Author Note: Claire Matthews
Claire Matthews is the author of “Caution No Barriers” in The Puritan Issue 39, Fall 2017. For her author note, she answered the question: What was it influenced by? (i.e., were you listening/watching something when you began to write? Were you in a meeting or class at the time? Was it after a film, art show, concert?)
As the dedication suggests, my dear friend Kayla Czaga influenced this poem a lot. Though I realize now that I borrowed the orange condom idea from another writer friend of mine whose parents’ advice was to never trust orange condoms (because that’s how she came about). Awkward parental sex life aside, I wanted to write a poem for a friend. I was in my MFA at the University of British Columbia, where I met Kayla, and all these poets were writing poems for people. I was super jealous. Like, why do friends not inspire me? But I was inspired. Kayla’s poetry is so accessible and I’d like to say I aspire to it, but we write different poetry. Plus, she’s a really great friend and a poem seemed an appropriate way to express that.At first, the idea felt so intimate. It still does. One of my favourite things to see is a writer recognizing friendships and relationships in their work. They’re like inside jokes and it’s an honour to be allowed in, even for a glimpse of it in a poem. When I had a poem written for me the first time—and only, I should say, so we’re all aware that tons of people aren’t penning suites about me—it was magical. It’s a kind of intimacy I didn't know that I could ever share with a non-writer. It’s next level shit. (Burn on all my non-writer friendships. Just kidding.)Some of the imagery in the poem is fiction. Others, I’ve stolen from Kayla’s life. I had to look up the Red River Valley online, because we all know a good CanLit poem has nature in it. If ever I’m stuck for inspiration or images, and that’s often, I research. Usually random or semi-related material. Sometimes, all I know is that I want to write a poem but have no lines popping up in my head. When this happens, I’ll peruse the Internet or message my editor friend for nouns. If these tactics don’t work, I’ll look through my notebook or previous conversations with friends and see if any of the words jump out at me.
It’s a kind of intimacy I didn't know that I could ever share with a non-writer. It’s next level shit.
With this poem, I had to rework it several times. I couldn’t decide what kind of form I wanted it to take. Or, rather, I wasn’t listening to the form it wanted to take. For some reason, I was really against it being a list poem. Even though that’s what it was in its first draft. When I first started writing poetry, we wrote list poems because they were simple. Ever since, I’ve always felt like they were an easy way out of writing poems or they were just good writing exercises. Of course, this is complete bullshit. Amazing and creative list poems exist and are relevant. Just because it was one of the first form poems I learned, doesn’t mean it was the worst. We all know pantoums are the worst. Kidding. When I went to a few of Kayla’s readings for her first book, she would read “Song” because it’s my favourite poem in that book. That’s the kind of poem I want to be able to write one day. The way she renders language, subverts it like the form intends, that’s real poetry right there. That’s fucking talent.
Claire Matthews’s work has appeared in Loose Lips Magazine, Joyland, Arc Poetry Magazine, Plenitude Magazine, EVENT, and is forthcoming in Grain. Her poetry was long-listed for the 2013 CBC Canada Writes Poetry Prize. She’s currently working on a collection of essays titled, I Bet You Think This Book Is About You. In her spare time, she makes soap and drinks whisky.
