Seven Questions with Alina Kalontarov

Alina Kalontarov is a contributing writer whose poem "Beige" is featured in the inaugural issue of Scribeworth. In our latest interview, we connected with her to explore her evolving relationship with poetry—from early days of searching for identity in rhyme to embracing ambiguity, paradox, and raw human connection. She shares insights on their writing process (think bursts of inspiration scribbled anywhere and everywhere), the themes that keep calling her back to the page, and the poets who’ve shaped her voice along the way. This conversation is an intimate look at why poetry still matters and how it helps us make sense of the world—and ourselves.

What inspired you to start writing poetry, and how has your relationship with poetry evolved over time?

I’ve always been a reader and writing came naturally as an extension of that. When I

was younger, I was preoccupied with fitting all these complex emotions into neatly rhymed verse, looking for answers, trying to pin down for myself some sort of identity. After college, I took a long break from writing and returned to it only recently. Maybe this is what is meant by the wisdom of age, but I’m a lot more interested in asking questions now, trying on different voices, exploring ambiguity and paradox. Poetry is no longer a playground for the ego, but a place where I can walk the fine line between catharsis and creation, solitude and connection. As an introvert and fairly private person, poetry is a bit of a hack for intimacy, allowing me to connect while hiding in plain sight. There is an undeniable, epicurean pleasure that comes from the creation of a poem as with any kind or art, for sure, but in most cases, I write as a form of exorcism, a sort of measured screaming into an abyss. I never feel guilt, regret or shame when I write, and that’s a beautiful thing.

How do you decide when a poem is finished? Is there a particular moment or feeling that signals it’s ready to be shared?

I generally have trouble with endings, in life and in writing a poem. I’ll often end a poem in a place I didn’t intend to just because the most recent line feels like it could be a really evocative question or idea, a pregnant pause. Because I lean toward being long-winded, I chip away at my poems quite a lot until I reach the bare minimum required to pack a punch. I can usually gauge that a poem is finished when it feels both familiar and unexpected at the same time, leaving the reader holding something they’re not quite sure how to put down or even if they want to - an image, a feeling, a weight of some kind. One of the things I love about poetry is how much license it has to be rude, dropping open a mouth or leaving a lump in the throat. When I’m lucky enough to achieve that effect in my own writing, that’s when I know it’s ready to be shared.

How do you approach the writing process? Do you follow a specific routine, or do you write when inspiration strikes?

I’d love to say my writing process is disciplined and intentional, but it’s anything but. Almost everything I’ve ever written has been done so in bursts and spasms. A feeling or  concept strikes, and I stop what I’m doing to jot it down, whether I’m at home, at work, driving, or at the park with my kids. I find it really hard to stare at a blank page or screen and fill it up in one sitting. Sometimes I’ll spend weeks compiling interesting images or lines, and then sit down at some unexpected moment of creative flow to weave a few of them together. The very last poem I wrote actually began with the final line, and as I was brushing my teeth one morning, I wrote the whole thing in reverse on my phone. I’m often inspired to start a poem after reading someone else’s work that left me breathless, wanting to keep that feeling going and see if I can reproduce it. I rarely finish it in one sitting, however. It percolates and evolves in my mind during the course of days, weeks or even months. As unfocused as this process may seem, I find it liberating to abandon chronology and construct something in fragments; it feels organic to me, mirrors the way we process experiences and make meaning of our lives.

What themes or ideas do you find yourself exploring most often in your poetry, and why do you think these resonate with you?

I cast a wide net with the themes in my writing, but I find that most of my poetry is existential in nature and is preoccupied with some iteration of either loss or longing (straight from the poet’s handbook!). I’m drawn to exploring the ineffable, the transitory nature of experience, the profundity in the mundane, the intricacies of connection, and the many nuances and contradictions involved with the human condition. Though most of my poetry is derived from a personal or imagined space, I’ve been experimenting more recently with writing from the angle of political or social commentary, trying to throw my two cents into the well.

Are there any poets, past or present, who have significantly influenced your work? If so, how have they shaped your voice as a poet?

I really love the work of Pablo Neruda, Mary Oliver, Ellen Bass, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, Ada Limon, Leonard Cohen, and Joseph Fasano, to name a few. They’re all so different in their style and content, but collectively they inspire the dreaminess, melancholy, reverence, bite, honesty, humor, nuance, and irony that I aspire to in my writing. I’d like to believe that my voice as a writer is developing into a kind of mosaic or kaleidoscope of all the voices I’ve read along the way.

What role do you believe poetry plays in society today, and how do you hope your work contributes to that?

As interconnected as we are by every possible technological advancement, we are more isolated and pulled apart than ever. A modern day Babel, if you will. Poetry, as with any form of art, is a country with no borders, one of the few spaces where I believe we can still find a common language and some semblance of a universal truth that transcends the particularities of place, politics, or personal identity. In an age of extreme individuation, I see poetry as allowing us to get back to archetypes, to recognize ourselves in others and vice versa. We’re at a very delicate moment in history and now more than ever, we need to keep writing, keep creating, so we can maintain a pulse on our humanity. Whenever I share a poem, much like when I read one, it’s that brief but impactful communion that I seek.

What advice would you give to aspiring poets looking to develop their craft and share their work with the world?

Read a lot.  Write a lot.  Even if it’s in fragments, even if it’s on a dinner napkin or in your Notes app while stopped at a red light. You don’t always need to write to completion or with a product in mind; start a collection of compelling lines and you’ll find a way to thread them together when the time comes. Don’t be afraid to play with language, emulate the greats, experiment with different styles until you discover your own authentic voice. Don’t be afraid to evolve even past that. Read your own work often and be your own audience: write the stuff you would want to read.

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Alina Kalontarov is a teacher of English literature in New York City. Poetry and photography have always been a way for her to rummage through the unspoken and unseen spaces in the world. Her work has been published in various literary magazines such as Sky Island Journal as well as anthologies, including the forthcoming Words Apart: A Globe of Poetry.