Note from the editor: We thought readers might enjoy the following interview between Sharon Gallagher and Luci Shaw, originally published in 2012 (Vol. 36, No. 4).
Radix: In your book, The Crime of Living Cautiously, I was interested to read about the adventures of your father, a medical missionary and a man of great courage. How was he an influence in your life?
Luci Shaw: My dad’s place in my early life (he died when I was in my 20s) is incalculable.
He was a strong, loving father who encouraged my early writing and proudly carried some of my embryonic poems around in his briefcase to show to friends. He was an “older father,” aged 60 when I was born, but physically active and energetic until he died at 83. He climbed stairs two at a time (perhaps it was a kind of bravado), took a cold bath every morning, and never wore an overcoat even in the severe Toronto winters.
He encouraged me and my younger brother to take risks, climbing cliffs, taking long mountain hikes, and sailing. He bought us a small sailboat and in our pre-teens sent us off to sail across the Muskoka lakes in Ontario. He swam with us across those mile-wide lakes. He taught us to ice skate.
He had a relationship with God that is hard to describe, almost mystical. As an international conference speaker, after leaving his missionary work in the Solomon Islands, he preached about the victorious life in Christ. But sometimes, even in a gathering of friends, he would “lose himself” in the presence of God, and be somewhere else.
He woke at four every morning and prayed “around the world” for all the friends he had made on his travels, and for the South Sea Evangelical Mission for which he was a pioneer and explorer. He was the first white man to cross and chart the island of Guadalcanal, with a camera but without a weapon. His risk-taking, gutsy genes are implanted in my brother and me, and now in some of our children.
Radix: Do you remember when you wrote your first poem?
Shaw: It must have been pretty early. I loved playing with words as far back as I can remember, and I had teachers who encouraged that, even in the primary grades.
Our family moved around a lot from England to Australia to Canada and back. My education was often interrupted, but books and words were a constant in my life. But I do remember an early, very melodramatic poem I wrote that went something like this:
“I saw a loon against the moon/
and knew of judgment coming
soon.What was that? ‘Twas a knock
against the door. Nothing more.
What can stay the dreadful day
when the moon is turned to
blood?” etc.
Such a theme probably had to do with our sense of the imminent return of Christ. I’m sure there were more playful poems, but they haven’t been preserved.
Radix: Do you remember the first poem you loved reading?
Shaw: That was a long time ago! As kids we loved Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems, some set to music. But I don’t remember much about reading poetry early on. I guess it was mostly Victorian poetry, or the Romantics like Wordsworth and Longfellow and Tennyson, which my dad liked and fed to me. Of course we loved Winnie the Pooh and the writings of Beatrix Potter.
Radix: As a student at Wheaton, I believe you had a mentor. In what ways did that help you?
Shaw: As an English Literature major, I took a course from Dr. Clyde Kilby, the professor who was responsible for establishing the C. S. Lewis Collection at Wheaton. From then on, I took every course this wonderful teacher offered. It is because of him that I persevered as a poet.
My parents had sent me to Wheaton because they wanted me to be a missionary, in line with family tradition. In my junior year my dad flew down to Wheaton and confronted Dr. Kilby, announcing, “I don’t want you destroying my daughter’s missionary vision!” With great courage (my dad was a revered figure and chapel speaker at the school) Dr. Kilby said: “Dr. Deck, I think that’s your vision, not your daughter’s!” After that I heard no more from Dad about changing my major.
Kilby, a great man of letters, encouraged me in multiple ways. When my assignment was to write a research paper and instead I wrote an epic poem, he’d give me an “A” and note on the page, “Send it to The Atlantic today!”
His senior seminars were legendary. A small group of us would meet in his apartment for long discussions that included literature, theology, philosophy, faith, and the practicalities of life. I would often drop by in the mornings when he was still in his pajamas answering letters, and his wife, Martha, served us apple turnovers. The Kilbys had no children but many grandchildren. Dr. Kilby became the honorary grandfather for many of us Literature majors. My youngest daughter is named Kristin Kilby Shaw. He left her a tea-cart, part of his dining room set.
After he retired to Mississippi, we often talked by phone. I was the last person to speak to him before he died of a stroke. He’d come in from his garden, where he was tending his hybrid irises, to talk to me. His final words to me were, “You’re a real poet, and I love you.”
Radix: After you married Harold Shaw and the two of you founded Harold Shaw Publishers, what was your role? Were you a writer and editor?
Shaw: For convoluted reasons Harold was let go from Moody Press and we decided, on our knees in prayer, that with Harold’s business savvy and my editorial skills (I’d been working as a freelance editor to supplement our meager income) we could start a new publishing company, with a mission to provide “books for thoughtful Christians.” Almost immediately we began soliciting manuscripts.
We built a large house in Western Springs, and the basement became our warehouse and packing area. The five children helped stuff envelopes for mailings and helped us drag the mail sacks full of books to the post office every day.
Those were the days when the inductive Bible study movement was developing in home and church groups, and I wrote or edited many Bible study guides as well as literary biographies, collections of poetry and short stories, and books by authors such as J. I. Packer, Thomas Howard, Madeleine L’Engle, Jack Leax, and Mike Mason. These writers all ended up becoming our friends. Working closely with authors results in great friendships.
As well as “author relations” I was managing book design and production for Shaw, a job that I loved. Type was all set by hand in those days. Many of my photographs ended up as book covers and I worked with some skilled designers, learning as the press expanded. My title was Vice President and Senior Editor, and as the company grew we hired more staff. At its height the company was publishing 40-50 books a year.
Radix: You had a large family. Did having children slow you down as a writer? How did you balance both roles, writer and mother?
Shaw: Raggedly! We had four kids in six years and our youngest 10 years later. Between work at the office and my being a home-maker, I had little free time. But, unlike novels, poems are small units of words that can appear in the cracks of available time. Even now, as a poem arrives, I can get distracted and do things like putting a hot pot of coffee in the refrigerator, or breaking an egg down the disposal. I’ve even tried to answer the phone with the TV remote. When a poem comes, it takes over. No matter how busy I am, it is imperious and will not be denied.
Radix: You were raised in the Plymouth Brethren and as an adult you and Harold were in the Brethren for years. Now you’re an Episcopalian. Could you talk about what motivated that move and whether moving to this liturgical church tradition relates in any way to your vocation as a poet?
Shaw: The Plymouth Brethren was a group of Christian believers in England who left the Anglican church, believing that it was devoid of vitality and spiritual life. My great-grandfather, J. G. Deck, was one of the founders, along with notables such as John Darby and George Muller. Our family grew up among the so-called “Open Brethren.” It espoused New Testament principles like the weekly “Breaking of Bread,” but had no ordained clergy and was led by laymen “elders.” There was a high view of Scriptural inerrancy and literacy. The Brethren were missionary-oriented and evangelistic. It was a tight-knit community, and marrying outside of the group was frowned on.
What I found difficult was that as a woman I was to be in submission to my husband and the elders, demonstrating this by being silent and wearing a head covering. Worship services were to be open to the leading of the Holy Spirit, so that individuals could lead in prayer, expound Scripture, suggest a hymn, etc. Unless you were a woman. Often a theme would develop and I would have an idea that furthered the thinking. I would try to convey this to my husband sotto voce but was not allowed to voice it myself. Women were not supposed to have insights or ask questions except to one’s husband or the elders.
If I lifted my voice I knew I would be out of order and disqualified from the discussion. This led to continual frustration on my part. I had an active mind, was Scripturally informed, was speaking to other groups around the country, but there seemed to be no way for me to participate publicly in my own faith community.
As the wife of an elder, I got together with other elders’ wives and for a year we did a careful Bible study on the role of women in the New Testament. How come the Holy Spirit gave both men and women spiritual gifts if they were not to use them? We presented our findings to the elders but because we were female they weren’t taken seriously. Nothing changed. The narrowness was suffocating.
Finally Harold took my sadness to heart and we resigned from the Brethren. We found a great Episcopal church with Biblical preaching and an openness based on gift, not gender. Being with this more open fellowship has blessed me ever since. And I am free to be a blessing to others. And I love the liturgy.
Radix: You and Madeleine L’Engle became great friends. (You even coauthored a book on friendship). How did the long, close relationship influence you both as writers?
Shaw: Finding a kindred spirit is a boost to the mind and soul. We met at a literature conference and discovered similar likes and dislikes. Our relationship started off with me as Madeleine’s editor for a book of poetry, followed by Walking on Water, that I asked her to write, about faith and art. This involved spirited discussions about authenticity, spirituality, creativity, God, and life.
I ended up editing 11 of her books, and we co-authored three. In this close cooperation we both learned a lot from each other, coming from opposite ends of the Christian spectrum and usually ending up in the middle. Madeleine had many friends around the world, and it was an act of God’s grace that we ended up loving each other as much as we did for over 35 years.
A friendship like that results in something that is greater than the sum of its parts. There were theological disagreements, but we respected each other enough to agree to disagree and find joy and stimulation in what we loved in common, which was book talk and God talk.
Radix: You and Madeleine both lost your husbands at around the same time and you both wrote books about that experience.
Shaw: Yes. Both Harold and Hugh died of cancer the same year. Though Madeleine and I had a continent separating us, we talked a lot on the phone. We didn’t have email, but notes and letters flowed back and forth. This was a huge comfort to us both, because we didn’t have to explain our feelings, our ups and downs. We knew.
She wrote Two-Part Invention and I wrote God in the Dark about marriage and the devastation of losing a spouse. In her book, Madeleine told of how she was on a boat trip across the Atlantic Ocean and suddenly felt an unexplained pang that shook her viscerally. She guessed that Harold had died, and later we authenticated it; that was the exact date and time of his death.
Radix: After some years as a widow you met and married John Hoyte, who had lost his wife. John’s parents were also courageous missionaries. Do you think that common background was part of what drew you together?
Shaw: Yes, that was certainly part of the initial attraction. We also had British backgrounds and common faith. We actually got engaged very shortly after we met on a blind date for which I flew out from Chicago and John flew up from the Bay Area. We had dinner together at a Greek restaurant in Vancouver, B.C.
We’ve now been married 22 years, and 15 years ago moved up to Bellingham, WA, where we intend to live until we die! John is a man of immense energy, and is an encouraging companion. We love many of the same things, camping, sailing, playing Scrabble, traveling, entertaining, being involved in our church ministries.
Radix: One thing that has always struck me about your poetry (since a fellow Regent College student read me poems from your Listen to the Green many years ago) is how responsive you are to the natural world. So, I’m wondering how living in these different places has affected your work.
Shaw: The natural world seems to me to have come directly from the Creator’s hand with all its diversity and pattern and color, unspoiled by concrete and steel and human depredation.
As a child I went to summer camps in Ontario, Canada, living in tents, taking canoe trips along a chain of lakes, absorbing green in sunshine and rain, finding abundant connections between growth and flowering in plants and people. For me the beauty of nature is a gift of grace. We haven’t earned it; we simply have to tune ourselves to it with awareness and attentiveness.
But I need to rethink this question. The natural world also contains us, the creatures made in God’s image, into which we long to grow more fully and demonstrate the attributes of originality and generosity. I think with divine love on our side we can re-shape our humanity and environment and assist it in becoming more congruent with God’s purposes. That too is a part of writing for me.
I’ve lived in countries with vastly different flora and fauna: England, Australia, Canada, and in the States in Illinois, California, and Washington State. Australian bush is redolent with varieties of eucalyptuses and oddly beautiful animals like kangaroos and koalas. I still have dreams about the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, where I lived as a teen.
When I married John and moved from Illinois to California, the state had undergone many years of drought and I had to learn different methods of gardening to conserve water. The hills were a dry, golden brown like an animal’s tawny fur, beautiful in their own way. This kind of dryness is not a problem in Bellingham, where rain and green are abundant. Washington is not called the Evergreen State for nothing.
The standing stone in my front garden is inscribed with a fragment from an old poem of mine: “Planting seeds changes my feelings about rain.” My study window overlooks a rushing creek surrounded by ferns and cedars. The sights and sounds of water and of wind in the trees speak volumes to me. They refresh and re-hydrate me.
Radix: A few years ago we were together driving up the California coast from a Big Sur retreat with our friend Susan Phillips. You were quiet for a little while (really not long) and then told us you’d just written two poems. Have there ever been poems that were difficult for you to write?
Shaw: Every poem is its own entity. Each comes in its own time and space. In the case you mention, I believe the time of quiet at the retreat had given me (really given us all) time to ponder and discern the direction of our lives and work. That was the catalyst for poetry for me, and the poems came together in my mind on the trip home, ready to burst into being.
I have many unfinished poems that simply haven’t found themselves. Perhaps they never will. I call them fetal poems, and my computer is full of first lines that trail off into nothing. I have to allow that; I cannot force them into being. For me this is the work of the Spirit, calling me to attend and listen for the words that come to mind and giving them time and space to develop.
Radix: Which poets have influenced you in your own work?
Shaw: All the metaphysical poets, Donne, Crashaw, Herbert, but G. M. Hopkins in particular (deeply moved as he was by the whimsical peculiarities of nature, yet all immersed in God’s glory). These are the poets who reached beyond physical realities to acknowledge the mystery of divine involvement in human life.
Among contemporary poets I love and learn from the work of Galway Kinnell, Seamus Heaney, Mark Jarman, Andrew Hudgins, Betsy Sholl, Robert Cording, Jeanne Murray Walker, Paul Willis, Jack Leax, Dana Gioia, Jane Hirshfield, Scott Cairns, and many others. Not all of them are poets of faith, but all of their poems show inklings of transcendence. That is what I love and look for.
I have multiple shelves of poetry books, the majority signed by their authors. Reading poems by others often sends my own work off in its own new direction. Fresh rhythms and forms call me to invent and develop my own patterns of prosody. I hope never to get complacent about the gift of poetry or find myself buried in a groove that gets restrictive. I value reading new poems in literary journals such as Radix, Image, Books & Culture, The Atlantic, Shenandoah, and other prominent literary journals. It’s amazing and satisfying to me that religious ideology is showing up in so much contemporary poetry. The presence of God is making itself known in writing because our culture, secular though much of it is, is suffused with Biblical referents, history, and imagery.
Radix: What advice would you give to young (or beginning) writers?
Shaw: I’d suggest several things. I’d say, immerse yourselves in poetry, new and old. Read widely for ideas, images, and forms. Avoid generalities. In your poetry, focus on specifics that will hook themselves in your readers’ memories. Paint vivid pictures in words. Use metaphors and avoid abstracts. Avoid too many adjectives. Don’t preach or moralize.
Don’t explain too much; let the imagery carry the message. Let your readers be part of the creative process by allowing for a variety of interpretations. Join a poetry workshop or creative writing course for instruction and feedback. Submit your own work to journals in which you find the kind of poetry that stirs you. Buy books of poetry to keep the industry going!
Radix: You’ve kept a personal journal for years, and have written a book on journal-keeping. Has this discipline contributed to the other “public” writing you do?
Shaw: I value a personal, reflective journal to pin down ideas as they arrive. I used to be more disciplined about this than I am now!
But I know that if I don’t record a phrase or image that snags itself on my brain, it will disappear. I need to catch it. My journal is like a butterfly net to capture a wisp of thought. It’s like a glass jar to keep lightning bugs so I can watch them wink.
I keep a small notebook in my purse. A larger one on my night-table. And pens and pencils available. Invaluable tools.
Radix: What book are you working on now?
Shaw: At 84, I’ve been writing a new book about getting older—its benefits and its deficits. I’m hoping to open a window to help younger generations understand what it’s like. I long for readers to realize that within a fragile or wrinkled body, a bright inquisitive spirit can live on. I hope to show that spiritual and artistic growth can continue even as the physical being slows down and diminishes. I’ve had a lot of fun writing this book. I find it’s realistic and not at all depressing or morbid to think of our lives, their meaning, the process of dying, the need to keep living as fully as one can to fulfill God’s purposes for one’s individual life.
I’m calling this book Views from a Steep Slope. It’s full of stories of the hike up this mountain of aging, with its highs and lows, its disappointments, and its triumphs. It’s being edited now for publication, hopefully next year. I have also completed a new volume of poems titled The Slow Pleasures that will be released by Word Farm in the near future. A few of these poems have appeared in Radix.
One final note: As poetry editor for Radix for many years, I’m mightily encouraged by the caliber of poetry that is being submitted for publication. What we look for in contributors are poems that include intimations of a God-centered universe. We receive a large volume of poetry, and occasionally mount a poetry contest that brings in a wide variety of good poems. Here at Radix we believe that poetry feeds a kind of soul hunger that nothing else can satisfy.