Ask The Author: Tess Patalano

Tess Patalano has Two Poems published in the September Issue. It would do you good to read them both. Here, she answers our questions about poet co-habitation and her writing.

1. How would you cool off between murders?

Oh geez I guess pretend like nothing happened. Go grocery shopping.  Read Kathy Acker.  Make sure my pony has enough hay and such. Maybe do a few sessions in a zero gravity flotation tank, those are fun and relaxing.

2. What are the dangers of living with a poet to your sanity and to your work?

M.G. and I have danger-proofed our relationship. In the beginning we both shared our ideas with each other freely but that didn’t work out so well because well, hello, writers are thieves. So we made a pact not to share. Shortly after that, things I said over breakfast were making their way into his poems. In retaliation, I would write down everything he said in his sleep and use it in my work. When I read the poems to him I could see his subconscious twitch. Unfortunately he had a lot of recurring dreams and I wasn’t getting any sleep so that didn’t prove very fruitful. So now we don’t speak to each other. We just write words and fragments on a dry erase board like “hungry, want food?” and “yes.” Most people may think this is extremely dysfunctional but I’ve never been happier.

3. How do you harvest loss? Would you sell it?

Technically when you harvest loss you sell it to save on taxes at the end of the year. I thought the concept was interesting sans the financial stuff. I imagine my loss harvest would produce a prize-winning pumpkin that I would obviously water with my tears and fertilize with the ashes of my mistakes. I wouldn’t sell it, but I might roast and eat the seeds.

4. Why don’t you ever know how you keep ending up in Midtown?

I overheard a woman say that into a cellphone one of the first days I was working in Midtown. It was bizarre being there at first, so I decided to be hyper observant that day and Loss Harvesting turned out to be a collage of what I saw, heard, and felt.

5. Why did you choose to hide your poems in the skin of prose?

Interesting, I never really thought of the poems hiding. I believe in confusing the distinctions between what makes poetry and what doesn’t. I feel like poetry is everywhere, you just have to have the lenses on. As far as why I chose prose I think it goes back to my long-running preoccupation with surface level representations and the silent movies that run inside of our heads. I stare at people in the subways and think about the pivotal moments, memories, and private indulgences that shape them. I basically want to know everything everyone doesn’t know about everyone. (I also imagine resting my head on every subway rider’s shoulder and wondering what would happen, but that is a different set of questions). Prose looks unassuming, it’s conventional, it’s the surface level. Prose lets the reader walk right in while serial killers and unsettling narrators can wander freely inside.

6.  What is your weak suit?

Rolling on the floor laughing out loud.