean Young. He is my biggest inspiration. And, Richard Brautigan.

Feel free to share something else we might not know about you… poetry related or not.

i am soooo grateful to all the people in my life who believe in me, who i am and what I do. i couldn’t keep doing what i do without them. i am especially grateful to my students for their willingness to do what’s unfamiliar and continually surprise themselves, to everyone who has ever bought my poems or admired them, and to my partner, for being my biggest, most supportive, and helpful fan.

Silvi and the Poetry Store (including her calendar and where to buy poems, commission them, etc… you don’t have to live in San Francisco to get your own Poetry Store poem) can be found here.