James Ducat’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in CutBank, Apogee, Spoon River Poetry Review, Clockhouse, The Inflectionist Review, on Verse Daily and elsewhere. He lives with his partner, his son and his dog in a house painted pink.

James’ poem “Jacaranda” appears in the Summer 2020 issue and is available to order in print and digital.

Jacaranda trees are often seen as polarizing—beautiful but invasive and messy—and you really captured that in such a unique way. Why did you choose this as the central piece of imagery for this poem?

For me, the Jacaranda enacts the impermanence, wonder, and ineffability of life. I was immediately drawn in by the tree the first time I saw one after I moved to California 25 years ago. Jacaranda blooms and then drops its blossoms quickly, and the exact duration of its shouty show-off-ness varies from year to year depending on temperature and moisture levels. Its very existence seems to embody all that is just beyond the reach of reproducibility. I am pleased to hear that the poem catalogs that duality of beauty and frustration for folx.

This poem both fully and subtly immerses you in Southern California. How does that sense of place factor into your writing?

I am a native New Englander, but long before I moved to Southern California, I felt it was where I was meant to be. I have lived in big cities, towns, and tiny villages across the northeastern US and in Southern California, and each offers an architectural, geographic, and cultural lens through which I process the world. Southern California’s diversity, though, is special to me, and it is home now. The local landscape especially, juxtaposing desert and mountain, continues to fascinate me. As a result, place often inhabits my poems, but I don’t seem to notice that it has until after it shows up.

I love the way this poem evolves and really pulls the reader forward with it, and I found myself feeling exactly in step with the final sentiment “not want[ing] to end so soon.” How do you know when a poem is finished?

I think this is a great question for this poem, because like the idea of capturing the tree, this poem taunted me for years. It, too, wanted to remain out of reach. At some point, I wish I could say I know how, the final idea aligned with me or emerged once I let go of working so hard to find it. I knew right away the poem was done. That isn’t always the way. Mostly, a poem is finished when I feel a sense of transcendence, based on some blend of craft and abandonment. I always leave a piece of writing for a time and return to it to see if it is doing what I thought. I will say this: I can always tell that a poem is not finished if it feels clever. I would prefer not to be clever.

Who are some contemporary poets whose work you admire?  Whose work have you been excited about lately?

Ada Limon, DA Powell, Ocean Vuong, Ross Gay, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Casandra Lopez, a Chicana and California Indian (Cahuilla/Tongva/Luiseño) writer whose voice and work are vibrant and necessary and wonderful.