"How do I love thee?"
For partners Lisa Steinman and Jim Shugrue, poetry begins
every day. In their 16th year of marriage, the couple have
built a life around a mutual passion for writing and language.
Steinman, a tenured English professor at Reed College, is
currently on leave while working on her fourth book of poems.
Shugrue, who works in the Reed College Bookstore, has published
two chapbooks of poetry.
Willamette Week: What was your first date?
Jim Shugrue: Do you remember Quality Pie? It isn't there
any more. It used to be on 23rd in Northwest. It was just
a greasy spoon coffee kind of place, we sat there and talked
about Ben Jonson.
Lisa Steinman: For hours.
Have you become less bohemian since you were married?
Jim: Not necessarily. I think I've always been the same
amount of bohemian. There's just a different level of change--Portland
has become a much much bigger town. Basically, the reading
circuit of the Northwest used to be 100 people. There were
always gatherings after readings that sometimes turned into
long discussions. You know, people passionately committed
to a minority art form can get pretty intense.
So dinner parties have changed?
Jim: It used to be, Blitz was the beer here. Kay's was
one of the main restaurants. Now, instead of meeting people
at Kay's on Friday, there are thousands of very elegant
restaurants to choose from.
You traveled around the country this fall to perform
readings together. Describe a memorable stop.
Lisa: When we went through Santa Fe, we stopped at an art
exhibit and saw collaborative works by a couple. Partly
because of that, I think, it spoke to our experience as
a couple. But we also just simply loved the work. He paints,
but she also makes installations, using, sometimes, his
painting.
Do you feel societal pressure to have kids?
Jim: Occasionally at gatherings people say, "How old are
your kids?" And I say, "We don't have any," and it's kind
of like you dropped a bomb on the conversation. But otherwise,
not really. There's an awful lot of kids out there already.
Are poems your children?
Jim: Poetry does one thing that's similar to having children.
If you have children, death is no longer the cutoff date
for how long you have to make the world good. It becomes
the end of their lives or the end of their grandchildren's
lives. When you write, especially when you write something
like poetry that's often not appreciated in your own lifetime,
you need the world to survive and to be interested in poetry
in order for there to be that posterity.
Do you find writing to be a private activity?
Jim: We bounce off each other. Right now, Lisa's putting
together new and selected poems. I'm reading through them
and noticing the number of lines that I've stolen from her
and that she's stolen from me. Every night after dinner,
we sit and talk about politics and everything else. But
when you sit down at your desk you're pretty much on your
own.
So you have separate desks.
Lisa: Yes.
In separate rooms.
Lisa: Oh, yes.
Is it hard sometimes, to be married to someone who shares
your occupation?
Jim: No, not ever.
Lisa: Oh, I wouldn't change it for the world.
You never feel competitive?
Jim: I feel as jealous for Lisa's work as I am for mine.
I feel we're both neglected.
Is Valentine's Day important to you? Do you celebrate
it?
Lisa: Last year, our Christmas cactus bloomed. It was great
because it bloomed in the shape of a heart. I mean, not
a stylized heart, but a biology lab heart.
Is it ever a problem that you are so much different
in height?
Jim: You know, I never really thought of it. When you point
it out, it's obvious--I mean, I guess I am a whole foot
taller. But Lisa has a tall self-image.
What was the most romantic gift you've ever given each
other?
Lisa: Well, when we were first courting--very early on;
we weren't even entirely going together--my birthday took
place virtually after our first date. And [Jim] gave me
a bottle of wine and a book of Shakespeare's love sonnets.
Jim: Our life is an endless and continuous romance.
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Willamette Week | originally
published February 9,
2000
|
