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 I'm your host, Charles Monroe-Kane.  Here at Director's Cut, we're dedicated to bringing you the best in independent films and filmmakers.  Our film today is a documentary about the life of Wisconsin poet Lorine Niedecker, called "Immortal Cupboard. " Now, we're not talking on taking a nap while the teacher shows a boring movie bio-pic here.  This documentary is poetry.  Sure, it tells you the story of a poet, Lorine Niedecker, but it also lets you experience the poetry itself.  It's rare and beautiful.  The film's director, cinematographer and editor, Cathy Cook, joins us today.  Cathy, welcome to Director's Cut.  Thanks, Charles, it's nice to be here.  I loved your film.  Thank you.  It was great.  I think it's the first film of poetry I've seen.  I can't think of the last film I've seen on poetry.  Are there any other films out there? There are a few.  There's one on Charles Olson that just came out recently.  I'd probably like that one, too.  I've seen some.  There was a series done in the '80 that PBS sponsored.  Good old PBS. 

 Yeah, it was definitely the '80s, a whole series of famous poets.  I love it.  It was nice.  Where does the title "Immortal Cupboard" come from? Because Lorine Niedecker wrote a letter to Cid Coreman, thanking him for a wonderful little book that he had sent her, a very small handmade Japanese book.  And she said, "You are now in my collection called my immortal cupboard. " And it's this shelf that she had on her wall.  And she kept her favorite books there of her favorite poets.  I think you showed that.  Do you show some of those books? Yes, I recreated the shelf, and I show somebody unwrapping this special, little book and placing it.  It's called "For Instance. " An immortal cupboard.  That's nice.  I should do that.  Yeah, we all have little shrines and little collections of our favorite things.  She had her favorite books.  Tell me, in a nutshell, who, and we're going to find out more throughout the show, but who is Lorine Niedecker? Well, she lived on Black Hawk Island, or she grew up on Black Hawk Island, in Wisconsin, just outside of Fort Atkinson, from 1903 till 1970.  She was well known in some small circles, I would say, nationally and internationally, in small circles.  But not very well known to her native area.  She was multiply published while she was alive, correct? Yes.  But the thing is, she didn't want people to know that she was a poet.  And she didn't want people in the area to know what she was doing. 

 She wanted to keep her anonymity so she could keep creating.  Creating poetry.  Yeah.  I want to show another clip from the film.  If you could set it up.  This is her on a walk with her friend.  With Bonnie.  And Bonnie had taken a walk with her one time.  As Lorine was leading her down the path, or down the road, she was pointing out roads and paths, and houses that she had lived in, or actually, her relatives houses, etc. , and just kind of reminiscing about her history on Black Hawk Island.  Let's see that clip from "Immortal Cupboard. " She showed me her poem, Paean to Place.  That gave me an insight into her right away.  I asked her if that was an autobiographical poem, and she said yes it was.  And one day, I went for a walk with her.  She came by and picked me up.  As we walked down the road, she showed me where she had been born, where her grandfather and grandmother had lived.  Where her mother and father had lived, further down the island.  And where her father had kept a woman, next door, actually, to the home.  That was the kind of conversation we had as we went down that road.  The poem had set the tone for all of that. 

 When I came back from that walk, she was exuberant.  She was elated.  And she just looked all around her.  And she said, "I just feel like a Goddess here. " I knew what she meant.  She just loved the island so much.  It meant so much to her.  That was a clip from "Immortal Cupboard. " Tell me, sense of place.  We talked about sense of place a lot when you're talking about literature and film.  But for Lorine, a sense of place is everything in her poems.  Tell me about the place where she was.  Well, the place was Black Hawk Island, which I'd say in the '30s and '40s, and maybe even in the '20s, I'm not that knowledgeable in the history of Black Hawk Island, actually.  But I do know that it was quite a well developed resort area, where lots of people from Chicago, and you know, bigger cities, would come to hang out for the summer.  And it was quite a well established resort town.  I think since then, it has gone downhill.  She didn't live in a fancy resort, though.  Oh, no, no, no.  She lived in a little log cabin house.  A very small house.  Before that, she lived with her parents in various houses. 

 So she lived very modestly.  Did she write always? Like ever since she was a teenager, younger, out with a notebook? Was that her? Well, when I was going through the archives, and when I talked to all the wonderful people at Fort Atkinson, they said, yes, you should go through and find her yearbook.  And sure enough, there were two poems that were published in her yearbook, her 1922 yearbook from Fort Atkinson.  So yes, she was always writing.  Now, you spent years making this film.  Yes, over six years.  So that sense of place, her place, became your place in some way, getting involved in it.  What's it like there? What's it like being quiet out there on the island, looking at water? Well, some days it's not so quiet.  Some days, it's very quiet.  One day I was out there and there was jet skis all over the place, which kind of spoiled the mood.  But after the sun set and you sit out there for a while, it does become quiet.  It's very mystical.  I don't know how else to describe it.  The light is beautiful.  There is a sense of spirituality out there.  It's quite wonderful.  I've been there at all different times of the day, early morning, late at night, so dark we couldn't find our way out.  All different conditions, weather conditions, different times of year, different seasons.  Did you run into moments where maybe you saw-- For the viewers here, her poems are mostly about nature.  Where you would see a duck take off out of the water, or a leaf fall, and you'd be like, boom, that reminds me of this poem.  Was it that close to the sense of place, or was it more just general? Well, usually, my process is that I would read her poems, and then I would get flooded with imagery. 

 And then I would go and look for things that I felt corresponded with my interpretation, my visual interpretations, and connected to her poetry.  Wow, what a cool process.  Yeah, so it wasn't necessarily saying I'm going to go find a duck, right? I was lucky if I found a duck.  Or I'd just find things that instantly connected.  I was always working.  It was always part of the process, almost like a treasure hunt.  I'd find things.  I want to show another clip, because what I like about this clip, and we have some more like this, is that we have to see her poems.  I mean, we need to see them, because you don't have people reading them.  And you'd use the setting of the island to show her poems.  And here's a clip from one of her more famous poems.  Maybe you could set up this poem for us.  Yeah, this is the one called "My Life By Water," which is one of her most famous poems, and one most people are familiar with.  And I decided to not create too much of a big visual for it.  I tried to keep it as simple as possible, because it's such a strong poem.  So I just have the poetry scrolling up the side, and a little bit of movement in the background.  Oh, it's beautiful.  I love how you do it.  Let's see this clip of water.  ( rain showers with thunder ) That was a clip from the documentary "Immortal Cupboard. " It seems inappropriate that I'm talking. 

 It feels weird.  I see that clip and I watch the film.  I should be quiet for a minute.  You were saying during that clip, what's the sound that we hear during that? Well, there's a line in the poetry that says that she can hear muskrats gnawing on her door.  And I had a guinea pig at the time.  So I put a microphone in my guinea pig's cage, and I gave him some cardboard.  And I said, now make it sound like you're gnawing on a door! Because I've heard mice gnaw at things when I stay in the northern woods of Wisconsin.  And it's quite a distinct sound.  So, I can only imagine that during a flood, to hear muskrats chewing at your door, must be rather haunting, but also very close to nature, and that connection.  It takes a poet to get that, right? It takes a poet to remember that during the flood, there were muskrats gnawing at the door, and then that's a line in a poem.  Talk about an evocative image.  I'm curious.  This film is very slow.  It's very observant, if that's the right word for it.  That's the word I use to describe the film.  And it's very poetic in a sense.  It's not what we're used to.  No, it's not.  And you spent six years making this film.  Are you worried about the reception of a film like this? Are you expecting someone to sit down for 90 minutes to really, I mean, my wife and I watched this and we really liked it, but we had to like, at one point after it started, we like stopped the film for a second and said, okay, I've got to get into a different head space here.  This isn't what I thought it was going to be. 

 Are you worried about the reception? Oh, absolutely.  And it's not quite 90 minutes.  But it is almost feature length.  It's 70 or 74 minutes.  But considering the fact that all of my films previous were highly edited, fast-paced, quick, quick, quick, you know, get your attention, this was a very difficult disciplined film for me.  And one of the reasons was that I had to take it at her speed.  And I really felt that I had to operate and carry through and give the audience sort of the speed that I expected her to maybe deliver through her poetry, or when you're reading her poetry.  It's very difficult for an audience.  Yeah, you don't whip through her poems.  No, you don't whip through her poems.  And I found it very difficult to try, how am I going to present poetry on a screen.  Sure, that must have been an amazing question for you.  And not bore the heck out of people, right? And also not lose them.  So, yes, it doesn't have as many avenues, maybe, as it could, because of the slowness of it, or the speed of it.  But I wanted it to be genuine to Lorine.  I wanted it to be genuine to me.  You didn't do the whole talking heads thing, which you could've easily done, you know, the whole Ken Burns, which is great form for what it is, you know, going back to this famous person.  You really let it breathe.  You let this really breathe.  I mean, after that water poem we saw, there was a couple minutes of just us observing the water before the scene changes.  Yes. 

 Which I appreciated, as someone trying to understand that poem.  But again, that must have been hard to do.  I want to ask you a question, and it seems just like a horrible question.  Why? You're from Maryland, right? Well, I live in Maryland now.  I am from Wisconsin.  I will always be from Wisconsin! That happens to Wisconsin people, I think! Why did you want to make this? You dedicated a lot of stuff.  And then, this isn't going to make you millions of dollars, either.  You really were into it.  You spent a lot of time out there.  You took this very seriously.  You were saying that in the opening clip of the show, there were different labels on beer, and it was a garbage thing, you made those labels.  Mm-hmm, yeah.  That's an act of love.  Why did you want to make a film about Lorine? Well, I had been making very short poetry films for about 15 years, very short.  And using Emily Dickinson's work, using friends of mine, Jen Benka, who's also from Wisconsin, using her poetry.  I could go on and on and list.  I used many, many poets.  And I used visual collaboration with very specific poems.  Never did I go past one poem.  I also write my own, what I call found poems.  So I've been working in this genre for quite a while. 

 This is the first time, what happened was a friend of mine, Jen Benka, handed me this book, in fact, "The Granite Pail. " She handed me "The Granite Pail. " Poems of Lorine, of course.  Poems of Lorine Niedecker.  And she said, "Okay, now you're done with that last film, you need this," and she handed it to me.  And I'm like, okay.  That's how it happens.  I opened it up and I didn't put it down.  I connected so much with her, just idealism of Wisconsin, and her interpretation of Wisconsin, and her spiritual connection to Wisconsin, which is so similar to mine.  And I just said, I think I have to do this.  I mean, it was almost that immediate.  That's amazing.  Yeah, it was that immediate.  That's fantastic.  I want to show another clip.  This is an interesting one.  If you can set this up.  This is from, later, she married.  She remarried later on, when she was much older.  In her 60s, when she turned 60, yes.  This is a great clip about books that she made for her step-kids, right? Yes, step-daughters. 

 She married a man by the name of Al Millen.  And they started traveling together.  He seemed like a great guy.  And what was interesting was that they were very different, and they came from very different worlds.  However, they both appreciated the land of Black Hawk Island.  He worked for the Ladish Company in Milwaukee.  You know, he was a hard working blue collar type of person.  They just had a lot of connection, including the sort of yearn for discovery.  She had never traveled much.  And so, all of a sudden, they started traveling together, because he could drive and she couldn't.  And they went on all these trips.  Give us a timeframe for this.  What year was this? 1960s, in there.  In the 1960s, okay.  Yeah, in '64, '65, '66.  And she would write down all their dialogue, document all their dialogue.  And of course, write down tons of notes.  Right, of course.  And correspondence.  And she would put all this together into these beautiful little books.  And I handled one of them. 

 It was just like, touching it was so precious.  Let's see a clip of one of these books.  These are Lorine Niedecker's books she made for her step-daughters.  In 1968, they went to Minnesota, up to Swan River, which is near Hibbing and the iron ore range there, and out to North Dakota.  Door County and up around Lake Superior and into Minnesota.  And during this time, she would make notes about their conversations.  And then at Christmastime, she would type Al and Lorine dialogue.  And wrap it up in wrapping paper and give it to Al's daughters.  It's just charming and intimate.  She had these little handmade books she gave us at Christmastime.  And those were very special, because they were, some of them were conversations, others were her poems, some referred to the trips they took together.  Wow, she seems amazing.  She seems like a poet with a capital "P".  This is a bigger question, but you know, poetry today is a lot about speed and cleverness, and you know, hip hop poetry, which I love.  It's interesting.  And performance.  And performance, absolutely.  She's from the old school poet.  She's from the alone poet in the woods person.  What is the role of a poet like that in society today? What should we get from her? Well, part of the reason I was so interested in working with her poetry is that she brought, not just her place to the surface, but she brought how she was interacting with other international affairs, or cultural issues, or economic issues that she came up against every single day.  And it's all in her poetry. 

 Like when she was poor, she talked about being poor.  Right.  When her houses were going through foreclosure, she talked about foreclosure.  She wrote poems about foreclosure.  When her parents died, she wrote poetry about her parents dying.  Oh, and when her pumps didn't work, she wrote several pump poetry, excuse me, pump poems.  It's hard to say pump poems! But she was always reflecting what she was going through or what she was exposed to.  And I just love that interpretation of her.  You know, I was waiting.  I was watching your film, and I really was into it.  So now I'm into it.  Totally into it.  I'm doing the poems.  She meets Al.  She's in her '60s.  And I'm waiting for the rug, right, I'm waiting for the rug to get pulled out.  I'm waiting for the alcoholic, commit suicide, he beats her, she kills herself, that way the poet does things for some reason.  The artistic drama.  Yeah, the artistic drama, which is tedious in some ways, but you always see it.  I'm waiting for it.  And I don't get it. 

 Instead, she totally thrives.  And she's awesome.  Were you like surprised by her life, when you really got into it? Even at 60, she's still writing these amazing books? And even towards the end, her strongest poetry was written in the last few years of her life.  What a great thing to say for yourself.  Yeah, her longer poems were written the last few years of her life.  But that was the other thing, I couldn't put in longer poems, because the film format is somewhat restricted.  I had to use very short poems.  So, you know, I'm just touching the very, very top of the surface of her work through this film.  Whereas if you really want to know something, go get her books.  And there's many out there.  Speaking of which, I'm going to do, actually.  I've committed to buying a couple books of hers.  That's great.  You brought in, this is the first book that you got from your friend.  Yes.  And I'm assuming you have a favorite poem in it.  I would love for you to read it for us.  Okay.  Well, this one, I didn't end up putting in the film, but it's still one of my favorite poems.  It's primarily because I also believe.  This is my process also. 

 I also believe this poem.  And the poem says: For best work You ought to put forth Some effort To stand In northwoods Among birch How do you know her now? How intimate are you with her? How connected are you? Is this a sister now? Is this a teacher? She, to me, she acted through the process of the film, definitely as a mentor.  I learned from her.  I learned what she had to put aside, or move things around in her life to make room for poetry.  I often make those decisions in my day to day life.  Am I going to go to two parties, or am I going to stay home and work on my film? Am I going to go to such and such house because they invited me, or am I going to stay home and work on my film? Am I going to go on vacation, or am I going to work on my film? Right? And she often made some very, very difficult decisions on what path her life took, so that she had room to make her poetry.  And I found, whether I like it or not, I've made those similar decisions.  We talked about it earlier.  In that island, she didn't want anyone to know who she was, even though she didn't mind being published.  She knew that if she got famous there, it was all over.  She begged someone at one point, a local newspaper editor, please, please do not publish me here.  I don't want anyone to know.  That's a sacrifice.  Yes, it's a sacrifice.  It is.  Because she also had some very trusting friends on Black Hawk Island.  And I think the key thing here is that she really did only befriend people that she absolutely trusted.  And it was a very selective process, as far as I can tell, the people that she became friends with.  And now, you've befriended her to us, which I really do appreciate.  I did not know who she was before.  I really love poetry, and I was really surprised I hadn't heard of her. 

 I was really excited.  Well, I had never heard of her either before six or seven years ago.  Well, now everyone else knows who she is.  Before we go, we have another clip.  And this one doesn't need much set up, except for this is her voice.  This is her reading her poems.  The only recording ever of her voice.  Wow, I'm excited to hear it again.  Let's hear that clip from the film.  Another Thomas Jefferson. . .  Then of a sudden, all their lights go out.  Well, that's a good thing to end on.  Thank you very much.  I really appreciate you introducing us to Lorine.  Thank you.  It was a beautiful film.  And thank all of you for joining us today and watching Director's Cut.  For more information on "Immortal Cupboard," please go to: www. wpt. 

org/directorscut While you're there, send us an email, because we love hearing from you.  I'm your host, Charles Monroe-Kane.  For everyone here at Director's Cut, thank you very much for joining us today.  Check the gate.  She really grasped the idea of plain, curt talk.  Even her long poems are so dense.  I mean, there's not an extra word any place in any of that poetry. ECHO is on.