JOHN ROLFE: ShopTalk

Versed in reality

Copyright © 2006 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

E-mail this story to a friend

	Staff photo by John Ewing Baron Wormser, Maine's poet laureate for five years until earlier this month, waits to begin his reading at Acoustic Coffee in Portland on Tuesday evening.
	BARON WORMSER of Hallowell OCCUPATION: "Writer/teacher is what I put on my IRS form." CONTACT INFORMATION: www.teachpoetry.com baronw@gwi.net AGE: 58 HOW LONG IN THIS JOB: "Since I retired from my other job (librarian at SAD 59 in Madison for 25 years), so that's about eight years." IF YOU WEREN'T DOING WHAT YOU'RE DOING: "I think I would be a cook." To top of story

Q: So is it possible to make a living as a writer/teacher?

A: It depends on what kinds of writing and teaching you're doing. Uh, you know, poetry, there is no money in it. I mean, I do about eight different things to put together something resembling an income.

A big part of what I do is working in schools, with teachers, on teaching poetry. I also have individual students, people who work with me. I do manuscript and editorial work for various presses. I do readings . . . and I run two summer programs at the Frost Place in Franconia, N.H., a conference on poetry and teaching and a seminar, an advanced writers' workshop, really. And I work at USM, teaching in the Stonecoast MFA program.

But I'm not complaining, not for a second. This is what I've chosen, time over money. It's just that, in answer to these types of questions . . . trying to find a good economic angle for me is an uphill climb!

Q: You haven't mentioned writing among your different tasks.

A: Well, there's no money in writing, you know. The advance for a book of poetry - this is against royalties - is $500. And that was for my sixth book - it's not like I don't have a track record. Two of the more recent books went into third printings, but still, it's just not many copies.

Q: The first book ("The White Words," 1983) is out of print?

A: Since a million years ago. It must have gone out of print some time in the late '80s. After a certain period of time, books of poetry aren't kept in print. Two of my books were pulped, and they didn't even tell me.

Q: But you're highly regarded and well reviewed, published in magazines like Harper's. What about grants?

A: I've had one from the NEA and the Guggenheim Foundation and won prizes and la-di-da.

Q: Have you been with the same publisher all along?

A: Oh no! I'm on my third poetry publisher now.

Q: And the textbooks you've written?

A: Both of them have been done by different presses. And I have a memoir coming out in the fall, and that's with a different press, University Press of New England, based in Hanover, (N.H.).

Q: Is it a general autobiography, or is there a focus?

A: It's about how we (Wormser, wife Janet and son and daughter) lived for almost 25 years off the grid, in the woods in Somerset County. Living that kind of Thoreau-esque kind of life - confronting the essential facts, as the great man puts it. It's a series of linked, short essays about living that kind of life. Being a poet, and all the different aspects of living in Somerset County. . . . It's called "The Road Washes Out in Spring."

Q: When did you come to Maine?

A: In 1971. We just wanted to live in the country and through a series of circumstances came to Maine, part of the back-to-the-land movement. I grew up in Baltimore. We wanted to live in a rural area.

Q: Did you succeed?

A: Well, Somerset County is a rural area! Even where we are now, Hallowell, isn't exactly a metropolis.

Q: Why did you move there?

A: Um, we just decided, the kids had grown up, and the house required a lot of work, physically. And I was traveling more to earn my living once I left my librarian job. I work a lot out of state, doing readings and teaching. I was in Florida and western New York this fall.

And then, Hallowell's a nice town. There's a lot going on. An art gallery, a lot of music and lots of creative people around. We live in town and can actually walk to places. Anyone who's lived in rural Maine has put tens of thousands of miles on a car, so it's charming to be able to walk somewhere.

Q: So do the poetry books bring in any money?

A: I made $500, you know. . . . I get royalty checks. But as I said earlier on, the so-called textbooks I co-authored lost money because you have to pay for permission for material you use. So you do the book and you lose money.

Q: But you don't undertake them with that idea?

A: I don't undertake anything with that idea. But let's face it, I'm not in it for the money.

Q: How much do you earn for workshops and stuff?

A: For schools, I charge $250 a day. But I always have a proviso that if they can't pay that, they can tell me what they can pay, and we can come to an agreement. . . . Readings, at public libraries in Maine, are $100.

Q: How much does poetry sell?

A: The average sale of a book of poetry is 1,000 to 2,000 copies. Which obviously, in the scheme of publishing. . . . A cookbook by a second- or third-tier TV celebrity is gonna sell, probably, 20,000 copies.

Q: For five years you served as Maine's poet laureate, until earlier this month, when Betsy Sholl succeeded you. How does that work?

A: It's an honor for which you're chosen through a selection process. There are no responsibilities. You, um, go around, and people may invite you to do readings, for which you earn a modest amount.

Q: Did you consider sticking with the librarian job?

A: Obviously the paycheck was the big thing, but I knew that I couldn't write the books about teaching poetry ("Teaching the Art of Poetry," 1999, and "A Surge of Language," 2004) and still be doing the day job.

This (the time to write) is what I chose. Ever read "The Gift" by Lewis Hyde? It's a kind of anthology of poetry and about its place in society. His premise is that it's a gift, a spiritual gift, and you can't put monetary values on a spiritual gift. It's a marvelous book.

To top of page