A Conversation with Maurice Manning

An Interview by Ben Palpant | Words Under the Words No. 5

This post belongs to a series of interviews between Ben Palpant and important contemporary poets.

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Once and it wasn't the only time,
I was alone with being alone,
but luckily, I must have been seven
or eight, so I got started young
on poetry and all of that.

—from "Southern City Poem, Early 70's" by Maurice Manning

I sat in on Maurice Manning's poetry workshop before our interview. It didn’t take long to notice that he is one of those teachers who keeps trying to rope his students back from distraction, from their phones and laptops, with no guarantee of their attention. He did so repeatedly, kindly, often humorously, walking around to peer over their shoulder while they read their work or simply inviting them by name to offer something to the conversation. It struck me, while I was sitting there, that this is what Maurice (pronounced Morris) Manning does in his poetry, too. He kindly, often humorously, ropes his readers back from daily life's distractions, whatever those distractions might be. 

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Before we begin the interview, he gifts me a recent publication of his poetry by Larkspur Press. I thank him and note the small volume's loveliness—its paper, binding, and print quality. 

He says, "The man who runs Larkspur Press is named Gray Zeitz. When he was a young man, this is what he wanted to do and he's been doing it for about fifty years. He operates a letterpress where all the letters are set by hand. He's got a big ol' machine that weighs a ton. He's so highly regarded that there are book collectors who will buy a copy of every book that he makes."

"I can see why," I say. Then, turning it over in my hands, I read his Author's Note aloud: "I began writing this during Lent of 2015 and during that season I determined that I no longer wish to think of any human being as my enemy." I look at him. He smiles. 

"Your resolve must have been tested awful fierce during the last few years," I say.

"Well, I'll tell you, we live near the site of the largest Civil War battle in Kentucky called The Battle of Perryville. A friend of mine told me a gory tale of when he was a boy in the early 1950's, his parents were renovating a really old house. An old man came by and said he lived in that house during the battle of Perryville and one day some soldiers came by with a wounded man on their horse. The soldiers asked if they could leave him with the family and his family obliged. The man had lost an arm and leg in the battle. They put the soldier up in the loft where he bled to death. That was the state of things. Nothing to do for the wounded, but drop them hither and yon while you're running for your life. In the summer of 2015, I found part of a cannonball in my backyard. Finding the cannonball confirmed those local stories. So, you know, I started thinking about that. Of course, at that point in our country's history, we were marching toward 21st-century division. I had a realization—I wouldn't call it an epiphany—I would just call it a moment of clarity. I thought, why do we do this? Why do we divide ourselves? Does any good come of it? And I couldn't think of it?"