D.T. Robbins
Readers can find D.T.’s poems “another goddamn poem about drinking whatever “ and “picture” in issue #7 of No Contact Magazine
Richardson: D.T.! It’s really a pleasure to finally get to ask you some questions about your work, and process. We love the pieces in issue 7, and we’ve been big fans of Rejection Lit as we have many contributors in common! And editors as well!
Robbins: I’m really stoked to be included.
Richardson: I would love to hear you talk about writing in, or about altered states. You often write about drinking or have mentioned in other interviews that drinking is part of your process. Sometimes it’s part of your inspiration and was even part of how you decided to write a book of poems in the first place. I, myself, have written quite a bit about altered states, and also find it to be urgent and fascinating even when painful or difficult. I’ve written quite a bit about my own experimentation with substances and being the partner of a person with addiction, so I find your work to sit wonderfully close to my own interests. What is it about drinking, or the altered state of being drunk that you keep coming back to in terms of your writing? What fascinates you about it personally?
Robbins: I mean, being drunk or high is, if you do it right, pretty fucking great. Of course, it can also be really fucking terrible too. Either way, there’s potential for some good shit to come out of it. I’m fortunate enough that drinking hasn’t fucked up my life, though I have cut back and now just take an edible every night (trying to lose some fucking weight). That said, it’s been more of a catalyst for creativity. I think because I’m 90% of the time always in my fucking head (HELP ME), being in an altered state relaxes me. After my divorce in 2018, I started drinking more than I had before. Maybe that’s cliché and sad or whatever, but it was a great for me. I was so fucking stressed throughout that period of time, and drinking let me sit on my couch, write or read a book, and not let all the shit bother me. It was also a way to reconnect with some old friends—going to a bar, catching up. My wife and I went to a local brewery on our first date, then hit up a few bars later that night. It was a fucking blast. I had fun writing at that time and a lot of it was sort of centered around how I was feeling, what I was doing at the time which obviously included drinking.
Richardson: I get that. Drinking as coping, but also a vehicle for new experiences and self-soothing. I’ve fully been there. A quick follow-up to that is where do you see yourself situated in the mythology of writers who drink or write about drinking? Your work of course evokes Baudelaire’s “Be Drunk” and all kinds of Bukowski. Do you feel like you’re in there somewhere? Or how do you see yourself as you write in that tradition? And do you see the tradition evolving at all? Or where do you see it going next?
Robbins: I’d never read that poem before. Or maybe I did? I can’t remember. It’s funny, though, because when I wrote “picture” and “another goddamn poem” I was actually reading this collection from Bukowski called “On Drinking.” That was a big influence at the time, but I don’t think I’m seated at the same table as him. Maybe one day? Anything can happen, but it probably won’t.
Richardson: I would argue that by writing similar subject matter, we sit at the same table as our influences or greats that we read–even if we don’t feel we measure up and even if we write with different perspectives about the same kinds of things. Can we talk about persona? How close or far away is your writing/drinking persona? Bukowski’s publisher, John Martin famously claimed he’d never once seen Bukowski drunk…
Robbins: Buk did a great fucking job convincing us otherwise, didn't he? I don’t think my drinking is a persona thing, but who knows? Can we do a poll at the end of this interview and see if drinking is part of my perceived persona to the indie lit/Twitter community?
Richardson: Totally, I’m on it let’s do a poll. Let me steer us towards your pieces. One of my favorite things about “picture” is this moment of extreme vulnerability for the speaker (a secret nude photo) that’s coupled with feeling humiliation or fear specifically about the body, about how the body is viewed or seen, and then that is followed by the immediate thought that they haven’t had a drink all week. This unaligned self, the inside vs. the outside, or inside and outside not matching could be a clue about why our speaker enjoys altered states but we’re also told it’s a reason not to drink. I also like that the body, and spots on the body are pointing to God. I’m curious about that moment too. So many poems align the soul with God, not the body (which is so imperfect).
Robbins: I still have that picture, actually. My wife and I had gone through the Del Taco drive thru at, like, two in the morning or something, and when we got home, I stripped down and started devouring everything I ordered. She took the picture and sent it to me later. To me, that poem is more about how my wife sees me versus how I see myself and how the universe or God might see me. My wife loves me, sees me as a good man. I doubt that sometimes. That was one of those times. The not drinking for a week was also sort of this internal argument with myself as to why am I not drinking? Is it because I think I have a problem? Am I using booze to numb how I really feel? Is the drinking a side effect of me not being a good person? Is drinking making me a worse person? Does any of this shit really matter?
Richardson: I think it’s really beautiful that you were able to capture something so layered. This desire to see oneself, and maybe some doubt or disappointment in how differently we see ourselves and how others see us. The anxiety of that difference is really wonderfully captured in this piece. I also like that you’re investigating on the page your own relationship with a substance. I think that’s a powerful and universal pondering. Anyone who is imbibing or taking substances is asking themselves at some point, why am I doing this? Also, damn. Del Taco. I miss that shit. I moved back east a long time ago and never get Del Taco anymore. Do you remember what you ordered that night? Eating Del Taco naked at 2 am with someone you love is truly elite behavior.
Robbins: Dude, Del Taco is my shit. I don’t remember for sure, but I probably ordered my usual: 2-3 Del Beef Burritos, a chicken quesadilla, and 1-2 chicken rollers. Oh. And a macho Coke Zero that I very likely poured more bourbon in.
Richardson: Mmmm chicken rollersssss. I digress…The first person plural moments in “another goddamn poem about drinking, whatever” are a wonderful choice. Can you talk about those? Is this a speaker talking to themself? Is this a speaker talking with other drinkers? Other drinking poets? Is it the split self, the drunk and sober self-talking as one? All of the above? None of the above? Does our speaker need to not feel alone in their decisions/feelings? How do you imagine these moments in your poem?
Robbins: The “we” in the poem is me and my wife. She was/is my drinking partner. Like I said earlier, I was so fucking stressed during that period of time, and so much of what’s written is about what I felt. So, in some ways, I was talking to myself. In others, I was talking to her.
Richardson: I think that’s one of the best parts about poetry, and it’s demonstrated so well in this poem. That we don’t as poets actually have to choose. The “we” is so encompassing it’s all those things. It’s the self and the intimate other. It’s all drinkers and one specific beloved drinking partner. Can you talk a little bit about your line break process? There are some really cool line breaks with some nice musical moments in “Picture.”
Robbins: No. I have no clue what I’m doing. I just thought it looked/read cool. That’s how I do most of my writing. I just want it to be cool. I just want to fit in. I want everyone to love me.
Richardson: LOL. Word. I too break my lines for maximum coolness and love. Did you pick what poetry? or did it pick you?
Robbins: I’d say a bit of both. Sometimes I want to write serious shit that’s a little darker and a little more personal. Other times, I want to write absolute bonkers shit. Although, the bonkers shit is sometimes personal too. It’s all fun though. Write whatever you want. Write the alphabet backward and forwards. Make scribbles and draw pics of butts and boobs and dicks. Whatever floats your boat. Be happy. Create everything you want before you die.
Richardson: I fully relate to the bonkers shit actually being personal. I was writing fiction for a long time that was actually thinly veiled nonfiction and people kept telling me “this isn’t believable as fiction” so I started just claiming what was true–even tho it was bonkers. What other kinds of art/media inspire or help you create? Any specific pieces?
Robbins: Music, for sure. But there’s a plethora of shit I listen to, so it’s nothing specific. Anything from Bill Callahan to Damien Jurado to The Toadies to Nine Inch Nails. Whatever.
Richardson: Such good artists! Jurado is such haunted wounded music. Incredible. NIN is one of my all-time faves. I will follow Trent Reznor into any project at this point. If he said he was doing the original score for a Macbeth puppet show I would be in. Along the lines of influences… do you have mentors? Are you a mentor?
Robbins: Kind of. My friend, Greg Chandler, is a fantastic writer and the whole reason I started pursuing writing and teaching. He’s a wonderful human being and I feel like I owe him a lot. As far as me being a mentor, I don’t think so. Can all of my mentees come forward???
Richardson: That’s one of the things I love about writing community, is that when it’s good, writing can be contagious. Don’t worry, we’ll find you some mentees. We can do a Twitter poll on that too. Although writing Twitter can be stressful, no?
Robbins: Twitter can be an awful writing experience with the endless fucking gatekeeping and lit twit drama shit. I’d rather just have some drinks with the people I actually like.
Richardson: Lit twit can certainly threaten things we value about writing. Sometimes, I wonder, how we as writers keep our creativity alive in a world that likes to devalue creativity.
Robbins: I have kids. When they’re older and I’m gone, I want to leave them something. That’s a major reason why I write.
Richardson: I like that. Leaving your art for your children is a nice idea. Something they can really think about, and reflect on, maybe use as a map for their own creativity. Publishing work is clearly part of that. How do you know when a piece is ready to be put out into the world?
Robbins: When it feels good. That’s it. If I feel good about it, if it’s something I’d read, I submit.
Richardson: I struggle with that knowing moment a little. I don’t really write in my aesthetic of what I like to read so maybe that makes it a little harder for me. I wish I could write like the writers I enjoy. I’ve sometimes tried to force myself, but it doesn’t work. What emotions or techniques do not come naturally to you in your writing?
Robbins: Planning ahead.
Richardson: Oh interesting, like do you mean planning or plotting out your writing, or planning time to do it? How spontaneous do you get with it?
Robbins: Yeah, plotting it out. I mean, sometimes—very, very rarely—do I ever plan or plot. I like to see where a story goes. When I was working on my book coming out next year, I made the effort to sit down every day and write a certain number of pages, but that’s as far as the planning went.
Richardson: I go through phases where I’m super strict with myself about planning time to write and plotting out notes, and times where I just sit and let stuff flow. I think there’s value in both. D.T. it’s been such a pleasure! How can we support your writing? What’s coming up next for you?
Robbins: I’ve got my collection of short stories, Birds Aren’t Real, coming out with Maudlin House next year. I’m super stoked about it.
Richardson: We are absolutely going to keep an eye out for all that! Thanks so much for taking the time to chat.
