Today we’d like to introduce you to Casey Lynn Roland.
Casey Lynn, can you briefly walk us through your story – how you started and how you got to where you are today.
When I was little, I would write stories and make silly art projects all the time – I was the kid with marker perpetually staining her hands. In my art classes at school, I tried my hardest to “follow directions,” but usually got bored quickly and did something just enough off the mark to keep myself entertained. Eventually, probably during my sophomore year of high school, I began writing and making art in earnest – I loved charcoal, wet process photography, and my creative writing classes.
But poetry was poetry in high school – a bunch of guys long-dead that I really couldn’t identify with. I did like Robert Frost’s nature poems and found Shakespeare both beautiful and hilarious, but I never thought to write much poetry because I had been given a strange perspective of what was available to me.
I enrolled at Salem State College in 2004 as an English major, and later became the first in my department to graduate with a Creative Writing Concentration. In my Poetry classes, I was finally shown poets who told stories (as a fiction lover and theater nerd, I always cling to the story) – most notably this poem called “Classic Water” by David Berman. His language was so simple, but he still told a story of this nostalgic teenage love that didn’t sound cliche – I became obsessed.
Fast forward through undergrad and my first round of grad studies, and I did what every English major seems to do – panicked and became a public school teacher! I loved teaching, though, especially the younger grades. I leaned my classes more toward creative writing than traditional Common Core English, and my students thrived. After leaving public education, though, I was able to focus more on my own writing and really finding a direction for it and also really honing in on my subjects.
Since leaving public school education, I’ve been working in Student Support at Endicott College, writing a lot, and taking on a bunch of amazing theater gigs in the Greater Boston area. All of these creative outlets and my higher ed. community have been major sources of inspiration to tell more and more stories through poetry. When I’m feeling stagnant with the written word, I illustrate and create visual art – mostly I’ve become “The Blackout Poet” for MassPoetry, but I create everything that strikes my interest. I always try the new medium, even if it’s something I fear because it only helps expand the possibilities of my other work.
Currently, I am working on personal narrative poems, poems based on Greek mythological figures, and a longer poetic narrative of a Civil War-era family. I have begun work on a play and still work sporadically as a Stage Manager/Scenic Designer for local community theaters. I am also illustrating a children’s book based on a nostalgia poem I wrote about childhood imagination. This fall I will begin a Master of Fine Arts program in Creative Writing (Poetry) at the University of New Hampshire. There’s really no road map to how I ended up in this place at this time, and honestly, there isn’t one for what comes after I complete my degree. I just love making, and want to keep doing that in whatever way possible.
Has it been a smooth road?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no. For a while, I felt like things were smooth sailing professionally, but after getting laid off from my teaching job, I wasn’t really sure of where to go or what to do. “Lost” is an understatement. But I was forced to reevaluate what I wanted both creatively and professionally, and so I decided to pursue what had really been my plan all along – work towards teaching in higher ed, maybe become a professor, write write write constantly, never stop making. It’s definitely not always easy – no one goes into writing and the arts expecting to get rich, but I’m happy with what I’ve accomplished!
We’d love to hear more about your business.
As a writer, I focus on telling stories – my stories, the stories of others, sometimes stories outside of reality. As an artist, I work as a theater designer/stage manager/developer. Mostly I’m known for my Blackout Poetry, but it sort of depends on what circle I’m traveling within, be it the writing community, art community, or theater community.
I think what sets me apart is that I don’t just travel within one creative circle – I try to nurture all of my creative loves and even blend them when I can. I think what I’m most proud of at the moment is that I will be entering UNH to finally achieve an MFA in Poetry – this is something I’ve wanted to do since I entered my freshman year of undergrad, and I’m so happy to fulfilling this goal.
Also, recently I had the privilege of co-producing and stage managing “Letters From War” at North Shore Music Theatre. The play was written/directed/co-produced by Nate Bertone (a Salem native) along with our other co-producer/associate director, Matthew Eriksen. It was such a dream to work on that stage in that venue since I’ve been attending productions there since I was very young.
Additionally, I’m proud of the direction my poetry is taking, and that I feel like I’ve found my voice now more than ever. I’m including a couple of poems here, just to give a sense of what I generally work on:
“Invention”
I imagine him viewed through a prism–combinations of flat surfaces distorting the object until it lacks color or distinct edges. The immeasurable angles of blue, yellow, red ricocheting off bare walls. I could place my hand in line with the beam perhaps coming from the vase on the windowsill or the corner of the bathroom mirror– a stigmata of rainbow and light bent into the hallway where there is always a slight haze, where it is always cooler than the rest of the house.
When I was little, I used to curl up in the hallway during thunderstorms, nesting myself into a pile of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals, pretending to distract myself from the thrashing with a book. Surely I would be safe if the house was inclined to collapse.
Now, I sit outside absorbing the static before the first lightning strike, the air vibrating, birds gone quiet–it is humid and still and cooling off quickly and I am overflowing with electric current.
I imagine him as something cupped into my hands like electric rain filling the creases between my knuckles, like fingers mingling into hair or creating small embraces. The first time I held a bird, its lack of weight left no impression on my skin, but I could feel its heart shake its skeleton, vibrating through its feathers. It studied me, two black pins focused and relentless. I imagine him as a sparrow whose call changes in time to the whims of passing geography or weather.
I dry eucalyptus on a bookshelf in my living room. The scent of the sticky oil on rose-shaped leaves permeates the curtains like birdsong, and I wonder if, alone, I’ll continue to fill spaces with plant smell and green until I am encased in vines, until I grow roots into sea air seeping through the windows, until I become a fern or blade of ocean grass: fertilized by salt and kept pretty, preserved in my own cut glass vase.
And this is one of my Civil War poems:
“A prayer from a son to his father”
I married her, Daddy. Right here in the yard with Mama watching. Lord, was my girl beautiful—hair all swept into a storm, wearing the dress her grandmother wore.
The little kids are all grown now— the youngest of us just hit thirteen, but you know that already, I gather. Remember when we were just runts tearing around the farm barefoot, stained green from rolling in the fields? You and Mama’d get so cross, but then I’d catch you two laughing while we marched to the tub.
Mama looked pretty today, too—never did remarry, but don’t you worry, we’ve been taking care of her, not that she needs it. I built a little cabin at the far corner of our land— near the river. Near you, so me and my beloved will be close by to Mama.
After the ceremony we had a big supper with the preacher and the whole family— I kept thinking about hearing your whistle on the breeze, calling us in at the end of the day.
When you were gone I kept whistling, thinking maybe you’d hear it. That maybe if you did— maybe— maybe you would have tried to live instead of eating that bullet—that there’d be some kind of difference with your survival.
I think about Mama being happy. Mama being happy, you being proud of me, and you— and you— I think about you not dead. Please.
Is our city a good place to do what you do?
I think Boston and the Greater Boston/North Shore areas are fantastic places for anyone in any creative field! What’s great about this area is there are so many smaller communities within this larger one that kind of centers in Boston. I often feel like I’m from a small, big town if that makes sense?
Like I can bump into someone I know or am connected with through someone else within all of these creative communities at any time. Everyone tends to be very supportive of everyone else, too – I think we all try to build each other up and showcase each other when given the chance.
Pricing:
- Blackout Poems ($10-$100)
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.caseylynnroland.com/
- Email: casey.lynn.roland@gmail.com
- Instagram: @mscaseycreates
- Other: www.linkedin.com/in/rolandcasey
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