P2G Summer 2019 Quarterly Interview Feature:
Lucy Griffith
photo credit: Julia Robinson
Happiest on a tractor named Mabel (a muse of 55 horsepower) Lucy Griffith lives on a ranch beside the Guadalupe River near Comfort, Texas. Her first collection of poems We Make a Tiny Herd was published by Main Street Rag as a finalist in their poetry book contest. She also has work in several anthologies. She is the winner of the Donald
Everett Axinn Returning Contributor Award in Poetry for the 2019 Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. lucy@lucygriffithwriter.com
P2G
Your fascinating, heartwarming collection of poems, We Make a Tiny Herd, is centered
around the story of Judy Magers, also known as La Reina or Burro Lady. Where and when did you first see her, and what propelled you to write about her?
Griffith
During years of travels in West Texas, I’d be driving along, mesmerized by the scenery, a desert rimmed with mountains, and then pass a woman riding a burro in the bar ditch. Seeing her made a trip special. Once I even rode past her on my bike! Really, I didn’t know much about her. I began to read anything I could find. I found out her name was Judy Magers, and her legal address was: On the Road, Terlingua, Texas. I learned that she was called the Burro Lady or La Reina. I became fascinated with how she managed to live in that harsh climate and transfixed by her story. Something resonated deep within me as I imagined what her life might have been like. We Make a Tiny Herd began with a persona poem (“La Reina”) in the Dos Gatos Press anthology Bearing the Mask: Southwestern Persona Poems. I believe that the power of a persona poem lies in its ability to help the poet role-reverse with someone else. As a therapist trained in psychodrama, I find this role fluidity rich in inspiration. After publication of the persona poem, for the next three years, my husband and I traveled to West Texas and interviewed folks who knew her. They in turn, gave me other folks to talk to, and it grew from there. Once people knew I would not make a caricature of her, they were more open. Mike Capron, whose work is on the cover of the book, was especially generous with his stories. That portrait he did of Judy was painted entirely from memory. I wrote whatever occurred to me after our visits to West Texas. Poems of place came, imaginings of conversations with her, what the burro might think, what must of it have been like to be her mother. It was a very unstructured approach until by the end I was dreaming about her and imagining her beside me each day.
P2G
What was the most surprising thing you learned about La Reina?
Griffith
I was struck by how the far-flung community of West Texas not only respected La Reina’s right to be different, to be private, but celebrated her differences. I was told, “we don’t know her, but we love her.” Sightings of her were shared at the local café, “I saw La Reina in Valentine!” I was surprised that she was a symbol of freedom and courage to so many. Even at her funeral, her children were welcomed but no questions were asked. Privacy honored, even after her passing.
P2G
When you think of Judy Magers now, do you think of her as La Reina, Burro Lady, or Judy?
Griffith
That’s a really interesting question, Christine. When I am remembering her, imagining how she might handle a situation I am in, I think of her as Judy, a dear and thoughtful friend. When I am introducing her, so to speak, to someone new, I begin by describing the Burro Lady of West Texas. Then, when I want them to imagine what such a life might be like, I conjure her regal self, La Reina. That name reminds them that she was the queen of her own life, perhaps inspiration to each of us to be in charge of our own lives.
P2G
Your poem, “Voice,” reflects: Whenever I tell the tale of you,/I sense a change in me. Tell us more about this awareness. Did you find any parallels between her life and yours?
Griffith
Ironically, examining and imagining the life of a person who rarely spoke built my confidence as a writer and storyteller. Early in the research process, my husband asked me how I was feeling towards La Reina, and I immediate replied “protective.” It was as if a stronger voice could emerge in me as an advocate for someone else, someone who might benefit from my protection. La Reina also speaks to the part of me that knows when to walk away from a situation. I join many of those who admired her by envying her independence, how sturdily she resisted sharing more than she wanted to share.
Like La Reina, I take solace in nature and solitude. In addition, I have ridden horses since the age of 4, taken several week long trail rides, and always for me, a good day is one spent outside. My favorite view is the one between a horse’s ears!
P2G
In “Sisterhood of the Wrench” the speaker identifies with the Burro Lady as a woman alone, and by the end of the poem is embracing the empowerment she feels. There is a strong message in this for women of knowing it’s okay to be alone. Are there other messages you came away with while writing La Reina’s story?
Griffith
One of the themes of We Make a Tiny Herd is the idea of choice. La Reina conveyed,
wordlessly, that living outside, alone, was a choice, that she was at peace. It seemed as though her solitude was a cold drink of water to one who is desperately thirsty. I hope there is also a message about privacy, respect and secrets. Part of her specialness was the mystery. Like those who watched over her, I am comfortable not knowing her secrets.
P2G
In your P2G contributing poem, ‘Attention,” you speak of home as being that place of
attention. Did writing about La Reina make you think of home differently?
Griffith
That’s an intriguing one, Christine. La Reina carried her home with her over hundreds of miles. As one cowboy put it to me “she wasn’t ever afraid because she knew the land and its critters and their habits.” That can only have come from a deep and persistent attentiveness. The poem “Home on the Range: the Rules” addresses this idea. She made that bar ditch home by memorizing it. The original meaning of bar ditch is “borrowed,” the roadbed being borrowed from the edges. La Reina borrowed an open range along the highway, with no gates or fences, and made her home upon it!
P2G
Naomi Shahib Nye is one of my favorite poets. I quote her from an interview she had with Bill Moyers using it as a tagline on the Poems2Go’s website: “Poetry is a conversation with the world.” What was it like reading with her at The Twig book shop?
Griffith
I still grin from ear to ear whenever I remember that night! Naomi’s invitation meant the world to me. Her response to Tiny Herd was so warm and encouraging. Her new book The Tiny Journalist, is also about a strong woman and her imagined life. It was thrilling to tell La Reina’s story and then have Naomi fold in her story of a 13-year-old Palestinian girl documenting life in such a troubled space. Naomi’s generosity is legendary and I will never forget the night I think of as “Reading with My Hero.”
P2G
You are a certified Texas master naturalist. Can you tell us what that means and how this role influences your writing? And are you working on any current projects?
Griffith
The classes I took for certification mostly taught me how much I don’t know! But the training does hone your skills as an observer. I have learned to slow down, pay attention and be curious. It was easy to imagine the ease with which La Reina must have experienced the natural world, minus the distractions of cell phones, television. She was in it, a part of it every day and every night. If I have a favorite month in Far West Texas, it’s October. I go there every year that I can. I can see in my mind the wildflowers, the Old Man’s Beard waving from the barbed wire, fingers of fog in the low spots. Those details grew into the poem “October.” Whenever I see something that charms me, that I think others might miss, I have something to begin a poem. I start writing and hope that the observation has a secret or surprise, a “happy accident” for the reader. I am working on another collection, this one more personal—about my experiences growing up on a South Texas brush country ranch called Esperanza. The working title is Esperanza: School of Thorn and Fang. The lessons were tough as well as memorable. My hope is that the collection will work on several levels, as a wilderness story, a glimpse into a bilingual childhood, and as an intra-psychic exploration.
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