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THE
FAILURE INTERVIEW
POET PHILIP SCHULTZ
by Jason Zasky
The subject
matter of Philip Schultz's latest collection of poems is one this
magazine knows well—failure. At first glance, failure might
seem like an odd choice for the accomplished writer and teacher,
who has six books of poetry to his credit and is revered for founding
the Writers Studio. However, a closer look at his earlier work reveals
that Schultz has been writing about failure throughout his career.
Naturally, with "Failure" (Harcourt) out in bookstores
this month, we felt compelled to ask Schultz about his unique perspective
on failure, and what inspired him to devote an entire book to our
favorite subject.
How long
have you been dealing with the subject of failure?
Knowingly? Just for this book. Two years ago I was having lunch
with a friend and he told me his father was a failure. I told him
about my past and it came out that there were some interesting similarities.
My father died bankrupt when I was young—18—and it took
over my life and my mother's life. I think when you go through something
like that there is always a sense that you're the only one. I had
never met anyone who had anything close to my experience.
On the way back
from that lunch I began wondering how many other men suffered the
consequences of this and I felt inspired that my friend had been
open with me. So I went home and wrote a poem called "The One Truth."
It came out rather—I won't say easily—but fluidly. It
was dramatic and angry. After that I wrote a poem called "Failure"
in which I dealt with the subject directly—head on.
Looking back
on my other work [the subject of] failure has always been there.
It's probably why I'm a writer—a poet. But I would deal with
it in more isolated ways. This time it became the subject of a book.
Why did you
decide to title the book "failure"?
Very good friends and very good poets advised me not to. The arguments
against it—and they were strong—were that I'd be pigeonholing
it and that it would be a downer. I finally realized that in all
honesty it was the subject of the book. And it was the only
subject; everything else paled in comparison. [Plus], my wife thought
it was a great title and I trust her judgment.
Have you
gotten any feedback from your audience about the title … or the
book itself?
I'm getting a response that's different from any I've gotten before.
There's a rawness to it—a directness. The title poem came out
three weeks ago in Slate and there was a discussion about
it [on Slate's message board]. I didn't look at it myself,
for all kinds of reasons, but apparently it was very controversial
and there were very strong opinions [on both sides]. Some of the
discussion had to do with whether a son was calling his father a
failure or whether the son was celebrating or defending his father.
So apparently the poem hit a nerve. This went on for at least a
week or so with people commenting and commenting on the comments.
Is there
a poem in the book that you struggled with more than any other?
I've always worked hard on my poetry. And I worked particularly
hard on this book. I didn't fall on some of the devices I've used
in the past. I wanted it to be crystal clear and direct. The long
poem ["The Wandering Wingless"] was difficult. I can't even guess
how many drafts there were.
But "Specimen"
was really hard to finish. It came right after the title poem and
"The One Truth." I tell the story of seeing my father choke a man
who stole cigarettes out of one of his vending machines. It's an
image I've carried with me ever since I was a young boy.
Speaking
of your father, do people from different generations view failure
differently?
My father was literally pushed by his mother to succeed. It was,
"Go out there and conquer." He was driven, and he had four brothers
and they were all driven. They all died very young (in their fifties)
of heart attacks. So it was a generational thing where you had to
climb up the ladder. My father pushed himself and pushed himself
and failed continually throughout his life. Every business he ever
started failed. [For his generation] failure was this great American
taboo. It was the one thing you couldn't do. It wasn't allowed.
And yet all these people were doing it.
What value
can be derived from failure?
Well, I think you appreciate that success isn't a finish line. In
my life my family is everything. My father couldn't enjoy what he
had because it was always an aspect of a measuring stick that wasn't
anywhere near what he wanted. And I think that kind of philosophy—that
American sense of measuring things—is that you never have enough.
It's all win or lose.
In my own life,
I wanted to be a novelist. For the longest time being a poet—even
though I was good at it and successful at it—wasn't what I
thought I should be. But I couldn't be happier now.
Failure
To pay for
my father's funeral
I borrowed money from people
he already owed money to.
One called him a nobody.
No, I said, he was a failure.
You can't remember
a nobody's name, that's why
they're called nobodies.
Failures are unforgettable.
The rabbi who read a stock eulogy
about a man who didn't belong to
or believe in anything
was both a failure and a nobody.
He failed to imagine the son
and wife of the dead man
being shamed by each word.
To understand that not
believing in or belonging to
anything demanded a kind
of faith and buoyancy.
An uncle, counting on his fingers
my father's business failures—
a parking lot that raised geese,
a motel that raffled honeymoons,
a bowling alley with roving mariachis—
failed to love and honor his brother,
who showed him how to whistle
under covers, steal apples
with his right or left hand. Indeed,
my father was comical.
His watches pinched,
he tripped on his pant cuffs and snored
loudly in movies, where
his weariness overcame him
finally. He didn't believe in:
savings insurance newspapers
vegetables good or evil human
frailty history or God.
Our family avoided us,
fearing boils. I left town
but failed to get away.
Copyright © 2007 Philip Schultz.
Used by permission of Harcourt Books Inc. |
What is the
difference between a "failure" and a "nobody"?
[Laughs]. Well, according to the title poem failures are
unforgettable. The speaker [in "Failure"] says that his father was
incredibly successful at failure. He was a genius at failure. And
it's true. At my father's funeral people were talking about all
the businesses my father had failed at. I heard about things I never
knew about. I was hearing about a man I didn't know. In that way
these people were proud of him and proud of their association with
him. I mean—the ones who weren't bitter that he still owed
them money [laughs].
Can you be
both a failure and a nobody?
Yes…. You know there's a wonderful Emily Dickinson poem about nobodies
["I'm nobody! Who are you?"]. Not all failures, I assume, are unforgettable.
It's almost an existential question: Is anybody ever really a nobody?
On some level is there any life so petty and so worthless that that
person is a nobody? I like to argue against that.
In the end,
do you feel like you did justice to this material?
I've never been happier with a book of poems. There isn't a lot
of metaphor or simile because of the clarity I wanted and because
of the large story I'm telling. Whatever the world makes of it I
think I am ahead of the game. In writing this book I not only wrote
about my father. I looked at the part of myself that feels like
a failure. I think it's impossible to go through the experience
without feeling like you are [a failure] too.
In your mind,
what would make this book a success?
It's a book of poems so the success is almost always going to be
a modest one. But one writes poetry for the satisfaction, for the
sense that maybe some of the poems will last. Maybe some of these
will be about something that is of interest to others.
Are you obsessed
with failure? Or success?
Well, I don't think I'm obsessed with success [laughs]. I
think this was a very personal quest—to face down something
in myself and to make myself not afraid of it anymore. Whenever
you are obsessed with something it owns you, and I think the idea
of writing a poem is to own it. You can't make a poem out of a subject
that owns you, so I feel pretty good about it.
Where do
you go from here with your work?
My next book, which I've handed in ["The Amount of Us"/Fall '09],
will be selections from all my other books and some new poems. I'm
now very involved with politics and history—what's going on
with this country in the world. One of the subjects in the [upcoming]
book is the failure in Iraq. But the next book will be much less
personal. The subject [of failure] was an obsession but I feel I
worked it through to the other end. 
RECOMMENDED
LINKS
http://www.writerstudio.com
(Official Web site of The Writers Studio)
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