Didi Jackson: On Love Stories, Migraines, Being Ever-Present on the Page, and Her Poetry Collection ‘My Infinity’

Four months postpartum, I stood inside the home of Didi and Major Jackson for the annual MFA welcome gathering. I dipped a triangle of pita bread into a dollop of hummus on my plate and looked in awe around their gorgeous home. The house was just minutes away from campus, but it felt like I was somewhere other than Nashville. To be honest, it reminded me of the glamorous and chic homes I used to see in Los Angeles. There were plants and lots of light and oh my goodness so many curated shelves of books. Even the street where the house sat felt like it could be on Mount Washington, and not adjacent to the West End. In other words, the place felt magical.

As a couple, Didi and Major are magical. I met Didi when I was working with Major as part of the MFA program at Vanderbilt. Didi and Major attended almost every single Vanderbilt writing program function (unless one or both of them were on tour for speaking engagements) and showed their students and their program the kind of support and encouragement that every writer (and honestly, every human being!) needs to grow and thrive.

“How’s the baby sleeping?” Didi asked me, and took a bite of a tiny glistening square of baklava.

“She’s finally sleeping through the night,” I told her. “She just started sleeping in her crib; it seems like that was the key.”

“I remember that time like it was yesterday,” Didi said, and I watched her eyes drift upward in a way that only parents can know, the imagining of the small child in a crib doing happy baby pose, chunky legs bent toward their chest and the gentle rock from side to side, the thing my daughter was probably doing at home right at that moment. I imagined my daughter’s cheek turned toward the window as she fought her afternoon nap.

All this to say, I felt held in that moment. Being a new mom and starting another year of teaching and traversing the world as a writer was so overwhelming. And so many people would ask how the baby was doing, or they wouldn’t even ask, but it always felt like there was pressure or a not-really-caring or some kind of expectation—an expectation that I felt completely free of whenever Didi Jackson asked me how the baby was doing. And she would also ask how the writing was going, and how the teaching was going, and it always felt like she was really listening and really caring and really present in her own life, and thus able to be present for others.

My Infinity (Red Hen Press, 2024) is a tribute to that mindfulness. It is a triumph how committed Didi Jackson remains to the present, to the page, and to her heart.

Brittany Ackerman: The title of the book, My Infinity, comes from “Old Age, No. 10,” which is, in my understanding, a love poem. “My empty envelope. / My imperfect. / My curious. / Your drawer of silk and wool. / The flip of the number / eight to its side. The laying / down of infinity.” Absolutely gorgeous! 

When I was in grad school, I dated another writer in my program and that… did not work out for me (lol). So please, can you tell us how you met Major and how your love story has turned out to be such a beautiful inspiration and a testament to both of your creative selves?

Didi Jackson: Yes! You are correct. “Old Age, No 10” is definitely a love poem. And wow! Oh my goodness… Well, I am always happy to talk about how Major and I met. Right off the bat, I’d like to say that we both feel so fortunate to have a partner who is also a writer. We understand each other’s need for solitude, each other’s anxieties about deadlines, and our individual passion for language. We can really geek out about all kinds of things! A gorgeous line break. Any bit of personal biography from those poets who have come before us and we admire. A mind-blowing metaphor. 

We first met in Miami, Florida in 2009 at the Miami Dade Writers Institute. Two years later, I found myself a widow. I decided to attend the Bennington Writing Seminars, where I remet Major, and we’ve been together ever since. We lived apart (he in Vermont and me in Florida) for the first four years of our marriage. It wasn’t easy, all the traveling back and forth, but we appreciate our life together even more for it. 

BA: In my intro, I gush about your kindness, and I mean every second of it! And I’m not the only one who has felt this generosity from you. I dug into your Rate My Professor, which is glowing with only positive reviews.

One review stated: “I had the most amazing experience with Professor Jackson. She's witty, passionate, and truly cares for her students and their well-being.”

Another former student posted about how you bring “lots of passion and empathy to class.” And another, “She is super sweet and I can tell she wants to see you improve.”

How does it feel to get this feedback as an educator? What is your aim and your hope for your students? 

DJ: You are so sweet. I was a young mother at one point too, and I remember feeling like I was the only one in the world dealing with all the things that come with a new baby. My son Dylan was very colicky and he needed tubes for his ears when he was only eighteen months old. He was a tough baby. I just wanted you to know that you were not alone in your journey into all the questions and demands of motherhood. 

I have taught so many different levels of students, from high school students to graduate students. I love being an educator. I can’t imagine doing anything else. It wasn’t always easy. My first year teaching, I think I went home and cried almost every night. I was twenty-three and my students were only a few years younger than me. It wasn’t their bad behavior or anything like that. It was the realization that I felt obligated to help all 150 of them (the number of students a high school teacher teaches per year) to carry the difficulties they faced in their own lives, which were many. Their troubles were overwhelming to even me. 

I try to keep the interior of the student in mind when I’m teaching material. By that I mean I try to remember that they might have a lot going on, and though I think my class will benefit them in the long run, they are trying to figure out how to fit it into their life and all that they are going through at that moment. When I taught art history I tried to show how relevant what they were learning was to their daily life, how understanding art through the ages affects how we see and experience the world today. It was like unveiling a previously invisible realm to them. I relished those moments.

Now that I teach poetry, my main intention is for students to realize that their poetry and the poetry of others is always available to them. They can turn to decades of published poetry or buckle down and write their own poems to express the material that is important to them and to convey how they are feeling. It is really the impulse and desire to write that they need to keep with them. And, I want them to know that writing is a lifelong process. Publication is a difficult arena to enter, and I remind them that they will face a ton of rejections. But if they listen to why they are compelled to write, and keep that interior voice close, they will be writing for the right reason. And they will hopefully gain sustenance from it when times get tough. 

BA: Back in 2021 when you first joined Vanderbilt, there was a write-up for the English Department where you spoke about “breeding human connection through poetry.” You talked about how initially with your first book, Moon Jar, you weren’t open to sharing your personal experience of loss, but when you realized that this could be a story of healing and resilience; you understood that the poetry could be a bridge to collective grieving, a salve.

You stated, “Sometimes our motivations aren’t what we asked for—they are given to us.”

I wonder if you might unpack that for us? And, with the publication of your second book now, how have your thoughts and feelings on sharing trauma been influenced or altered?

DJ: I was extremely nervous to publish Moon Jar. While writing it, I worked through so many emotions: grief, sadness, anger, love, betrayal. You name it. Existing in the world of the poem meant I had to live those feelings all over again. But here I am! And I really like my life and am happy to still be talking with all kinds of people, sharing what wisdom I can about surviving suicide loss. I was lucky. I had role models who became my guides through my grief. My mom has buried two husbands, and my great-aunt buried two husbands as well. They showed me how to find joy on the other side of pain and despair and how to keep moving forward. I realized that my story could hopefully help others traverse their suffering and look forward to happiness again. 

In My Infinity, I write about more than just suicide. Sexual assault, alcoholism, domestic violence, racism, misogyny are just a few of the topics I wrestle with. Many of us carry the scars from these experiences with us for a lifetime. I also imaginatively explore the world of the visual artist Hilma af Klint who was left out of the canon as the first abstract visual artist. She, to me, represents the women over time (a young Didi included) who are looking for answers to all the seemingly unanswerable questions. How to survive in a world not designed to love and care for you? How to carry unimaginable suffering? How to celebrate all that we love? How to celebrate the beauty that exists all around us? Where does the self as we know it go when we die? What happens to the essence that exists in all living things? Why must we all suffer? What, at its very core, is unnamed interior light that we all have in common? Where are the moments of commonality? What is precious? Who decides what is precious? I could go on and on.

BA: 

“Shard-glint of light on the sill, 

run-on line of daybreak
at the hem of the front door, 

incandescent orb in the bathroom, 

torch of ice in the freezer—

these numberless galaxies 

of light; all danger” (from “Migraine”)

I mean, has anyone ever more perfectly captured the pain of a migraine? As a migraine sufferer, this poem really spoke to me. I legitimately almost reached for my ibuprofen. But seriously, my condolences to you and anyone else reading who endures migraines!

On a craft note, I’d love to hear you talk about how a migraine is an in-between, and how that might make space for certain kinds of writing, or rather, how being able to access this sort of hellish visceral limbo might inform your work.

DJ: I am sorry that you too suffer from migraines. I remember getting my first migraine as an undergraduate in college. I was reading a magazine and suddenly there was a blind spot where the words once were. And that spot started to grow and grow until I couldn’t see out of my right eye. I had no idea what was happening. By the time I got to the doctor I was in severe pain. They tested me for meningitis (I did grow up and was still living in Florida). It turns out I am one of the “lucky” ones who get an aura with every migraine. The bad news is they got worse with perimenopause. (No one warned me of that.) The aura is really a sight to see. It is actually beautiful. It is a shimmering, vibrating zigzag of rainbow colors. I’ve tried so hard just to sit and witness it. To “enjoy” it. If my medication is nearby, I feel safe doing that. Otherwise I begin to panic! My migraines can get pretty bad. There have been a few times I ended up in the ER because I could not stop vomiting. 

Michael Dickman has an amazing book titled Green Migraine. In it, I think he writes about migraines so well as he moves through the different colors of his aura. After reading his book, I wanted to write about my own experience with migraines. To me, on a micro level, the occurrence of the migraine (a bulldozer of intense pain and then the mental fog in the aftermath) is a reminder of what we experience on a greater scale in our lifetime. When I am suffering, almost crying in agony, and though I don’t easily believe it, I try to remember that this will pass and I will eventually be on the other side of it. Even though it doesn’t feel like it will ever end and that my head may literally crack open. I still have to try to know that the pain will ultimately end. It is a good lesson to carry with me. And one that I try to share with anyone who will listen. How to find the beauty among the horror? Is that even possible? Sometimes, no, it isn’t possible. But sometimes it is. 

BA: I did some more snooping and saw that you are teaching a Literature class this semester at Vandy! It’s called “Literature and the Craft of Writing: Our Poetry Ancestors” and the part of the course description reads: “By studying the poetic movements of the 20th and 21st centuries, we can discover what ignited and motivated the generations of poets before us. By doing so, we enrich our own poetic practice and discover how we might contribute to the evolution of our craft.”

What challenges come up in creating lit courses versus the challenges that occur when you are at the helm of a poetry workshop?

DJ: My course labeled “Our Poetry Ancestors” is for our MFA students. I think the literature/seminar courses and the workshops are two very different beasts. In the workshop, I am focused on helping students write their best poems. It is in our workshop I encourage them to take risks and feel safe to fail or succeed and not feel judged. And I urge them to adopt a regular writing habit by assigning a new poem to be written each week. In this particular literature course, I am asking them to look at poems or collections of poems that have come before them. I want them to not only be in conversation with poets that are successfully writing at the same time and are close to their own generation, but for them to engage with poets who have fought many hard battles to free up the craft of poetry as we know it today. Hopefully, they will gain a better perspective and more clearly see where their own work will fit into the bigger picture of the craft they have decided to spend their life perfecting. 

BA: Last bit of insider dirt, I promise… I saw in your bio that you recently completed your certification to become a Tennessee Naturalist?! 

What does this entail and what prompted this endeavor?

DJ: I was a kid that wanted to be outside all day long until dusk, later if I was allowed. It was my favorite place to be. We had a lake in the back of our house and I would race down there every chance I got, often barefoot, to see what new form of life might present itself for me to delight over. Even now, as I type this, I sit fascinated by the orb weaver who spins a new web each night across my sliding glass door. (This has made it rather tricky to get out to the back porch.) She waits until the heat of the afternoon when the wasps start to fly around in a frenzy to move to the center of the web. Then bam! She gets lucky. But has to build her web all over again that night. Amazing. Necessary. Her patience and her determination are an inspiration. Though I know she has no choice and operates on instinct.

The natural world is my teacher and my church. It has been since I was a young, only child. When I moved to Tennessee, I wanted to continue to write about the natural world, but I was new to the state. I decided to enroll in the Tennessee Naturalist Program so that I could officially learn all about the trees, soil, water, birds, mammals, etc. that I will now be engaging with in my work. I attended classes for a full year that consisted of both hours in the classroom and hours in the field. It was a blast! I recommend that everyone look into such programs in their own state. What better way to advocate for your own local environment than to learn as much as possible about it, and then volunteer to help preserve it?

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Didi Jackson is the author of the poetry collections My Infinity (2024) and Moon Jar (2020). Her poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, Bomb, The New Yorker, and Oxford American among other journals and magazines. She is the recipient of the Robert H. Winner Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. She is a Dean’s Faculty Fellow at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee where she teaches creative writing. Most recently she completed her certification as a Tennessee Naturalist.