Holly Mitchell spoke with Lauren Camp about her recent collection Is Is Enough, available now from Texas Review Press.
Having written eight earlier collections of poetry, how would you say writing this one differed?
The subject—memory loss—required that I write in new ways. I couldn’t fill these poems with traditional logic; that would be counter to the reality I was living and needed to express. The specific and meaningful holes of Alzheimer’s Disease were important to capture—holes that sometimes filled and sometimes emptied. I wrote poems with lines that broke off, or twisted around, suspended in a strange space. It was fun to do so—to be pushed into a logic of these surprises. This made the arrangement of words, lines and syntax different from my usual. I appreciated being able to go where my father lived in his mind; it felt right to do so. The topic lends itself to sad nostalgia and poems of great grief. I wasn’t interested in existing in that space any more than necessary. For these poems, I wanted most to hold the now.
Does thinking about how your own books relate to one another affect how you approach a new manuscript?
I seem incapable of thinking in terms of manuscripts. I write individual poems about subjects that matter to me, though I sometimes swirl into the vortex of a topic I can’t shake. For example, when I was at the Grand Canyon for a month as Astronomer-in-Residence, I wrote voluminously of and through the dark, finding every angle and sense I could to express what surrounded me.
If I catch myself leaning into a style I already have an ease and clarity with, that’s a sure sign to try out another way, to modify my syntax or form.
I value any subject that keeps poking at me, requiring that I circle around and around—either because I haven’t successfully touched the center of it or because there is more to see, feel and describe. Alzheimer’s Disease and the ongoing losses and mysteries that come with that sphere and timeline, gave me many opportunities to experiment with unexpected shifts in the structure of the poems. I wrote at least 75 poems, then culled, selecting fewer than half for the book.
How did you choose the title for the book?
The title came from my unspoken answer to a question in “Episodic Parallels, More Aunt, Less Moon,” a poem about life paths that is included in the book. I tried out a few other titles—in retrospect, really awful ones—but kept returning to this one for the sonics, the mystery, the potential for it to be a statement or a question, and the overall relevance to the subject matter.
If you got to choose the cover art, how did you decide on the photograph by Uta Barth for the cover?
I first saw Uta Barth’s visionary work in a solo exhibit at SITE Santa Fe two decades ago. I’ve never forgotten the power of her compositions, and the way the large-scale photographs let me perceive and feel, even without a mesmerizing or clear subject. I had been waiting for the right project to match with her work. I’m thankful that she was willing to have her work on the cover of Is Is Enough. It builds the most fitting atmosphere for the collection.
What strategies did you develop for writing about forgetting?
After nine books, I am beginning to see that one of my favorite topics is absence in various permutations—whether that is family, nature, humanity or otherwise. I wouldn’t call anything I did in Is Is Enough a strategy, but I knew the poems couldn’t hold more clarity than the situation or my father had. I loved how this let my poems grow into dissociated bits, unfastened elements. In some other subject or poem this would feel wrong, but here, it seemed precisely right.
While this disease is devastating, some of the moments were not. My father was gentled by Alzheimer’s. The worry, control and hurt he had held were slipping away and then gone, so we shared many tender moments in his final years. I wasn’t interested in writing about the future. I wanted to focus right where we were: a wild sort of now that, of course, would change, would tighten, would limit down to less. This also reiterates what the title explains and even demands—that existence is sufficient. It was this I was interested in probing.
In the poems, was it difficult to focus on the personal while also acknowledging public turmoil?
Elder care consumed me. The outer world receded as I tried to make thoughtful decisions that honored my father’s quality of life, while also dealing with the panicked tangle of his financial obligations.
I wrote almost all the poems in the three years my father was plummeting into dementia. He died in 2019, and I never wrote again about the experience. “Parties,” about writing the obituary, and “Order,” about prepping for the memorial, are the end of the story I wanted to tell.
In 2021, I added a few other poems to round out the manuscript, some of which include flashbacks of family history that he was letting go.
Is there a poem in the book that surprised you the most?
“Goodbye to Aggressions and Generous Gestures” comes to mind. I have at least 10 versions of this poem. Revision is where my poems grow. I’m fearless about altering my syntax, order, and perspective, or heightening the sonics. This poem widened and reshaped multiple times as I tried to figure out what was right. I wanted to give emotion and truth (and a bit of my father’s pre-Alzheimer’s vexations) a place to land. Watching a person disappear is crushing, but I had a different role as witness and craftsperson. In that way, I was first simply acknowledging, then imbuing the moments I’d collected with shape and sound.
Building these poems with their nonlinear impulses, and finding new but appropriate forms for them, was satisfying. Even more than that, it was steadying and a productive metamorphosis for grief.
What books did you turn to while writing this collection?
With poetry, I read very widely, rather than focusing on one author or book. The practice came from a 15-year volunteer position I had as a host and producer for Santa Fe Public Radio. My weekly program, “Audio Saucepan,” was mainly jazz, with some world music and other genres mixed in. In each of the three sets, I voiced a contemporary poem to entice listeners into the incredible world of combined sound and meaning.
I feel like my wide-net method means I can borrow a little inspiration from every influence without recreating something that’s been done before.
Do you find yourself taking inspiration from artforms other than poetry?
Very much so! I came to poetry from a career as a visual artist. My medium was fabric and thread. I was immersed in pattern, texture, color, composition, line and shape—all elements that factor into my writing. At the same time, I was producing and hosting “Audio Saucepan.” Blending musical tracks taught me about segues and silences. Reading the selected poems into the mic showed me the many ways a poem can be built. Reading aloud is one of the finest tools I know to not just hear but hold a poem.
What do you most hope that readers will take away from Is Is Enough?
The Alzheimer’s Association statistics for 2025 acknowledge that “More than 7 million Americans are living with Alzheimer’s, and nearly 12 million provide their unpaid care.” There is no cure. This means a great many of us, maybe even all of us, will be impacted through self, family, or friends. I know it can be heartbreaking to watch a parent or partner with the disease, but my experience was broader than that. There were moments of easy joy, and there were more hugs and generosity than I could have imagined. For once, I could help my father, who had always been too strong and determined for any of that nonsense. I wanted readers to see that there might be enchanting points, moments of love that help sustain you.
Can you say what you will be working on next?
I wish I knew! I’ve spent the last three years embedded in my role as New Mexico Poet Laureate. I am still working to complete various parts of my laureate project, The New Mexico Epic Poem Project, though my travel across the state—over 8,000 miles—is done. Still ahead are many details for an exhibit and anthology that showcase the place-based poems I crafted from visits and crowd-sourced responses in rural, arts-underserved areas of New Mexico.
Immediately before that project, I was lodged in the darkness at Grand Canyon National Park and wrote voluptuously about all of that. So, I’ve been working hard in very focused ways since August 2022. I think it’s time for me to ease back to working poem to poem, as inspiration arises.