By Cyan Barker
Nate has many books out along with a plethora of poems. Despite all his achievements, he remains modest. He addresses himself as a high school teacher instead of a writer, often cracking jokes about those who wallow in their prestigious wisdom. Overall, he is a very down-to-earth man. This carries on throughout his poems. It is a wondrous and humorous experience to hear him read. It is highly recommended.
Q: How do you feel about reading your poems to an audience? Is there anything that really stood out at SNHU or any other readings?
A: There are definitely poets who specialize and excel at the performance of their work. It drives home the meaning for them. I’m not one of those poets. Strangely, every time I read in front of an audience I feel like a complete fraud, a carnival barker. The pleasure in writing, for me, has always been the quiet moments at night when the screen is glowing and it’s only me and the words and an imagined reader waiting somewhere. Over the years, like a form of evolutionary thumbs, I learned to read in front of an audience to sell my books. But truth be told, I’m really a bit of an introvert.
That said, I enjoyed the reading at SNHU a great deal, mostly because the audience was so kind and receptive. I was really impressed with the questions they asked after my reading. They were thoughtful and interesting and, at times, difficult to answer—as they should be. The audience should always challenge the performer on stage. When you have a good audience, reading can be a lot of fun; however, it doesn’t always work out that well.
Q: What were the early influences on your writing and how do they manifest in your work?
A: I trace my growth as writer in various stages of emulation. Like many young men with a weak intellect looking to impress young girls, I started with my Jack Kerouac-stage. I would write complete and utter garbage trying to, you know, “be the crazy dumbsaint of mind.” That went well. Next I moved into my Bukowski-stage where I would drink until I couldn’t grab my own ass with both hands then write unintelligible poems and stories, believing I was being edgy and raw. After the Bukowski-stage, I moved into a Carver-stage where I think I finally started to understand that the human heart stood stark in the center of the best poems and stories. They all contributed to my development, and with the exception of Kerouac, I think you can see both the Bukowski and Carver influences manifesting in the work I write today. But I’m still trying to capture my own voice. It’s a lifelong process of trial and error.
Q: Has writing changed you? Do you often make discoveries about yourself in your writings?
A: I don’t think writing has changed me, per se, mostly because I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing. I guess I wasn’t writing in high school all that much—with the exception of poems I’d scribble in a notebook I kept buried in bedroom—but I was also an obnoxious ass-hat in high school. So I guess it has changed me for the better, unless I’m still an obnoxious ass-hat and don’t realize it.
Without sounding like one of those pretentious chin-scratchers (people who scratch their chins in their bio photos), writing is process of self-discovery. If you’re writing for the right reasons—in my opinion—you’re writing to discover what interests you, what you value, what terrifies you, what gives life substance and meaning. You discover this through the stories that you tell, the characters you create and the topics you tend to focus on. I’ve said in the past that I write so one person might feel less alone in the world, this perplexing place that we’re destined to leave, and I’ve discovered lately that sometimes that one person, paradoxically, can be me as well.
A: To me, picking a favorite poem or story is a little like choosing my favorite Grateful Dead tune: it really depends on my mood when the question is posed. However, there are poems I’ve continued to identify with throughout my life. I’ve always felt a kinship with J. Alfred Prufrock. We’re both neurotic messes in a perpetual state of emotional and spiritual panic and paralysis. There’s a Jeffrey McDaniel poem titled “The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy” that never fails to bowl me over when I read it. And Carver’s “Where I’m Calling From” and Russell Banks’ “Sarah Cole: A Type of Love Story” are two of the best stories that come to mind.
I have a tendency to write about sex, drugs and rock n’ roll; and if we’re to believe my bullshit above about discovering what you value through your writing, I guess the short answer is I value getting laid, getting high and rocking out. In all seriousness, though, I do have a tendency to write a lot about addiction and infidelity. I don’t know if I would say that they’re my “favorite” topics, but they do seem to show up in a lot of my work.
Q: Many of your poems contained language most authors would shy away from. Do you often worry about using said language in your work?
A: If you’re going to write honestly and try to tell the truth, you can’t worry about who might be offended by what you’re writing. It’s not a writer’s job to placate a reader; rather move them in some way. Therefore, often it’s the writer’s job to do the opposite. It’s not a bad thing if you make readers angry or uncomfortable. Language can be a powerful tool, a means of shaking people from complacency. If you shy away from using a word because you’re afraid someone is going to be offended, you’re likely in the wrong business. If you’re afraid of offending people then you’re better off knitting sweaters for dogs.
Q: What do you think makes good writing? During your editing process, is there any method you have for deciding what's good and what's bad?
A: It’s the same answer as above: good writing tells the truth and doesn’t flinch. I think good writing is felt on a visceral-level and not always something that can be neatly articulated. There’s so much subjectivity involved when it comes to evaluating good writing. I think it’s easier to identify bad writing, which is usually blighted by clichés, half-baked unoriginal ideas, melodrama, overwritten descriptions and imagery, forced rhyme, clumsy sentences, mawkish sentimentality, and the writer’s unjustified sense of self-importance.
In my editorial process, I generally let my drafts sit for a month or so before I reassess whether or not it is something that’s destined to be shelved or something with a spark of potential. All drafts are bad. That’s a universal. I learned to accept that a long time ago when I figured out that writing is more about perseverance and attrition during the process than it is about talent. Sure, talent factors into the equation. Without a certain amount of innate ability to see the world in a unique and original way and spin a decent phrase, you’re not going to get too far. But a lot of people are born with that talent. You have to be willing to tread through the muck and make something bad into something decent. As I said, all writing starts out bad, and if you’re patient and industrious and a little bit lucky, you can revise it into something good.
If you are interested in knowing more or purchasing one of his incredible books, check out his website: http://www.nathangraziano.com/
Cyan Barker is a literary editor working for the New Hampshire Writer’s Project and a student at Southern New Hampshire University.
