What exactly is art; who defines it; who makes it, and where in Atlanta do poets, thespians, and artists congregate and create? We’ll use this space to catch up with a few for a few…some you may know; others we hope you’ll be pleased to make their acquaintance.
The poetry scene in Atlanta is vast and eclectic, including spoken word artists, page poets, educators, and academics. Yet somehow, it always feels like a close-knit community; each reading, book release, or event is a genuine reunion.
And if you ever found yourself at an open mic reading at Java Monkey (the much-missed Decatur coffee house), at the Decatur Library, or at one of Cecilia Woloch’s poetry workshops, chances are you might be kinfolk. Or at the very least, you’ve met members of this extended poetic family. Especially these two icons: Amy Pence and Rupert Fike, whom I had the opportunity to catch up with briefly to discuss Atlanta, their work, and what they’d put in a time capsule for future poets.
Fike and his wife, Kathy, live in Clarkston — a town CNN dubbed “the most diverse square mile in America,” thanks to its refugee resettlement networks. He appreciates that the universe has provided him endless opportunities to get involved, lend a hand, and experience the best of what America has to offer. Fike’s chosen hideaway is Waller’s Coffee Shop, which he describes as “an old rambling Avondale house…. the most decidedly “downscale” establishment – mismatched seating, gloomy interior and an outdoor area with stage, vine-covered trees and an actual creek that somehow supports minnows. Music, poetry, caffeine!”
When not hanging out at home in the idyllic Pine Lake, Pence says she can be found in Decatur “at Raging Burritos for flavor, Jeni’s for sweetness, Little Shop of Stories for wonder, or Squash Blossom for shoes with soul.” Otherwise, you might find her at the library reading or hanging out with her partner in Fayetteville. Pence, who has lived north, south, and west of Atlanta’s perimeter since moving here in 1992, is a multi-hyphenate who writes poetry, essays, fiction, and interviews other writers.
As I mentioned, both of you are key figures in the Atlanta poetry world. Can you share how Atlanta inspires your work as a character, backdrop, or community?
Pence: While my previous books drew from other locales and places (real or imaginary), my just-released collection of poetry, We Travel Towards It, is set in and around Atlanta—Carrollton for some poems and Pine Lake for the poems about the treefall that hit my house as I escaped it in 2017 after Hurricane Irma. One of the poems, “Communion,” is set in a hotel suite when I was temporarily unhoused. I hope it captures the unexpected nature of disasters and how they impact the survivors as well as the sense of Atlanta’s community, which is both rich and varied, and unites when the going gets tough.
Fike: Growing up in 1950s and ’60s Virginia-Highland radicalized me at an early age. Grady High (now Midtown High School) drew heavily from the Jewish Morningside community to the extent that we were called “Hebrew High” if we were wearing our school jackets. I got to be on the receiving end of irrational hate. Plus, my father would rail against the Civil Rights movement and “outside agitators” at the dinner table. Later, in 1969, I was living in a big Midtown house filled with anti-war activists and SCLC workers. Outside agitators became my people! My father responded by pointing out that he had left me $5 in his will.
Tell us about your recent or upcoming releases: All Things in Common: Poems from The Farm; and Amy, your debut novel, Yellow, forthcoming in 2026?
Pence: I wrote Yellow during the pandemic—I’ve heard there are quite a few books out there now that reflect those times. I struggled with a very different novel for over 10 years before this book came quickly after learning about the intelligent slime mold (Physarum polycephalum), which was discovered or probably rediscovered in a backyard in 1973. The book begins with Z, a 12-year-old, and her relationship with what she calls Yellow. I then introduce many other threads related to that year in the news, including the launch of Skylab, Watergate, UFO sightings, and the release of American POWs from Vietnam. The novel spans over 48 years in the life of performance artist Z and weaves fact, physics, and philosophy. I’m beholden to my partner, Noon, who listened to every chapter and grew to love my characters. During Covid times, we spit-balled ideas together. My agent sold it to Red Hen Press in 2024, and so far, the process has been amazing.
Fike: All Things In Common: Poems from The Farm tells the story of The Farm (a radical spiritual commune) through the voices of its “voluntary peasants,” over 1,000 almost tragically idealistic young people who tried to show the world that we could create a model village with exportable technology for soy protein, solar power and water systems. It was an over-the-top conceit, yet there we were for 15 or so years, living it – and not taking very good care of ourselves or our children. Some of the voices are more committed than others, and many of the poems are in a woman’s voice. The book was originally going to be all sonnets – I spent a residency at the Hambidge Arts Center working on them – but then that just seemed limiting, there needed to be some free-verse rants.
Amy and Rupert, can you recall a line from another poet or a poem that fundamentally altered your understanding of your own voice?
Pence: After graduating from college, I visited my sister in Boston and went to the Grolier Poetry Book Shop (the oldest continuously operated poetry bookshop) in Cambridge, where I bought two books of poetry: Carolyn Forché’s The Country Between Us and Louise Glück’s The House on Marshland. I’d never heard of Glück, and I was captivated by her lyric voice. Little did I know she was to become a Nobel Prize winner. The last line of “All Hallows” is “And the soul creeps out of the tree.” What? In those days, this was innovative and, for me, an acknowledgment that poetry is about capturing Spirit—the big Spirit and all our carryings on here as earthlings.
Fike: I’ve organized a couple of “straight-through” readings of Whitman’s Song of Myself with 30-40 writers participating. And every time I heard something new that I realize I’d processed a long time ago and forgotten about.
Which collection of poems would you consider or want to be your artistic legacy?
Pence: My initial choice was [It] Incandescent, my hybrid book that weaves threads of prose, the poetry of Emily Dickinson, scholarship, and my own poetry to create a poetic journey. The book obsessed me for a few years because I could not determine its form: was it a novel or poetry? I was glad to find the book was both. However, now I would choose Yellow. I’m sneaking it in under your question because the book, at the start, was also a hybrid. Once I realized it was a novel, I rewrote the poems into prose poems. I think the book is more of a reflection of where I want to be as a human and a creator than where I am. I actually aspire to the minds of some of the characters in my book rather than just aspiring to the mind of Emily Dickinson. However, hopefully, I’ll have a larger body of work to choose in the future!
Fike: I do hope future historians will be thankful for this collection as a valuable, down-in-the-trenches resource. Lauren Groff based much of her novel, Arcadia, on The Farm experience. One of the midwives has been inducted into the Women’s Hall of Fame in Seneca Falls, New York.
Considering the future: if you were to leave five items in a time capsule for an aspiring poet to discover in 20 years, what would they be and why?
Fike:
- A union card (redeemable for one year of proletariat life).
- A three-month rail pass (continent of your choice).
- A Room of One’s Own (both the book and the room).
- A modest yearly stipend (what Ms. Woolf said was just as important as the room).
- A copy of Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky.
Pence:
- A 2025 Poetry Magazine because the Editor-in-Chief, Adrian Matejka, curates young and diverse voices, established poets, international features as well as pieces on essential and overlooked poets from the past.
- My favorite collection of poems is Soft Science by Franny Choi, because in twenty years, Choi’s book about an Asian AI bot may prove to be prescient, naïve, or revelatory to future readers; whatever way it’s received, I believe it captures a specific time and Choi’s genius mind before we knew what was coming.
- Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson is a modern feminist take on Letters to a Young Poet, using her deep understanding of classical literature and philosophy to explore the nature of eroticism in writing. It’s a sexy book for a burgeoning poet.
- Tyehimba Jess’s Olio, the 2017 Pulitzer Prize winner in Poetry that explores the joys and struggles of first-generation freed slaves, early blues musicians, and figures like Paul Laurence Dunbar and Booker T. Washington. Jess’s use of a two-column contrapuntal form highlights contrasting voices and reflects the impact of racial hatred in 19th- to early 20th-century U.S. history, offering valuable lessons for new poets.
- Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry by Jane Hirshfield is a collection of essays exploring a Zen approach to writing poetry. In the first chapter, she explores how “great art” concentrates on the complexities of life.
To connect with Amy, you can follow her on Facebook, Instagram: @amy_pence_writer, or Substack or check out her website.
You can also check out Rupert’s conversation with Cecilia Woloch and Patty Thompson about All Things In Common: Poems from The Farm and his playlist for the book.
