I knew her voice stood for the language of a certain kind of experience that was a soul experience. It was beyond race or gender or anything. It just came deeply from her– who she was and her experience. I mean, now if I go to heaven, Billie and I are going to be hanging out. I just know it. You meet somebody. You love somebody. There’s nobody like that person in the universe and you feel a deep connection, and that happens just a couple times in your life. It doesn’t matter if they’re alive or dead.

So other than her voice, her struggles which came out in her music, was there more of a direct influence from listening to her? If I were to go through your books…
DERRICOTTE: Would you just be able to tell it? I’ve written about Billie Holiday, but I’ve never really been able to complete something about her that’s to my satisfaction. But I am still working on it and I have a very long piece now about Billie Holiday. But to tell you to the truth, I never valued my experiences, I can’t describe it exactly, but I never valued my influences in a certain kind of way. Some artists can talk about, “Oh, you know, I have a connection to–” I was just reading an article in The New Yorker this week about G.K. Chesterton and the importance he places on these events that have happened in his life.

I think in some ways, a part of me sort of didn’t think I was important– didn’t think my experiences were that important. I knew I wanted to write. I knew I had things I wanted to express, but I didn’t give myself a history of artist significance in some kind of way. I think it’s sort of like being black, being a woman. I had never read a black writer; I wasn’t reading women. The only thing I knew about being a black writer is that I was nothing like the ones they had in those books– I felt that a lot of it was dominated by a male kind of thinking about art. I felt not only alien to it, I felt, I think, resentful. And I didn’t want to think like that.

I think there’s something hurtful about men and women who have presented themselves as perfect as beyond flaws. As in “You should imitate me. You should be like me.” I don’t think that’s a good thing for artists.

Moving ahead to where you are now, who do you think you are reaching?
DERRICOTTE: Certainly in Cave Canem, the workshop retreat for African American poets, I’m appreciated as the co-founder. You know, that wouldn’t exist unless I had thought of that idea and approached people to help me do it, because I couldn’t have done it by myself. I tried. I think in terms of that, there’s a unity between what caused me to do that and what caused me to write. And I think what it is, is a part of me that is very determined, open to, and encouraging of diverse points of view in process. That is, an openness to not necessarily positive thoughts about myself as a person and as an artist– I had somebody at Cave Canem last week say, “You know, Toi, some of us were talking about how hard it is for us to hear that you’re really nervous when you do readings. Like, we thought, ‘She should be over that by now.’” And, they said, “Another part of us says, ‘Isn’t that great that she can do this brilliant work that she’s doing, but she’s scared just like we are.’” That’s a kind of an improvement. So I like to think of myself as being able to say to other artists, other writers, “Look, you can take everything. Take the parts of yourself you don’t like. Take everything and use it in your work. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to appear perfect.”

It probably makes for more interesting content when you’re not.
DERRICOTTE: Right. And also I think I’m just open to talking about that, too, to bringing it not just to your art, but to bring it into a conversation with the world. I think there’s something hurtful about men and women who have presented themselves as perfect as beyond flaws. As in “You should imitate me. You should be like me.” I don’t think that’s a good thing for artists.

That’s a good point.
DERRICOTTE: It’s almost like, “I’m the one, not you.” You know, “Look at me. It’s not about you.” And I don’t feel that’s– I don’t feel it’s necessary. I don’t feel it’s even helpful for anyone to think that way. It doesn’t make better art I don’t think. It doesn’t make people and it doesn’t make better art.

And when you do fall off of that plateau, it’s a tumble.
DERRICOTTE: It’s a big damn tumble. Actually, I do it just about every time I do a reading. It’s hard for a poet who does readings to I think present some things about themselves that make them so vulnerable and not feel that you’ve just tumbled off something.

Can we talk about your creative process. When you’re writing, are you a planner? Are you someone who knows where your poems are going?
DERRICOTTE: To a certain extent. I wrote a little poem today. A lot of poets are writing prose now, too. And I’m working on prose as well, and I was thinking for me, it’s about the line and it’s about being in harmony with the voice in me that feels like it wants to spread out and, you know, have a little bit of space to move around in. And I compared it to letting the dog off the leash. And you’re in the park and the dog is running around. But it doesn’t mean that the master isn’t right there watching, and it doesn’t mean that the dog hasn’t been trained.

So for me that’s what writing prose is like for now. And I think it’s poetry for me. But it’s just given me a bit more space with my voice, and so now I do that– open-ended writing. I don’t know where it’s going to go. And yet I do have a theme in mind that I’m working on right now which is being the age I am and making the transition from being a person very concerned about appearance and being a person much less concerned about appearance, in terms of being a writer as well as a physical.

Tell me about your process.
DERRICOTTE: I go to the library every day at 9:00. No phone calls, no laundry, no dishes. The library opens at 9:00; I’ve had my cup of coffee; I’m in the library. I have my computer. I have a folder that I work on. And at the end of the day, I’ve decided what I’m going to work on tomorrow.