Interview: Greg Gerding

Greg Gerding De-railed Prose Poet, Lyricist, Screen Writer and One Hell of an Intriguing Guy Interview by Terrie Relf

Terrie Relf: How did you come to poetry?

Greg Gerding: It’s all Henry Rollins’ fault. Back in early 1994, I was fresh out of college and working a pushcart selling T-shirts in the center of some shopping mall in Virginia. One day, I was reading an interview with Rollins and he was talking about a woman who turned him onto a bunch of artists that ended up influencing his own work. One of them, Charles Bukowski, I had never heard of before. I scanned a number of Bukowski’s titles at the bookstore until one jumped out at me: Love is a Dog from Hell. It was so obvious; I bought it immediately. Soon after consuming that, I picked up a pen myself. I haven’t put it down since.

My background through most of my education was heavy on the math and sciences. Halfway through college, I got bored. I lost interest and changed my major to English because I really sucked at it. Making a switch like that so late in the game, well, I suffered a lot. But, at least I wasn’t bored. In retrospect though, it seems sad to me that I wasn’t exposed to Bukowski in college. I mean of all the "greats" I was forced to study, it was Bukowski’s simple, street-level language that communicated a density of poetry to me more than anything else I had ever read. It’s like accepting Blink-182 as punk for so long, and then discovering Fugazi. Mind-blowing. Inspiring.

TR: So in addition to Bukowski, who influenced—and continues to influence—your work?

GG: Arthur Rimbaud, Jim Morrison, Hubert Selby Jr., Jeanette Winterson, and Bill Shields. Selby’s Requiem for a Dream and Winterson’s Written on the Body are books I often recommend. For serious artists, Winterson’s Art Objects is a must-read. A lot of the views expressed in that book have kept me going when I’ve wanted to give up.

TR: When I first heard that you were going to start to showcase at The Whistle Stop, Sam Chammas told me that you’d had a successful venue going in DC.

GG: In DC, I ran a weekly open-mike series in a little basement bar called Hell. The deal I had with the owner was, he provided the venue and the sound system, I did the promotion and the hosting. So, every Sunday, holidays included, for two years straight, 1994 through 1996, I ran "Poetry in Hell." The energy in that place was great and the response was overwhelming. But, the task became burdensome. I’m just a guy who’s first and foremost a writer, and I just wanted a cool place to drink and read out. It became work, organizing and promoting, and after a while my writing suffered. So, I left the responsibility in the hands of another and moved to San Diego. "Getting out of it, to get back into it," was the excuse I told my friends.

TR: Could you share your thoughts about your experience with poetry venues?

GG: Well, it seems that everywhere I’ve lived, I’m frustrated by the same thing. I’m frustrated with the limitations placed on artists in established venues. There’s a shortage of spoken word venues, and I’m not trying to put down the few that are out there, but I believe they need to offer more. You know, provide environments that not only attract artists, but also attract audiences who are interested in being engaged for a period of time and are looking to plug into another person’s experience, however that manifests itself. As a collective, we’ve done too well separating each other out into little categories, limiting our choices of expression and, therefore, limiting our options. I don’t know about you, but I hear "Open Mike Poetry" and I think, snore. A bunch of writers trying to be heard in a room filled with writers anxiously awaiting their turn to be heard. This kind of environment does not encourage any kind of growth or development for the individual artist, or the audience member. And, I believe, an intelligent, discriminative audience is important in the development of a strong culture. I want to know if I suck, rather than feel content among a lonely group of struggling writers that aren’t listening anyway.

TR: Now that you’ve been here awhile, what do you think about the San Diego scene?

GG: So now, here I am in San Diego, frustrated again. Frustrated primarily by the fact that San Diego is NOT the cultural arts center that it should be. I kind of knew that coming in, but I was determined to try and do my part to fix that. It bums me out whenever I lose a friend from here to Los Angeles or New York or San Francisco or any other such place in pursuit of recognition or support for their art.

I’m tired of lamenting about San Diego having no culture or hearing people whine about the same. As a collective, we should be just that ... collective in our efforts. Tear down some of these divisions that separate musicians from writers from visual artists. We need to share ideas and spark imaginations.

TR: So what is "Derailed" all about?

GG: "Derailed" is me, trying to do my part. Derailed is an art series I started at The Whistle Stop Bar in South Park. It’s a spoken word, singer/songwriter, visual art, performance art, etc. venue that I think San Diego desperately needs. One, it’s at a bar. Two, it’s not an open mike. Three, there are no constraints, no time limits, no limitations on subject matter; essentially, no holds barred. No other venue in San Diego provides that kind of environment and I think that’s unfortunate. I make it my goal to bring artists of all kinds together under the same roof, sharing ideas with each other, stirring shit up. It’s fun flushing out people who are doing cool things in quiet corners of their rooms, upset that they have no stage to share it from. Well, now, no more excuses. And, surprise! There’s an amazing wealth of talent to be found in this little corner of the country. No surprise to any of us, but, hopefully, providing a much-needed spark to assist in establishing us as some kind of personality besides the "lazy beach burb with watercolor whales."

Again, though, I'm just a guy who’s, first and foremost, a writer and I just like cool places to drink and read out. Derailed only happens once, sometimes twice a month. We need more stuff like Derailed. More stages encouraging more art of all kinds.

Lots of credit has to go to Sam Chammas, the owner of The Whistle Stop Bar, for even providing the space for Derailed to take place. Guys like Sam are invaluable to the development of a culture and, especially here in San Diego, extremely rare.

TR: I’ve noticed that your work is a mixture of prose, poetry, and spoken word.

GG: I feel most comfortable straddling this thing between poetry and prose. In fact, I often describe my work as "prose poetry" to others. I’d like to think I’m doing something different that can’t be categorized. I’ve never been one for following the rules, where’s the fun in that? I realize that most of my work is riddled with mistakes because I don’t follow the proper "rules" of writing, but I strive more for the aesthetic, than the correct. I go for flow. I go for what rings true to the ear, what pours straight from the mind or the heart. Rhythm and melody are very important. It’s hard to specifically describe my process. It either works or it doesn’t and I just seem to know when it does or it doesn’t. And, often, I’ve broken a bunch of grammatical rules or completely ignored certain standards of punctuation along the way.

TR: What other types of writing are you into?

GG: I wrote a couple of columns for a San Diego weekly paper for about a year. That was interesting. I developed a whole bunch of muscles I never knew I had during that exercise. Those columns are being published in one collection and will be coming out soon. That’ll be my second book so far. Two others are in the making.

I have started a screenplay, written notes for a stage play, and written songs for some close musician friends of mine. I’ve also thought about short stories and I imagine I’ll write a novel someday. Maybe, maybe not. The screenplay idea is a strong one with me though. I’d really love to finish that and see if I can get it made into a movie. I like movies.

TR: What other types of collaborative projects have you worked on?

GG: A close artist friend, Andy Crane, and I have collaborated on a different kind of project, combining his paintings with my writings. This experiment fascinates me and I’ve enjoyed the results so far. I have been writing stuff inspired by his paintings and we do shows where these works appear side by side. For me, this taps into a completely different energy and requires a different kind of focus. We’re working on a larger show where there is more stuff shared between us, where he will be painting pieces inspired by my writings in addition to the other way around.

Meanwhile, I continue with this semi-autobiographical free form that feels comfortable and I polish those pieces that feel worthy or "ready" and share them with others or try to get them published.

TR: What do you see as your recurring themes?

GG: Themes? Fucking and drinking and being alone. Those are my favorites because we all fuck and drink and are alone.

TR: What about other types of influences on your work?

GG: Music, reading, and paintings. When I’m writing, I like to have music surrounding me. Whatever I’m listening to often affects me as I work. It provides some rhythm and mood. When I’m not writing, I read. Reading stuff helps shape my style, too--especially if the writing I’m reading is good. I feel it expands my knowledge of capability and finds it’s way into my work somehow. I also like to be constantly stimulated visually. I love painters with broad strokes and a great sense of color. I’m a big fan of Egon Schiele and Lucas Samaras. Of course, Andy Crane too. I’ve got like six paintings of his up on my walls and I’m looking to get more.

TR: What else gets those juices flowing?

GG: Sex (good or bad). Being in love. Being out of love. Anxiety. Thoughts of death or dying. Whiskey. Pain. People. Anger. Usually, I’m writing from a place of desperation or confusion that would typically manifest itself in the form of a fist through a wall, but I’ll pick up a pen instead and try to figure it out. The best is when I manage a connection of ideas that just clicks and demands that I capture it. I might have a great idea that stands well on its own, but I won’t doing anything with it because it just doesn’t feel right yet. Then, it could be a couple months later and I’ll have another idea that snaps right in line with the first idea and it’s ready. It’s very exciting when this happens. Nothing beats a perfect connection of thoughts properly captured and communicated on paper.

TR: In the interests of supporting the local writing community, what advice can you offer to new poets?

GG: Lesson #1: Starve yourself. To know hunger is to know passion.

Lesson #2: Encourage accidents. Some of the best stuff was born accidentally.

Lesson #3: Write about it. Always charge through life with your eyes wide open.

Lesson #4: Don’t suck. At least try and be interesting.

TR: This might be a bit personal, but whenever I hear you read stuff about your girlfriend, I can’t help wondering which one of those beautiful young women in the audience is, and how she feels about her life being splayed open in front of an audience?

GG: All I got to say to that is, thank goodness some women dig what I do or I’d be really lonely. A lot of them start out saying that they don’t want me to write about them. And then, after a while, they wonder why I haven’t written about them yet, saying, "I’ve seen the way you’ve written about other girls, aren’t I good enough?" Secretly, they want me to write about them, they just don’t want to admit it. Either way, so long as they remain inspiring, I will continue writing about them.

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