The Helga Pictures
Linda Kittell is a Clinical Associate Professor here in the WSU English Department. She has recently published a book of poetry titled The Helga Pictures.
Can you please tell us a little about the book?
The Helga Pictures is a series of 25 related poems which draw on Andrew Wyeth's series of paintings called The Helga Suite. Most of the poem titles correspond with the painting titles, paintings he did in secret over a fifteen year period. They are written in personae and together form a dialogue between Wyeth, his wife Betsy, his model Helga Testorf and myself based on my perceptions of the painter's work.
What is the process you used to write the poems in this book? Is it the same for every poem or are they all different?
I worked slowly, studying the techniques of Wyeth and the medium of the individual paintings I was drawn to. Egg tempuras are done slowly and methodically--layers of paint over months of time. The poems that take their titles from egg tempuras took long periods of time to write. Quicker little poems reflect Wyeth's pencil drawings and water colors. I didn't work in a straight line--I filled in the areas where I saw the narrative line of the collection needed filling.
From what sources do you draw inspiration for your poetry?
For this book, the sources are obvious: Wyeth's Helga Suite.
Is there any poem in particular that is your favorite? Why?
It's hard to choose, but for today I'd say "Verso of #199: Dr. Syn." In it, I look back to imagine how Andrew Wyeth came to painting and his connection with his father, the famous illustrator N.C. Wyeth.
What advice would you give to aspiring poets?
Besides the constant advice of read, read, read and know the continuum of poets available for that reading? I'd say don't rush to publish. Don't sell yourself. Make sure what you send out is unique to you and that you'll be proud to look back on it years later.
Can you describe briefly the process you went through to publish your work? When did you begin working on this collection? 
I wrote the book over about 2 1/2 years and researched the life, work and technique of Wyeth extensively. I finished the collection about fifteen years ago and sent it out obeying the rules I set myself long ago, rules that many would find foolish: No double submissions. No using the influence of others to forward my work. It took about 2 1/2 years from acceptance to publication; the editor of Pecan Grove, Palmer Hall, had three major surgeries during that time.
As a modern poet, who would you describe as your biggest influence? Who is your favorite historical poet?
I have two favorite poets from the ancient world--Sappho and Homer. Sappho I liked immediately because she was female and wrote beautiful, short lyrics. But I was disturbed that so much of her work was fragmented and that so much of it was "lost". Homer taught me rhythm and music. I began reading him as a freshman in high school and luckily I first read him in Greek. I learned scansion by reading Homer. I learned how the sound of language could imitate the action of the narrative, especially from the grisly scene where the Cyclops eats Odysseus' faithful companions. Of the modern and contemporary poets, I have many influences, but anyone who knows me the slightest would say I was lying if I didn't first name Galway Kinnell and David Huddle. I heard Kinnell recite his _Book of Nightmares_from memory when I was a junior in college. I was amazed. David Huddle was my first creative writing teacher and remains a long time friend and trusted reader.
From The Helga Pictures
Overflow
I had tried to forget
that first thaw when ice
gives way without
the clear crack of winter. I had tried
to forget how the seasons come to us like people,
like Helga comes to me
over the lawn, her feet remembering
where hyacinth bulbs grow mysteriously
toward us. I had tried to forget
how light reflects off her
from a source all
its own, how in sleep her arm
curves like a moon
around her face.
Out the window
the brook, its parchment white ice
almost gone, remembers its bed, flows with water
too clear for our lips
to remember. I had forgotten the gray
of willow buds touched
with umber, and how the hills
reflect the clouds in Hooker’s
green hue, how sap green electrifies
the air and what little I know
of love, of the heart doing
its work, showing us too clearly
those things
we must trust.