Erin just published her first book, “Avail,” which you can order here: https://www.pauldrybooks.com/products/avail
“Avail” features a long prose-poem which titles the book and winds through sections of lineated, often formal poems. The prose-poem comprises a series of lyric meditations on the image of the veil—from religious and cultural veils, to veils imbedded in idiom and metaphor, to veiled women in art and classic films, to veils drawn and parted by illness and death—which slowly divulge the harrowing details of the poet’s blood disorder.
Throughout, allusions to classic film, literature, and art serve as the “veils” with which the poet attempts to obscure the self-estrangement and vulnerability her illness has induced—insecurities which follow her long after her recovery. In a poem about a break-up set during her career as a jazz singer and against the backdrop of a 1930s screwball comedy, she longs “to shake life by the martini (but stay self- / possessed), to star in the movie of myself / instead of playing second lead.” During a visit to Naples, Mt. Vesuvius becomes “a Crawford eyebrow / arched over the bay.” And in California, after a trip to the Getty Villa, she recalls Sontag’s “missive on allusion, that no part / of any work is new, that all is reproduction.” By the end of the collection, O’Luanaigh has fashioned from the sum of these various allusions her own poetic identity, unveiled in the poems themselves.
Upcoming Episodes: “The Third Man,” “Elf,” “Julius Caesar.”
Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail
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Transcript
0:08 Wes Alwan: Today we have a very special episode of Subtext. We will be talking about Erin's forthcoming book, Avail. It'll be published on January 20, 2026 by Paul Drei Books. It won't surprise listeners that this is a really wonderful book. It reflects not just Erin's mastery of her craft, but also her extensive knowledge of the arts more generally and her interest in film. You can pre order it on Amazon.com right now. If you go to subtextpodcast.com avail, you'll be redirected to that Amazon page. You can also find Erin's poems in the Yale Review, Bad Lilies, Agni, the Southern Review, Subtropics, 32 poems, Wildcourt, the Hopkins Review, the Los Angeles Review, and elsewhere. Erin graduated from the University of Florida's MFA program. She's currently a PhD student in English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Utah, where she is a Stefanson Cannon Fellow and the Senior Poetry Editor of Quarterly West. She's also a co host of Subtext. Welcome to your own show, Erin.
1:14 Erin O'Luanaigh: Wow. It's great to be here. It's strange to be here in this capacity.
1:19 Wes Alwan: So we don't. Is this going to be an interview? Is this going to be a regular subtext discussion? Am I going to get in a big argument with you about what something means?
1:27 Erin O'Luanaigh: Who knows? I'm nervous. I'm nervous to be our first ever guest. It doesn't really count, does it?
1:33 Wes Alwan: Kind of counts. It's weird. You're playing two roles at once here.
1:37 Erin O'Luanaigh: I know.
1:37 Wes Alwan: Yeah, I feel a bit nervous, too. I don't know why. Like I told you, it's not my book. Why should I be nervous?
1:45 Erin O'Luanaigh: Well, thank you so much for doing this. It's really sweet.
1:48 Wes Alwan: Well, it's sweet of you to. To be here and to be a successful poet that I'm co hosting the podcast with, as opposed to a failed poet. Finally, you've proven yourself as a successful poet. But I think most listeners know you're a poet, but I don't know if they've read your poetry. It's not like we're always advertising that on the podcast. They probably many may not know how well published you are, and I think we've very rarely touched on this forthcoming book. And the other thing they wouldn't know about you is really the autobiographical element of how it is that you ended up becoming a poet. They probably know that you're a classic film buff and that you're into the arts and maybe even at some point you mentioned being a jazz singer, but they Might be curious about how all of that comes together as it does in your book. But. But anyway. Erin. Yeah. How is it that you ended up becoming a poet?
2:45 Erin O'Luanaigh: Have I ever told you this story? Maybe I mentioned it on the podcast. The story of the $500. Did you ever hear about this?
2:51 Erin O'Luanaigh: Oh, I got into poetry as a money making scheme like you do.
2:54 Wes Alwan: As we. As we all do.
2:57 Erin O'Luanaigh: I was a senior in college. I wanted to go on a spring break trip to. I think I'm getting this right. Lake Lure, North Carolina. Yeah. Which was one of the filming locations of the great co classic Dirty Dancing. We were all going on a spring break trip there for some reason, or there was a spring break trip planned. Someone had done the math and figured out that for all of us to go down there for a week, including the gas and everything else, if we split everything, it was going to cost $500. And the same day that they came up with this figure, the English department bulletin board had posted this poetry contest and the prize was $500. So I thought, here's a great way that I can go on this spring break trip. I'll just write a poem. This is an absolutely true story. It's ridiculous. And I thought I was an English major. I loved reading poetry, loved literature. I hadn't really written it. I had written some things as a kid, like some sort of some juvenile. But I was singing at that point. I was really involved in the music department. I was ostensibly an English major, but turning in all my papers at the last possible minute because I was singing so much and spending so much time in the music building or traveling to shows or doing musical theater. And so I thought, well, I'll write a sonnet because that's short. And anyway, I wrote it. I won the $500. I went to the resort where they filmed Dirty Dancing. I had just an okay time, but the point was that it gave me some.
4:19 Wes Alwan: Didn't do any Dirty. Dirty Dancing.
4:20 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, no, I did not. It was a pretty tame trip though. There was. One of my friends was waking up at 10 o' clock in the morning, walking over to the fridge and immediately cracking a beer. It was. People were drinking all day long. I wasn't doing any of that. I didn't know how to have fun at that time in my life though. That's not my idea of fun. Anyway. I don't like beer, for one.
4:40 Wes Alwan: That's true. You know, that's interesting. I'd never thought about that. I'd never seen you drink a beer.
4:44 Erin O'Luanaigh: What's the point of the story.
4:47 Wes Alwan: You won a contest.
4:48 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah. Yeah. And one of my professors who read the poem said, you know, you should write a couple more of these. It was a poem about one of my aunts who I was very close to. And so I wrote, I think, two other poems about two other aunts. It's convenient that I had so many. And then I just really didn't think anything of it, though. This professor said, you know, I think you might. I think you might have a talent in this, and maybe you would want to pursue an MFA program. You know, I had obviously filed it away somewhere in my mind, but I thought, you know, as soon as I graduate, I'm gonna go into jazz singing, and I'm gonna try that out for a while and see what happens. You know, Basically, I did the jazz singing thing for a few years. It got burnt out. And I remembered what my professor had told me, got back in touch with him, wrote enough poems to make up the 10 pages or whatever that I needed to even apply to one of these places, and ended up going to the University of Florida for my mfa. You know, poetry, I think, was something that I did to back away from something else. I backed into poetry.
5:44 Wes Alwan: See, I thought you were gonna say that you found out that the money wasn't good enough in jazz, so then you had to switch to poetry.
5:50 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah. You know, everything I've been involved with in my life is so lucrative.
5:54 Wes Alwan: You backing into it has me flashing to Homer Simpson backing into the bushes. Exactly that meme.
6:00 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yes. Yeah. That's my whole life right there.
6:03 Wes Alwan: Happened in on something you shouldn't have stepped into and back slowly out of the room, maybe.
6:12 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah. So that's the story. It's silly.
6:14 Wes Alwan: That's a good segue to the book. So I wanted to ask you about the inspiration for your book because it really does bring together your many different interests, including singing and the arts and classic film, and combines that in a really interesting way with a certain autobiographical element. So including your childhood sickness with a blood disorder and your relationship with your grandfather, which was very close, and he had a role in the development of your interests in film. And then also your mother's more recent sickness. And then, of course, it's all tied together with this theme of the veil. And then the related idea of availing a V A I L, which is the title of your book. Shall we start with just how. It's a big. I know it's a big general question, but how all of that is all of that related thematically and what inspired you to. To go down that route?
7:11 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah. So all these poems, I think, just reflect my interest, the interest that I've picked up over the course of my life. My grandfather was a classic movie buff, and so movies were a big part of my childhood and art was too. Going to art museums with them and music, they were very big into opera especially and all kinds of classical music. When I got sick, a TV was put in my room with a little built in vcr. And my grandfather would tape. You know, he would. We didn't have cable up there, so he would. He would tape things off of TCM onto VHS tape and bring it over to me and I would then watch the VHS tapes and. And so I became interested, even more interested in classic movies than I already was, which was which I already had a sort of natural affinity for them. I went through this experience of the blood disorder and then as soon as I got well enough to go back to school, I just didn't talk about it for years and years. A lot of people never knew that I had this problem. Even though it required maintenance and even though it's actually caused me problems on and off over the years, I always hid them. One of the things that the essay confronts was my reticence to talk about it. I think that became part of the story. Like, why was this something that I was not comfortable talking about that ended up being the thing that I had to confront as much as the experience of the disorder itself.
8:33 Wes Alwan: On page 84 of your book, there's a prose poem titled To Cast, Throw Draw Veil over and it begins with the line, your work does not contain the necessary self revelation. The list of things you'd rather not say is long. You claim to reveal yourself by hiding in your interests. Say that the shape of your preoccupations forms the outline of the body. There seems to be a connection there between the idea of veiling and then this question of the role of self revelation and poetry, which I've heard you talk a little bit about before, and your reluctance to do that. Did you want to say a little bit more about that?
9:11 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, I think, you know, I went into my MFA program so green, and I was lucky enough to have a teacher and Angie Malingo in my very first workshop who encouraged us to think about our own origin stories or sort of personal mythologies. And this was the thing that was at the root of, you know, the blood disorder was. Was at the root of so many things that I was interested in. And yet it was something that at that time, the People who knew me really well, you know, some of my closest friends did not know about this. I had really buried it when. When someone did learn this story, they said, well, this is such a great story. And it's. It explains why you are interested in so many. So many of these things, you know, especially the old movies. And I didn't want to talk about myself. I was. I was reticent to do that. I wanted to talk about the things that I was interested in. And I thought that perhaps that was enough, that talking about these interests was enough, and that I didn't have to really involve myself at all. And then some very smart friends said that this was starting. You know, my lack of talking about this was starting to become its own issue. It was starting to exert a kind of force on the. On the poems. It started to become the elephant in the room. So finally, when I went into my PhD program, I thought, I really should talk about this. I really should find a way. And I realized that the way in would be to talk about my resistance, why I didn't want to talk about it. I was reading Anne Carson's Eros the Bittersweet, in which she talks about this concept of eidos, which is this idea of having appropriate shame about something or shame in the presence of another. And this idea of decorum covering oneself, not wanting to reveal too much of oneself. And she specifically talks about the veil as a sort of metonym or symbol of this eidos that women would use the veil to keep themselves covered in some sort of appropriate way.
11:01 Wes Alwan: Eidos as an E, I, D, O, S, the ancient Greek word for form
11:05 Erin O'Luanaigh: or A I, D, O, s. Okay. Eidos. Eidos. I'm not sure how to say it.
11:10 Wes Alwan: What is that? What is that from?
11:12 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, she just describes it as shamefastness. That is the definition she gives. And this is Carson. Eidos is a sort of voltage of decorum discharged between two people approaching one another for the crisis of human contact. Instinctive and mutual sensitivity to the boundary between them.
11:30 Wes Alwan: Okay, so this is. This is a Greek goddess of modesty and shame. Yeah, so it looks like it is. It is some sort of minor goddess, but yeah, more personification.
11:40 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, yeah. And she writes, a chaste wife, like Penelope in Homer's Odyssey, holds her veil up on either side of her face when confronting suitors, while Medea's decision to abandon chastity for Jason is indicated by holding her veil aside. So this use of the veil as an expression of this sense of shame or Reluctance or this idea of the boundary that had a huge influence on me. So at the same time that I'm trying to write about this thing which I feel sort of shame around or which is a painful subject for me, or which, you know, which I've historically wanted to cover up, I felt that Carson, with this concept of eidos and of the veil, was giving me a way in.
12:18 Wes Alwan: Yeah. So the veil. So there's quite a bit in here. Yeah. That says something about poetry. And one can think of poetic use of language as a kind of veil, which is a way to get at some of these things which might otherwise be too. I don't know, quote, unquote, naked, too raw to talk about. So I'm just. I'm thinking of a line from your prose poem, the Mask versus the Veil, where you end with, the mask is a narrative, the veil is a lyric. And it sounded like the mask of something. Right. It's more rigid and opaque and potentially a false self. But the lyric, the poetic has to. Has to let something through. Maybe.
13:02 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, I think that's right. It's the idea that you may. What do I say here? To see behind the mask is an unexpected privilege. But the veil, by its nature, creates a need for revelation. While one might wonder what is beneath the mask, one must wonder what is beneath the veil. I think that that's the. That's the tens interested in in the book is the idea that the. The veil is about this desire to hide, but it's also a kind of inherent teasing. It's hiding. It could be hiding in a sort of flirtatious way or in a way which really wants to be found. And that line I thought was so interesting. The more that I looked at veils, images of veils in. On film and in art, the more I saw quite clearly that. That tension being expressed between a woman being strong and putting on this veil to try to gird herself in the face of some obstacle, but also wanting to unveil or wanting to be seen for who she really was. Wanting to have someone look behind the veil, as it were.
14:05 Wes Alwan: It seemed like that could go for seduction or love, but also for religion. You have a prose poem about taking the veil as a. Having something to do with becoming the bride of Christ, but also something that suggests, quote, possibilities that may yet lie dormant in her. The promise of a vocation, a calling, a purpose. So the desire to be discovered in various different ways, including in one's aspiration. I think there's quite a bit in here about the concept of aspiration.
14:38 Erin O'Luanaigh: Thinking, too, about the blood disorder and what happened during that time. And having to revisit that through the essay, I think gave me. It was like excavating my past somehow gave me an insight into different parts of myself that I hadn't realized were there or had forgotten.
14:53 Wes Alwan: Yeah, I love that image of you as a bride for Halloween. How old are you in this?
15:00 Erin O'Luanaigh: I think it's five.
15:02 Wes Alwan: It included a veil that looked like a Vegas showgirl's loincloth. But I was just going to say, yeah. This picture of you in a veil, in this kind of funny way as a child, stands in some contrast to various pictures of your great grandmother and your grandmother and your mother in a veil, where there's sort of a different sentiment, really, that comes across in each of those. I don't know if I'm saying anything there that you can. You can respond to. I just. But I enjoyed this series of different snapshots or your descriptions of pictures of people in wedding veils. I sort of. I think the core articulation of the theme of the book comes on page 31, where there's two prose poems to veil and then to a Veil. Did you want to read those?
15:54 Erin O'Luanaigh: Sure. To veil, to say no. To cover the body. To hide the body. To prevent the gaze of the other. To forbid the gaze of the other. To guard the body as precious. To mark oneself as holy. To gather unto oneself, to store up one's resources. To set a boundary, to construct a barrier for the body. To sketch an outline of the body. To provide a negative image of my body. To hint at what lies beneath by limning the body's shape. To suggest, to tease, to torture, by withholding the body. To mark a potential availability, to imply a future unveiling. To signify yes by saying no. To avail. To say yes. To see a value, to explore a possibility. To take the opportunity to make use of, to respond to generosity, to accept an overture, to help oneself, to satisfy oneself. To have one's fill, to consume, to gorge oneself, to press an advantage, to exploit, to strong arm, to throw one's weight around. To take what is there for the taking. To pillage, to breach, to cross the barrier erected by another, to unveil, to destroy, to force a retreat to. To colonize, to procure another's. No.
17:24 Wes Alwan: It's interesting you name the book avail, but I think this is the one section that is explicitly about veiling versus availing. And the word veil, I think, only occurs five times. I actually counted the word veil. You know, this Book better than veiling is being veiled. And I was interested in the fact too. You know, you got me interested in the etymology of a veil or the usage of a veil because we generally today say avail oneself of. Right. And so veiling invites that, but also disinvites it, as you put it, to procure another's. No, but the original, you know, the. The use of the avail that is now archaic. I think it was just to. To benefit or assist. Right. So if you availed someone, you assisted them, and if something was availing, it was advantageous. And then. Right, and so the word available is related. Right. So I found it interesting that the sort of altruistic, original meaning of the word, when used reflexively became reversed into something that is potentially exploitative. Right. Or something that is potentially selfish. You avail oneself, or maybe you help yourself instead of helping someone, you help yourself to something. And I did that. And, you know, it got me looking into, well, how and why did that transition take place? So I'm pointing to that just because I think, yeah, the explicit use of this word veil kind of falls out and it's implicit everywhere.
18:55 Erin O'Luanaigh: Just as veiling also has a veiling in it where there's this desire for revelation. It's a sort of theatrical covering. Right. And so seems to demand that one at least be interested in whatever one is covering. And that kind of attention being drawn to the covered thing is exactly what I was wrestling with in choosing to disclose this personal story as well.
19:18 Wes Alwan: Angie Malenko connects this archaic meaning of the veil to descending and then descending into the underworld. But in this case, the underworld into which you descend is full of figures like Rita Hayworth. Much of this honors various, what I think are idols of yours from movies. I think
19:42 Erin O'Luanaigh: that's right.
19:43 Wes Alwan: That's correct to say, then, Rita Hayworth, I think she's the most often mentioned. She's mentioned in at least four or five places.
19:53 Erin O'Luanaigh: She's the sort of patron movie star of the book.
19:55 Wes Alwan: Yeah, yeah. What is that about?
19:57 Erin O'Luanaigh: In the book? It starts in Covergirl. Should I read CoverGirl? It was a hospital season, a grainy black and white reel. Exam rooms, waiting rooms, offices, hallways, my northwest facing bedroom, my closed eyes until the day you took me to the movies a Friday morning and I, the only child in a throng of gray why aren't you in school? Sat by you holding tightly to your arm and watched the whole bright world come roaring in alive so red, so red I sighed in the ice cream parlor afterward over her glorious technicolor hair, her Lips, her piked fingernails as we savored our usuals, pistachio yours and black raspberry mine at our blue window booth. While outside the pumpkin smiled back at me and the sunburnt leaves died floridly on the vine.
20:52 Wes Alwan: That's great.
20:53 Erin O'Luanaigh: That's the first thing I think I ever wrote about my illness, actually. I saw her on the big screen and this. They used to run these. They would actually bus seniors in for these Friday morning, you know, like 11am movies. And they would even give out little free mini popcorns. I think it was like $2 or maybe even a dollar to watch these movies that they got prints of. Most of them were really not good. But the first one that I ever saw was CoverGirl and on the big screen, Rita Hayworth with that red hair in Technicolor, which is. Which is more than color. You know, Technicolor is just fantastically vibrant.
21:29 Wes Alwan: And, yeah, there's an ongoing contrast in your book between the color red and the color white. And where I think whiteness is associated with pallor and nakedness and maybe the literal truth. And red gets associated with both vitality and being veiled. So, for instance, the redness of the cheek that you might have pinched to give it more vitality or, you know, lipstick being applied or makeup, something like that. And it starts in the very. I think it starts with the very first poem of the book called Snow. I don't know if you wanted to read that as well. I don't. Yeah, just stop me if I'm pushing you to read too many things, but, yeah, go ahead.
22:15 Erin O'Luanaigh: Snow. It drifts and it drifts as the finished VHS respools, its tinsel white bands flurrying across the glossy hilltop of the TV screen. A modern weather like the swirl of asbestos in Dorothy Gale's ear. The ivory soap flakes strewn over Bedford Falls, the sprayable foam it mocks, the snap pop of a stand of trees buckling under a blanket or a bucket's ice shell cracking above the heat of the tape's firelog. Its storm will kick up when I replay the movie. A grocery aisle now edged with blizzards. Anklets coated in hoarfrost. Summers forecasting a pixelated ice Age. Stanwyck snowing tears even as she smiles. And me rewinding the melting tape to the point of dissolution, whiting out each scene with a love that, like all love, distorts its object, glazes it with ice, swallows it like a mailbox in a mounting heap until the tape stops and only my Face bloodless winters, the blank screen.
23:24 Wes Alwan: And I can't help but as I was reading this partly because of what I know from you, but it's also there, just in context, provided by the book. Even when you're not mentioning your grandfather explicitly in his role in this, you see him kind of hovering behind the poem. So he's the one who, while you were sick, was giving you these VHS tapes and fostering your love of classic movies and giving you kind of a transfusion, so to speak. Something vital at a time when you were dealing with a loss of vitality.
23:59 Erin O'Luanaigh: I love that. Yeah. These films were like portals to a kind of glamour or, you know, what I imagined back when I was a kid as a kind of grown up world of sophistication and intrigue and interesting problems and beautiful faces and interesting people. So, yeah, and he supplied. He was my dealer, so. But I love. I love the idea that he was giving me these transfusions of this. This filmic vitality. Yeah.
24:27 Wes Alwan: Well, as I told you before we started recording, I did, you know, like a complete, like, thematic concordance of your book. Various themes, your illness, your mother's illness, your grandfather and I. And I. And also, as you also know, I like to find arcs and things. So I really thought I saw a progression in each sort of line. There's a lot in here about the death of your grandfather, but I think emotionally it sort of climaxes with the very last poem about him called March 27, where there's this very poignant image of him mourning for you, so to speak, because you're playing Evita and you're being paraded around in that glass casket.
25:08 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah.
25:08 Wes Alwan: And it made him tearful. So there's a beautiful juxtaposition of that and you confronting his death. And that includes scenes where you're seeing him in his coffin at the wake.
25:19 Erin O'Luanaigh: Right, right. Yeah. You're noticing things in the structure that I had forgotten. It's funny because this book has been done now for over a year, so it's actually, you know, I had to prepare for this podcast myself by going back and rereading the book, but you're reminding me of some choices that I agonized over, so I'm glad they are. They're coming across.
25:40 Wes Alwan: Yeah. So speaking of thematic arcs, is that even a thing? So one of my favorite poems was Pacific Palisades, and I see that as sort of another climactic moment that sort of is a culmination of different thematic concerns. Were you surprised by the way that I chose that one?
26:00 Erin O'Luanaigh: No.
26:01 Wes Alwan: Yeah. Why?
26:02 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, we share this in our Die Hard episode. We got into trouble for this, but we share an Eastern sensibility. No.
26:14 Wes Alwan: Well, I was going to ask you about this because the poem begins with this wonderful first line, and I'll have you read the whole thing in a moment. But it's California. We've reached the end of taste. And I assumed you meant the end as in the telos of taste, the highest manifest of taste, not the. But we'll talk about what that word N means, because maybe you can read it as being polysemus. I wish people had listened to our Die Hard episode that way. Talk about taking things literally. Someone made a negative comment about subtext predicated. That's the idea that we are slagging off California and we were merely relating a stereotype.
26:53 Erin O'Luanaigh: Well, luckily, you know, luckily all my Californian friends, when I read this out loud, were like, that's our favorite one. You know, I did a reading where there were a bunch of Californians there and they were laughing so hard at that. And the, you know, saw it for being the sort of tongue in cheek statement that it was, but we managed
27:11 Wes Alwan: to wake the one sleeping dragon. And that is a California.
27:14 Erin O'Luanaigh: Chill out, man.
27:15 Wes Alwan: California. Oh, so seriously, what's the point of being Californian if you take it.
27:21 Erin O'Luanaigh: Exactly. Sorry, Exactly.
27:23 Wes Alwan: Am I getting us in trouble again? Let's. Yeah. Do you want to read Pacific Palisades?
27:29 Erin O'Luanaigh: And sure, it's California. We've reached the end of taste. We're strolling on the Getty Villas bluff, Its merit weighed against the megalithic waste of historic reproduction. What's Egyptian about the Egyptian revival? Parisian in the Vegas strips Arc de Triomphe A supersized riff on the Villa de Papyri the original at least was blown to ash. We console ourselves beneath a marquee hawking lattes With a lobby built to recall an excavation. Its galleries house the hall of the thinking man's robber baron. A cache of heracleses curi, Hydra Hydrias A replica of a Pompeii fountain mapped with west coast shells. The coinage of Illyria Cycladic figures, the alleged Mazarin Venus gardens with herbs of ancient Roman genus A satyr reclining as in a Kardashian snap Visitors pose so thickly in the peristyles we struggle to escape another's selfie still in an atrium frisbeed with sundials I admit equal beguilement by counterfeit and bonafide alike. Who's to say what's legit? A Roman Original is a Greek man's copy called back from antiquity to the traffic rumbling below, where mention of Inceville's studio passes for ancient history, its epics, civilization widely deemed low brow, and the Italian whose hero nosed the prow of a gondola down Venice Beaches rills or further up where once lived Brecht, Adorno, Schonberg and the Magic man, all told, the Weimar by the sea in glass decked houses out of David Hockney we list for klempt. Out of the villa's gate, the novelist, when not apprising Hesse of his wanton lawn, the Eden in which he'd torment Leverkun, partied with Cagney, Jack Warner, Berlin and handed Tassen to a young Sontag, soon to take the devil's bargain for her own art. We quote her missive on illusion that no part of any work is new, that all is reproduction. Across the highway, we sink through coastal sage to watch the sunset on the proper shore against outcrops dated to the Miocene age. Like good Easterners, we shield our eyes from the vulgarity of pleasure, the paradise unearned, the honest falsehood, the easily adored.
29:56 Wes Alwan: Yeah, I like the fact that we start out in a museum of sorts and then we, at some point we end up partying with famous people. This is not the only typical California. That's right, it's California. We've reached the end of taste. I love that line because I just think of manifest destiny, right, and going west and then ending up on that shore, as well as the idea perhaps, that it's the endpoint of some logical development, for better or for worse. So something like a telos, but also perhaps tastelessness. Yeah. So do you want to piss off some Californians?
30:35 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, I'm afraid. I'm afraid to put my foot in it. Yeah. There's a falseness, of course. I mean, there are plenty of qualities about California which are really just qualities about America that you could see really clearly and all very wonderful. Exactly. No, it's, you know, there's a falseness to it. It's constructed as all of America is sort of constructed. And then you also have this, you know, it's built on this, people playing make believe, you know, I mean, specifically la. Obviously there are other, other parts of California which are quite different, but, you know, and I love that about California, you know, but the, the, you know, you can't love movies as I do and hate California.
31:21 Erin O'Luanaigh: But there's a, you know, there's a guilt for me. It's not an accident. And I think this is something that's coming out in the. The next manuscript that I'm working on that, you know, a lot of my favorite actresses are actually people who had rather fraught relationships with California and who were, in fact, New Englanders, like Bette Davis, like Katharine Hepb. And so, you know, there's a sort of sensibility clash, I think, involved in the relationship of those two particular actresses to that place, but also to a lot of people's experience of California or even just their experience of being an artist and of having this. Having to have a relationship to an audience or having to, you know, there are all kinds of things I think are implicated in that.
32:00 Wes Alwan: Having to please an audience and then the danger of selling out or the danger of becoming mere pop culture. Although pop culture can be wonderful as well. Is that the idea?
32:12 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, yeah, that's right. And I think also. I don't know, being easy on yourself too, versus being hard on yourself. Right. I think that's. That's a little bit part of the subtext. Drunk at home. That's a little part of the subtext of the. Of the poem. And I'm very afraid of that. You know, I'm someone who's, you know, is probably secretly very concerned that I might just take it too easy one day and never, never, never do anything useful or interesting again. And so I have to constantly guard against that. And so places like California where everyone is just having a good time in theory, or where the weather. Weather is always nice, I'm just distrustful of. And I think it's hard. I think it's hard to create good work in Hollywood for lots of reasons, you know, not necessarily having to do with the climate or anything uniquely about. About California, but just. Yeah, the populism, the everything. So, yeah, so you have this. This. This Getty Villa, you know, this amazing place which has gorgeous collection of. Of ancient statues and just everything. And put in this, you know, kind of fake villa to make it look as though this was the Romans. You know, this is just part of their empire that somebody just stumbled across on the California coast. So, you know, the real, real things mixed with fake and then something being also real. And the fakeness too.
33:34 Wes Alwan: Yeah. It strikes me that there are better and worse versions of fakeness. Right. So obviously the fakeness of art is supposed to be the highest form of fakeness, as in. Right. Fictional narrative or poetry. The creation of illusions of sorts. The kind of thing that Plato didn't like because they were not the truth with a capital T, but on a More positive interpretation, trying to get at, like, larger truths. Right. So the emotional truths, thematic truths, you could tell a fictional narrative that says something true. And in that sense, the narrative becomes the veil, I suppose, of the thing that is being gestured at. And it can only be. It becomes. Right, trite or too simplistic, if you try any other approach. Right. So if you write a philosophical monograph on it, you lose a lot. It gets too abstract. We need appearance, we need representation, as falsifying as that might be. But in this case, it seems like there's always the danger that the level of appearance, that there's something, if it's not done right, that there could be something truly and tastelessly false about that. You're always on the edge of either making falsification serve the truth or having it to collapse into something more sinister, it seems. So I thought maybe. Yeah, maybe some of this is also about the anxiety of influence. Because it's right. You reference the Sontag. It's all reproduction. And all we can do is to take influence and to take everything that we've taken in, artistic products and somehow metabolize that. And then either we come out with something that's original or something that's derivative, but maybe there's not that much in between those two.
35:26 Erin O'Luanaigh: I think you're leading me into Phoenicians. Am I wrong about that?
35:29 Wes Alwan: I wasn't conscious of thinking about that, but I'm sure the wiser, unconscious part of me was doing that. Shall we? Yeah, let's do that. But. Yeah. Did I. Am I getting that right? As far as what you said, yeah.
35:43 Erin O'Luanaigh: I mean, okay. You know, you even worked in a veil there. I got a. Could have you follow me around and do my.
35:52 Wes Alwan: I could be your internal narrator if you want.
35:54 Erin O'Luanaigh: There you go.
35:56 Wes Alwan: Relate everything. Any veil, any theme you want. Go ahead.
36:00 Erin O'Luanaigh: Right, here's the Phoenicians, transplants both like the palm trees that lend the landscape a tropical legibility. They live in an invented place, precarious as language. Squat, blank, rectangular, their house admits nothing, forms a single brick in a wall just one brick tall. All the neighbors seem to make a living in encryption. Their little boy can't learn the word for cloud but knows camel cactus de doo, his name for the bird that hovers over the dryscaping looking for a place to land. I walk him by the canal that runs its concrete vein through Scottsdale, feeds the pool at the Arizona Biltmore where once in a deck chair, Irving Berlin dreamt up white Christmas over a tequila sunrise, fighting the dual oppressions of happiness and heat who wouldn't long for snow, for history, for an end to the inveterate blinking of the neon signs that flash their native terms dominoes and just beneath it, guns. But at dusk the sky runs Tyrian purple and the saguaros on the hills throw their inscrutable Alphabet shadows across seraphs of agave. A living document, vigorous and prickly.
37:22 Wes Alwan: Yeah, So I love dominoes and guns. Frankly,
37:28 Erin O'Luanaigh: you'll be right at home in Phoenix.
37:31 Wes Alwan: It's a fan of the Phoenicians. Now, let's see. One of the things I loved about this poem and the reason why singled it out was just this final stanza. Inscrutable Alphabet shadows across rifts of agave. And then the other thing, you know, again, we get to party with a famous artist. We. We start out, we're in Arizona in the desert, and then all of a sudden, he's dreaming of something else. There's at least a te. I guess I'm just focusing on the drink. But it's so. I saw this. You know, you're by the canal one moment, and the next moment it's something far less mundane and more fabulous. And it sounds like it's a way of. To talk about Berlin dreaming up longing for a white Christmas in contrast to the oppressions of heat is a way of talking about your longing for that in this context. Or you're longing for something else. But. Yeah. What is this poem about? Is that a legitimate poetry interview question? What is this poem about?
38:38 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, that's. I think you're totally right. These friends have since moved out of Phoenix. But I'd gone a couple times down to Phoenix to see them and their young son. And. I don't know. I went to Phoenix and I just. I never had a bad time there. And I tried to think of what it was that was making me have such a good time.
38:58 Wes Alwan: It's the dry heat.
38:58 Erin O'Luanaigh: They say it's the dry heat. That's right. Yeah. Yeah. Well, you know, and there's. Of course, we could easily make an Arrested Development joke here where you show up in Phoenix and burn your hand on the car door. But anyway, I'd rather be.
39:13 Wes Alwan: What is it? I'd rather be dead in California than alive in Arizona.
39:19 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah. And, you know, these are just, you know, this one in Pacific Palisades, just about living in the west and trying to find. Trying to trace back, you know, like the vein, you know, trying to trace things back to some kind of source so that I can understand where these places are coming from. What's going on here? You know, what is this place really about? And when you have a place like Phoenix, which is a tertiary settlement, which is an entirely constructed place, I mean, it's really not habitable. And they've just given it these palm trees to try to make it look like a resort place. These palm trees are not native to the place. And again, thinking, well, none of us is native to this country unless we are Native Americans. None of us is native to this country. You know, what is this? What is this about? What's real about this? What is this trying to show me? Or what can this teach me? And then trying to find something good in it and something real. If I think it's unreal, how is it real? You know, this sort of self argument, I mean, that's just a larger insight into how I write poems, which is if I'm criticizing something, that's usually a good germ of a poem. Anger is usually a good. Anger is too strong of a word for something like this. Right. But some sort of irritation or some sort of annoyance maybe is usually a good engine for a poem because it's active and it makes you. Pushes you into language to say, why am I feeling this way? What do I want to articulate? And then trying to talk oneself out of it and saying, okay, what's the opposite of this? How can I have a sort of dialogue with myself here? And then, of course, in a poem like this, it's also sort of turning that back on language itself and thinking about language itself and how that's working.
40:53 Wes Alwan: Yeah. It begins with this idea of inscrutability. Right. So all the neighbors seem to make a living in encryption. But the house sounds like that as well. Right. Blank and rectangular. And despite the tropical legibility. Right. Despite these palm trees that are supposed to make the landscape somehow readable or legible. So there's that setup. It's not. It makes it sound intriguing. And then we get the walk by the canal, and then we get you associating to longing for something else, which is where I stopped in my characterization. I didn't really do full justice to the structure of the poem because there's a. Right, you get. You get to a negative characterization of dominoes and guns. But it ends with an attempt to explain what is so attractive about the place. So the sky running Tyrian purple, the cacti on the hills throwing their Alphabet shadows. But it's still inscrutable at the end. But there's something. There's a kind of vitality to it, despite the Fact that you're in the desert, it seems the prickliness, the vigorousness.
42:09 Erin O'Luanaigh: That's right, yeah. Something real here.
42:11 Wes Alwan: After all, there's vitality. And I just thought, yeah, that, that is something that comes up quite a bit. Right, so the. And something that you associate with blood. Right. And the prickly cacti, I think we can imagine pricking ourselves on them and bleeding, but it being something that is vitality inducing. And that, that reminds me of your Salome. So this is page 58. So it reminded me of Salome and then Rita. Herwit, Rita Hayworth. So yeah, I love this line. Veiling and a veiling are collapsed. John the Baptist is beheaded by a stripper. So another point that one might argue is a climactic moment in the book where things really come together. And then you get Rita Hayworth, a flame with vitality, dancing with vigor, the dance of the seven veils, flaunting her vitality. And I take a bit of the aspiration for you to flaunt your vitality. So did you want to say something about that? There's a bit of a, there's a bit of an edge to this form of vitality though, since John the Baptist does get beheaded.
43:22 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, that's right, yeah. And she flaunted in mine too. You know, there's something a little bit flaunted in my face too, I should say.
43:27 Wes Alwan: Oh, right, yeah.
43:28 Erin O'Luanaigh: I mean there's the desire for this, but there's the. You know, maybe what I am admiring in Phoenix is like it's self belief, you know, that's maybe the thing that the speaker has trouble accessing. See now I'm, now I'm saying the speaker of course separated from myself so that I have none of this is plausible deniability. Exactly right. This is me in air quotes. No, but I mean, you know, of course there's a bit of posing that goes on. So it's hard to. Or even just crystallizing something in some sort of definitive statement. There's always going to be a little bit of, you know, the real person wants to hedge a little bit and say, well, not exactly that. Right. The question of self confidence or self belief or the desire to escape oneself is certainly a problem that the speaker eye whatever, you know, has and when confronted with someone in the, in the sort of full force vigor of their, their personality, even if it's prickly or whatever, that can sometimes be shocking or upsetting or it could feel like a taunt or even an attack. So this girl is sometimes maybe a little bit Upset with Rita Hayworth. Maybe a little bit upset over this whole situation and a little sad and maybe a little self pitying too. Hopefully not too much.
44:45 Wes Alwan: You mentioned aspiration here, I think, and the connection to vitality, as I mentioned. I thought that comes up quite a bit in this book. And I also thought the Phoenicians. I kind of put the Phoenicians under that category as well. Several categories. Because something about associating to Berlin I thought was fit into this kind of category of aspiration. But I think my favorite reference to this is in the Awful truth on page 27. One of many great lines and ideas in here about shaking life by the martini. So what I wouldn't give for her glinty self confidence. Not the false courage I summoned to sing when I become a chanteuse version of myself. A Persona borrowed from the record shelf of a dusty basement in Connecticut to shake life by the martini. But to stay self possessed, to star in the movie of myself instead of playing second lead and so on. Sort of like the. I was going to call it a credo, but I. Maybe that's going a bit too far.
45:45 Erin O'Luanaigh: That's right. I think you're on to something there.
45:52 Erin O'Luanaigh: You know, it's hard to love these movies so much and have them all be full of confident women when you're just a normal woman.
46:02 Wes Alwan: Yeah, but something to aspire to. What's your favorite poem in here?
46:06 Erin O'Luanaigh: You know, you mentioned a few that I really like. I think Pacific Palisades is one of my favorites. I think Black Eyed Susie's really captures a moment in my life. I like the Phoenicians.
46:17 Wes Alwan: Frances Gumm, another line I love. She believed in love poems. The Kennedys and the Efficacy of Tears. I hope this isn't vulgar, just me pulling out my favorite bits.
46:26 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, no. That's really nice of you. Yeah. That's poor Judy. Yeah, she's my favorite. And she gets. I was a little sad that she got a little bit of a short shrift in this book, so I was happy that people liked Frances Gumm. But. Yeah, and Oxford, another one you liked. You liked a lot of my favorites, actually.
46:44 Wes Alwan: Your hair grew to Pre Raphaelite proportions.
46:47 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yes. You know this is true.
46:51 Wes Alwan: Yeah, I do, I do. It's funny because. Yeah, I've seen your hair like that. I think maybe my favorite line, though is in the Gold of Naples. Things kept reminding me of other things. I just love that as a beginning to a poem and then ending with the idea that resemblances are just the shadows of differences and I thought, has anyone ever said that? Just seems like the kind of thing that someone should have already said. And I googled it and no one has. No one has ever said that resemblances are just the shadows of differences. Yeah.
47:19 Erin O'Luanaigh: Really? I thought I was pulling that from something. I mean, in the. In the poem it suggests that it was something someone said.
47:26 Wes Alwan: And as a someone in the movie.
47:30 Erin O'Luanaigh: No, just a saying. I just thought it was a saying. Something like that.
47:33 Wes Alwan: Well, maybe in some other form it's been been said, but. Yeah, I hadn't. I hadn't heard it.
47:39 Erin O'Luanaigh: I'm glad I'm, you know, more original than I thought in this book about sort of not being original or not needing to be original.
47:49 Wes Alwan: Just remember, originality is just a shadow of.
47:53 Erin O'Luanaigh: That's right. Of unoriginality.
47:55 Wes Alwan: Yeah. Of borrowing, of stealing.
48:00 Erin O'Luanaigh: Should I end by reading the Gold of Naples and. Sure, then we'll sign off. All right. This is the last poem in the book. So people are, you know. But there are other things in here. I promise. We haven't quite, quite covered it all. The gold of Naples. Things kept reminding me of other things. The old ladies in the street were my aunts. A counterman at Cafe Mexico was Toto in a soda fountain hat. The rum babas were trumpet mutes. My hanging mocha pots were little men with barrel of monkeys arms. This garden looked like Barcelona. That piazza was a picture of a picture of Rome. Vesuvius was a Crawford eyebrow arched over the bay. My pizza oven of an apartment was. It really was the apartment in the Gold of Naples. And I was me or some baked and dusky version of myself. And I was alone and half delirious and overweight. An Aussie tourist by a bookstall turned to me and said, those Japanese experts say this place will blow at any moment. If you thought Pompeii was trouble, I did. Just wait. From my roof I watched the sunset through a bottle of Strega. And it was a John Martin painting. One of those camp apocalyptic bugaboos. Now, how does the saying go? Resemblances are just the shadows of differences. The end of my world is the beginning of yours.
49:23 Wes Alwan: I was hoping you were going to do the Aussie tourist in an accent.
49:29 Erin O'Luanaigh: Those Japanese. No, I can't do it.
49:31 Wes Alwan: I want to hear it.
49:32 Erin O'Luanaigh: I can't.
49:33 Wes Alwan: No, no, you can't do an Aussie accent.
49:36 Erin O'Luanaigh: I can, but I don't wanna. It would be a hate crime if
49:39 Wes Alwan: I did just say shrimp on the bar.
49:43 Erin O'Luanaigh: I'll say it off recording.
49:46 Wes Alwan: So you're associating You're. The things you're being reminded of are scenes are from a movie called the Golden Naples. Right. That's what I take this to be.
49:56 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, some of it. Yeah. I was really staying in this apartment that was in this movie. Sophia Lauren is in this movie. And Naples is a place that my family's from there. It's very. You know, it was an uncanny experience for me to walk around in Naples and to. Not really, you know, Naples isn't in the imagination the way that a lot of Italian cities are in American imaginations. You know, like, we could sort of see. We think of Rome, we could see the Colosseum and things like that. Naples is a very. It can be a very rough place. It's corrupt, it's. You know, but it's also extremely vital. It's a very vital place. It's very associated for me, of course, with blood, because I'm from there and with blood of Saint Janarius and with all of these people that walk around that look exactly like your family members, in my case, they look really. I kept. I just kept thinking that I was seeing people that I knew from my own family, and a couple times they were people I knew. So there was something extra uncanny about that because, of course, you know, I was partially there to visit family and to go to ancestral houses and stuff like that. So, yeah, I don't know, I just. It was. It was trippy. It was a trippy experience. That sense of familiarity and strangeness coming together was, I think, what I was after here.
51:15 Wes Alwan: They really thought Vesuvius was going to blow again.
51:18 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yes, it will. It will blow again. And that's the other thing, is that you're there, and at the time, I think it was fresh in people's minds. I don't know if there was some update or if some. If they had taken fresh readings on Vesuvius or something like that, but people were talking about it. People on the streets were talking about it in Italian and Napolitan, and it was like, I just got in this place and it's there. I mean, have you been to Naples?
51:45 Wes Alwan: Uh, no. Maybe Pass through, but.
51:47 Erin O'Luanaigh: Yeah, no, I had a little rooftop area that I would go up to, you know, just in the poem, and. And you look and there's Vesuvius. You know, you can't escape it. And you just think to yourself, why is everybody here? Why am I here? I don't know how many millions of people in total live in the impact zone of Vesuvius were it to erupt again, It Would be just massive catastrophic event. Started to really freak me out a little bit. The imposing. You go to Pompeii and Herculaneum, and it's very real, and it's there and it's smoking. Climbed up to the top, and it's just incredible.
52:25 Wes Alwan: So when you say the end of my world is the beginning of yours, who is the you and the yours at the end?
52:31 Erin O'Luanaigh: I think it's the reader. I think it's the reader. I'm writing to people. I think my background is a singer and a performer is. I think I'm conscious of responsibility to an audience to offer something to them. And so here I think I. You know, I wanted to end with a poem that directly gave a nod.
52:52 Wes Alwan: So resemblances of the shadows of differences, you know, reminds me of Plato. Resemblances are shadows of the. You know, things in themselves, the real. But here the difference seems to be the difference between. Between poetic imaginary world and then the reader's real world. And so the. The reader can take some of this and take it into the real world and into vitality. Is that the idea, or.
53:19 Erin O'Luanaigh: I think that's right, yeah. You know, the same thing that we were talking about with Pacific Palisades. What is really real and what isn't. What is more real? The movie that took place in this apartment or whatever took place while I was living there. You know, they're sort of both equally real and equally invisible, formed by each other. So that the representation becomes as real a part of one's experience. In the same way that I think that I'm experiencing films or artworks. In the book, you can have these formative experiences around your confrontation with the artwork. Such that, you know, a movie or a book read, you know, at an important time in your life becomes as much a part of what was happening to you at that time as whatever was really going on in your life, in your daily life. So there's some sort of collapse. I hope that happens at the end. Where these two things become so fused together that there's no difference that, you know, like. Like veiling and availing. You know, they're sort of two sides of the same coin. And that ultimately is like, maybe the ideal encounter with art.
54:22 Wes Alwan: Well, unfortunately, we're. We've reached the end. I want to say there is a lot more in here about. Right. So everything from love and singing and acting and sleep and the whole. The whole concept of metaphor to great descriptions of the body. It's a really great description of that. You do the veins and the heart and relating that to a veil. So I highly recommend this to listeners, and I guess it's time for us to borrow a phrase of yours. Slip behind the curtain like a metaphor.
54:58 Erin O'Luanaigh: Thank you so much, Wes. It's so kind of you.
55:01 Wes Alwan: Thank you.
55:04 Erin O'Luanaigh: And thanks to everyone who listened. For an easy way to do that, go to subtextpodcast.com patreon.com subtextpodcast please send your questions, feedback and episode requests to lettersoubtextpodcast.com if we get enough questions, we'll do some bonus Q and A shows for subscribers. You can also find us on Facebook subtextpodcast, and on Twitter njoysubtext.