Interview with Jim Landwehr, a Memoirist and a Poet Laureate Emeritus (Wisconsin)

Jim hails from St. Paul, Minnesota, where he spent his formative years. He has a deep passion for outdoor activities such as biking, kayaking, canoeing, camping, and fishing. His affinity for camping in the scenic expanse of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota inspired him to pen "Dirty Shirt: A Boundary Waters Memoir."

Since then he has published 3 additional memoirs and is working on his sixth collection of poetry. He was the 2018/2019 poet laureate for the Village of Wales, Wisconsin. We, at Lampshade Writers (LW), chatted with him on his relationship with words. 

LW: When did you start penning your poems?

JL: I really didn’t start taking my creative writing seriously until 2009 at the age of 47. (I know, that’s late in life!) I joined a critique group at AllWriters Workplace and Workshop to pursue my interest in writing creative nonfiction. It was during that class that I heard a few poets read their work and my interest was piqued. I started messing around with poetry and actually submitted one for a local magazine. It was accepted and I was very excited to finally have something published. That small poem in a small magazine fueled my interest for publication and I now have dozens of published pieces.

LW: Please share your journey from getting your first poem published to taking over as the East Region Vice President of the Wisconsin Fellowship Of Poets.

JL: After that initial poem was published, I began writing almost exclusively for publication. I primarily wrote nonfiction and now have four traditionally published memoirs. At the same time I was writing nonfiction, poetry was still a big part of all of it. I used my poetry acceptances to various magazines to eventually build and publish my first poetry collection, Written Life. Since then I have published five other collections with the latest, (Tea in the Pacific Northwest) coming out in a couple of weeks! From there I got involved in the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets first as a member, then helping with the website, and coming very soon, as the East Region co-Vice President. I think it’s fairly important to get involved in writing organizations. It is through them that we learn and get better as writers, as well as celebrating our victories. To that end, I am also very active in the Wisconsin Writers Association, which touches all genres.

LW: How has it changed you internally?

JL: I think poetry has made me more introspective and reflective. I look at situations sometimes thinking there might be a poem in there somewhere. I DO think that it makes me a better writer in my other genres as well. It helps me write more compactly using an economy of words in fiction and nonfiction.

LW: What do you like to do in your spare time? How does it affect your writing?

JL: I am semi-retired and have a broad set of outside interests. I am a big fisherman, kayaker and biker for starters. More recently, since my retirement, I have been focusing on trying new things that I never had time for before. Some of these things include:

A.    Rowing in an 8-person shell on the Milwaukee River for the Learn to Row program.

B.    I tried Curling for the first time at the Try Curling program at the Wauwatosa Curling Club. It’s a harder sport than it looks!

C.   I just started an adult Paint by Numbers project. I wanted to see if I had a knack for painting but didn’t want to jump in blindly, so this is a way to dip my toe into art without a huge investment.

LW: Anything you'd like to share with poets beginning their writing journey?

JL: I would say, start writing for yourself, not publication. Next, have some peers read your work and give you feedback. Then, determine if you want to send it out to the wider world for possible publication. Most of all my advice is, write!

LW: Your favourite poem of a poet you love.

JL: Days by Billy Collins
Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.

Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow

on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.

No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday

you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday’s saucer
without the slightest clink.

LW: Your favourite poem of yours?

Docked
by Jim Landwehr


I am crouching on the dock, separating a nightcrawler from a section of its body in order to bait a hook. –It’s okay, worms have seven hearts, it’ll be fine – My two kids and three of their cousins are catching bluegills and thus shortening nightcrawlers faster than I can separate them from their hearts. It is approaching dusk and the warm August air is electric with the energy of kids, summer and happiness. “I got another one!” my Sarah shouts. I barely have enough time to gulp a swig of my beer before helping her free her catch. “Give the fish a kiss and I’ll throw it back,” I joke. She plays along and feigns a kiss. A few boards away, two cousins accidently cross lines. My younger brother tends to it and spells me from my duties as fishing guide, father and uncle. Together we perform dockside triage, assessing the severity of each mishap and reacting – all the while trying to keep baits in the water to maximize the kids’ experience. Both of us realize the importance of what we are doing on this dock in northern Wisconsin. For I can say nothing of what my children or their cousins will remember, but it’s quite evident that these are lifetime memories for me. Somewhere during the chaotic chattering the sun sinks behind the trees and the bite tapers off. The tiny fisherpersons lose interest one by one and run off flip-flopping to seek refuge from the mosquitoes inside the warm glow of their cabins. As my brother and I pack up the tackle boxes, I put down the last swig of my beer. In the distance, a screen door slams.

You can read Jim's work here as well.