In the House of An Interview with Jack

Ridl

When I enter Jack’s home, he welcomes me as he always does: in the company of his dog Vivi and with a great big hug. Before we sit, he asks me if I’d like anything to drink. I accept a cup of green tea and he reheats his coffee in the microwave. Then we venture to the sun room. He points me to the chair with the best view of the woods and he and Vivi take to the couch. We chat, as us Michiganders are prone to do in February, about the weather. He tells me about yesterday’s walk with the dog after the ice storm and describes it as “living in a Chihuly glass sculpture.” I am in the presence of a poet, and an award winning one at that. But Jack doesn’t care about the awards. “I’m a poet because of the way I see things,” he says, “Not because I write things down.”

Jack is the ideal interviewee, not just because he talks like a poet. He takes time to reminisce and leads us down unexpected rabbit holes. In his words, “You go to tangents because they’re interesting right?”

His background as a writer is quite the odyssey, a wandering epic with a vibrant cast of characters, many of them prolific poets. Jack started his career with words as a songwriter for Li-Young Lee’s sister, Ming “Fifi” Lee Servos. When she married, she left behind the music industry, but not without offering Jack some defining words for his practice. “You’re the only person I know who writes western songs with eastern sensibility,” Lee told him. Through our conversation, I see Lee’s sentiment shining through. Our conversation repeatedly drifts towards taoist principles of being and eschews stoic self-assurance.

When I ask what inspires his writing, he shrugs off the question. “That’s a little too me centered,” Jack says. He goes on to tell me about his writing practice. Every single poem begins with writing down the title first. “Everything is connected,” he believes and so he trusts that the rest of the poem will follow.

While Ridl had found success writing music for Lee, he decided to leave the industry behind. “I’ll turn my lyrics into poems,” he thought, assuming the transition would follow with ease. A mutual connection introduced Jack to the poet Paul Zimmer, who swiftly took Jack under his wing. When the young writer brought in a collection of poems for Zimmer to review, his response was, “Sure, I’ll help… and we’re going to start all over.” It wouldn’t be as simple as turning lyrics into poems, it seemed. Zimmer told Jack to keep on writing and he’d tell the aspiring writer when a