AUTHOR PROFILE
Tim Suermondt’s seventh full-length book of poems A Day In The Republic came out in late 2025 from Dos Madres Press. He has published in Poetry, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, The Georgia Review, Bellevue Literary Review, Spank the Carp, Stand Magazine, Smartish Pace, Barrow Street, Amsterdam Review and Plume, among many others. He lives in Cambridge (MA) with his wife, the poet Pui Ying Wong.
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Tim's work appeared in Pond 93
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Why do you write?
To change the world, make a lot of money and win the Nobel Prize for literature. But, seriously: I gravitated towards poetry even when I was a youngster and that relationship has still lasted these many, many years. I’ve always said my ambition is to write the poems as well as I can, then hope there are readers who think I’ve gone a good job and that would make be think I’ve done my job. That seems a good ambition to me—and I haven’t given up on Stockholm.
What other creative activities are you involved in?
Poetry stands alone now in terms of creative activities. In the past I was a radio announcer and an actor, with credits in theater, and minor extra appearances on TV and in movies. All that seems like ancient history, and it is, but the writing of poems is right up to date and my Muse remains rather young looking, despite the poet she’s had to put up with for so long.
Who is your favorite author and why?
This question reminds me of how many poets I like, even love. It’s bit like asking a father who of his five children he likes the best. Just sticking to poets, I don’t know if any poet delights me more than my wife, Pui Ying Wong. She has a number of books and a Pushcart and has been praised by many of our best-known poets. Outside of Pui, I’ll go with Adam Zagajewski, the great Polish poet who died only recently. I like that I found him on my own years ago and I’ve. followed his work ever since. I admire his stance on poetry and the poems that come from it—one of those poets you wish you could write like, sneak into your voice a bit. And he has one of the finest definitions of the art: “A poem is a moment of lucidity.” And Lord knows, we need all the lucidity we can get.
Tell us about the mechanics of how you write.
Before the computer I would write on paper with a pen or pencil, eventually typing the poems on an old typewriter and praying I didn’t make a mistake that necessitated the use of white-out. These days however I write on the computer screen, here and there scribbling a note on paper. There are a million things (or so it seems) that can prompt a poem and I usually don’t have to wait long to start. I often cut in the poem as I’m writing, making changes, adding or subtracting this or that. Then looking it all over, letting it cool a little and making a final judgment. Sometimes I believe the poem has worked, and sometimes I have to abandon it, at least for the time being. I started off writing always at night—now mostly during the day, and it keeps the Muse happy and alert.
Finally, what do you think about Carp, the fish, not our website?
When I visited a small history museum just outside of London, I walked past a makeshift pond, took a look and there was a big yellow carp, heading in my direction to check me out. We stared at each other a while before moving on. I remember he looked menacing at first, but that was just for show—he was tough, but resilient and was full of curiosity and maybe looking for crumbs of food, sort of like poets who put crumbs of the world to use as well as they can and never give up.