By Robert “Bob” Bussey
I met Gina Ferrara, the current Louisiana poet laureate, at a Cavanaugh Lecture Series put on the by LSUA College of Liberal Arts back on April 28, 2026. She comes from a long list of poet laureates. Louisiana created the poet laureate position back in 1942. Each poet laureate serves for 2 years.
• Emma Wilson Emery (1942–1970)
• Ethel Green Russell (1970–1973)
• Dr. George William Noel Cooper (1973–1976)
• Henry Thomas Voltz (1976–1980)
• Jean McGivney Boese (1980–1988)
• Pinkie Gordon Lane (1988–1992)
• Sylvia Davison Lott Buckley (1992–1996)
• Jean McGivney Boese (1996–2004)
• Brenda Marie Osbey (2005–2007)
• Darrell Bourque (2007–2008; 2009–2011)
• Julie Kane (2011–2013)
• Ava Leavell Haymon (2013–2015)
• Peter Cooley (2015–2017)
• Jack Bedell (2017–2019)
• John Warner Smith (2019–2021)
• Mona Lisa Saloy (2021–2023)
• Alison Pelegrin (2023–2025)
• Gina Ferrara (2026-present)
Gina is an associate professor of English at Delgado Community College, lives in New Orleans and has five poetry collections. Her latest, Amiss, was published by Dos Madres Press in 2023. Her work has appeared in Callaloo, The Poetry Ireland Review, Tar River, The Southern Review, and was nominated for a Best of the Net and a Pushcart Award in 2024. She also heads up a monthly poetry reading event in New Orleans … the Poetry Buffett. The Buffet takes place the first Saturday of the month at 2pm at the Latter Branch of the New Orleans Public Library. Three or four poets are featured. You can find more information about the Poetry Buffet at Gina’s Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/gina.ferrara.33
You probably noticed that the sub-heading of this article is written in Italian. There are several reasons for that. She comes from a line of ancestors who came to America from Sicily. Her great-grandfather was an immigrant who found work in Louisiana as a sharecropper when he first got to our shores. Her grandmother was born in Napoleonville and was one of 11 children. The family eventually moved to New Orleans. Many of her poems are autobiographical, as you will see later in this article. As with many Italian families, she has strong connections to them. She often inserts her mother, father, sister, grandfathers, grandmothers and other relatives into her poems. So, I have given her the title of Il poeta di famiglia or The Family Poet.
Italian culture treats family as the center of life, so there’s a deep well of sayings that capture that devotion. I grew up around Italian families outside of Chicago. I remember the smells from their kitchens, and it always seemed like the kids would wander the neighborhood with some Italian bread in hand. The smells were fantastic. Here are some Italian sayings about life and philosophy that I think you will enjoy and perhaps take to heart.
“La famiglia è la patria del cuore.” Family is the homeland of the heart. A reminder that no matter where you go, your emotional roots stay with your people.
“Casa è dove c’è la famiglia.” Home is where the family is. Not a place—an anchor.
“Famiglia: dove la vita comincia e l’amore non finisce mai.” Family: where life begins and love never ends.
When we get to Gina’s poems go back to these and see if some of those ideas are within them.
Enough of my rambling. Let’s move on to some questions and answers.
How would you describe your writing style? Free verse; rap, epic, sonnets, something else.
“I definitely write in free verse, although I will write in some forms like sestinas and sonnets but that’s pretty rare.”
When did you start writing poetry?
I began writing in high school.
Is there something about you that most people don’t know that you would like them to know?
“I really regret that I can’t sing opera.”
Tell me something about you that few people know?
“Dolls petrify me. Before teaching, I had many jobs, one was reading for a blind musician who lived in New Orleans. Another thing is that I could never live in a place that has stark winters. One of the most magical things about living in this part of the country is how something is always green and in bloom, even in the dead of winter. That comforts me.”
Do you have a particular setting, environment where you write most of your poems? Do you set aside a certain time each day, week to write?
“Most of the time, I write in my office at my house. It’s in the back of the house so it is pretty quiet. It is also a nice shade of green which both stimulates and relaxes me. I don’t have a certain time of day, but each day, I am either writing a poem, revising one, or reading the work of another poet, so poetry is more than a practice for me. It’s a way of life.”
Do you insert yourself into any of your poems?
“Many of my poems are autobiographical; however, I do like to branch out and write poems based on research. A while back, I wrote a small collection of poems about Carville, Louisiana, which was the site of a leprosarium. I was fascinated by Carville and did extensive research about people who lived there, as well as the history of the colony. In 2023, I wrote a collection of poems that was inspired by women who either were murdered or who are missing, so that involved research as well.”
Are you published? If so, what publishers and what are the titles of Your publications?
“ Yes, I have six poetry collections and two chapbooks. My chapbooks were published by Finishing Line Press and can be found on their website, Gina Ferrara – FINISHING LINE PRESS and a few of my poetry collections can be found with Dos Madres Press Dos Madres Press.”
Do you edit your poems before putting them out for the public to read?
“Yes indeed. I never share a poem until I feel it is complete.”
So let’s delve into some of her poetry. Look for the family references, childhood experiences, and words/phrases used to paint pictures of scenes and memories.
My Grandmother’s South
Stiff, starched, crinoline for volume,
uncombed cotton to the horizon,
machetes, cut sugar cane, then fields afire
scripted smoke ascending,
magnolias in April initially
opening at the evergreen’s apogee,
in winter, weighted camellias,
the size of fists and hearts,
fallow churches, mostly wooden,
some stucco with tapered steeples,
above ground graves
with fissured angels and urns,
citronella burning,
solidity segueing to viscosity,
blooming, the sweet olive
no bigger than pin pricks,
and nets, suspended like shrouds
hazes of mesh ready to ensnare.
I notice that it is a series of couplets without any rhyming. Is it a particular style of poetic couplets?
“To me each couplet is a single thought (or painting) that depicts “old south” scenes
1st couplet … how she dressed.
2nd couplet … sugar cane harvest
3rd couplet … the start of spring (Magnolia’s blooming)
4th couplet … winter flowers
5th couplet … rural churches doting the land
6th couplet… above ground graves
7th couplet … mosquitoes
8th couplet … olive trees (the smell of the blooms)
9th couplet … fishing nets or perhaps crawfish nets.”
“The poem is about a south where she (her grandmother) lived but one that I only saw in pictures or heard about from her. She often talked about her childhood and although it seemed distant to me, it was only two generations back. It is a picture as told to me by my grandmother who lived in the rural south after slavery. There are no metaphors.”
The Clothes Horse and Sundries of Others
Had the shooting happened in the mall of my youth,
the one with an ice-skating rink and ascending wafts of vanilla
mingled with cookie edges on the cusp of crisp,
I would have dashed into The Clothes Horse,
disappeared there, the store where I purchased
the tan and red striped shirt, or the orange one, a shade of soda,
small, with one of a kinds, not a big department or chain.
Refunds were never given, only refusals.
Equine in name, the design
a posh paddock with scarlet carpet in the dressing rooms.
On Saturdays, my mother, my grandmother, my sister
and I shopped, venturing separately
four cardinal directions to purchase, no different
than explorers discovering lands, new worlds.
My grandmother wanted knit tops in jewel tones,
emerald was the best, with Dolman sleeves,
my mother at the make-up counter for blush, base
an exact shade of lipstick bullet sized in preferential amaranth
or pink, a lotus afloat, my sister looking for shoes
leather, dyed in distant, damp earth tones
to fit her tiny feet, to give her height…
me at The Clothes Horse, sliding wooden hangers
creating lackadaisical rhythms
searching for pure wool or cotton, nothing synthetic.
After two hours we would meet
in the large store’s shoe department,
where shoes from past seasons
were chronically discounted, often ill-paired like horrid excuses.
A sudden spark, the glint of Nana’s silver watch
metal, mother of pearl, beneath commercial lights
each time she checked the hour,
my mother always the last to arrive,
with more bags, things she bought for us
even though we were not on her odyssey–
club sandwiches and soup, culminating,
my grandmother complaining, the cosmetics girls doused her
with excessive perfume that smelled like pesticides,
meant to still wasps.
She said their fingers were too eager,
spraying, not spritzing, adding
there was never a way to avoid the aim
of their aerial aerosol assaults,
though that was the only kind we encountered
on our suburban Saturday excursions.
11/21/23
Where did the idea of this poem originate? Is this about a personal experience or a series of personal experiences shopping at this store?
“I usually tend to write shorter poems, so I challenged myself to write a longer, narrative poem. I got the idea to write this poem when I attended one of Rodney Jones’s readings. Much of his work is long and narrative, rooted in personal experience while providing some commentary. I think the poem straddles creative non-fiction. It isn’t as succinct as what I usually write.”
Are the people in this poem real or fictional?
“They are real.”
Are you in this poem?
“Very much so.”
Where was the Clothes Horse located? Is it still in business? If not, when did it close?
“The Clothes Horse was a small shop that was around in the 1970s and 1980s. There were two gigantic malls in the New Orleans area, and there was a Clothes Horse in each.”
You again seem to insert your grandmother into the poem. Paternal or maternal grandmother?
“Maternal.”
Do you find yourself often writing poetry about family members?
“Yes, I write about my family often: mother, father, sister, grandfathers, grandmothers, husband, aunts, uncles.”
Again, to me you are painting a picture with words of your world growing up. Am I correct?
“Yes, very much so.”
Variations in Fencing
Always before the afternoon rains,
when the sky was a chosen color and empty
or held clouds harmlessly white,
scalloped, voluminous,
chain links obliterated, we sought the vine covered,
lithe, armed with imagination:
the objective to walk the fence,
entrenched in tangles, twists,
segueing to intricacies and gnarled complications,
small trumpet blossoms, hidden droplets of nectar,
appearing as a river, the verdant
too dark, too jade to offer reflections,
resistant to confinement and control,
nothing landscaped, the patch of thorn prone pyracantha,
loquats gold, dollop sized orbs, pink bristled mimosas,
we took turns, some navigating,
others shook with grinning intent,
to simulate the feeling
on either side of a fault line,
seconds before the fissure.
6-8-23 Previously published in The Delta Review
This again is a series of couplets. Do you use a couplet format for many of your poems?
“I didn’t always but now I am using them much more. I think couplets can bring air into a poem by making them less dense.”
Is this one also childhood memories?
“Yes, it’s based on a memory. Each summer, the fence in our yard was covered with honeysuckle vines, and one of the things we did for entertainment was walk on it while the fence was being shaken.”
Is “Walking the fence” a metaphor for difficulties in life or where you again trying to paint a picture of early childhood events?
“I think it can be interpreted that way. Sure, it’s about walking the fence but also navigating the complexities of childhood — trying to understand adults and their world, gaining knowledge about oneself, becoming more socially adept, growing into our identities.”
“Gnarled complications” …. A metaphor or your painting a picture of the problems encountered walking the fence?
“Yes, it’s about problems encountered in life, metaphorically speaking, and literally speaking, it’s about the entangled vines that twist and interlock.”
We took turns, some navigating.. a metaphor for friends helping friends or again painting a picture?
“It can also be interpreted as a metaphor, where some kids aren’t afraid to try and figure things out, while others want to live in the moment. It’s a contrast between those who think and those who act.”
Others shook with grinning intent could be a metaphor for gentle teasing amongst friends even as adults or painting a picture. Which one?
“I had a specific kid in mind when I wrote that line, a child who always had a charming smile but was very menacing beneath.”
“Seconds before the fissure” … perhaps friends warning/talking about a potential problem before it happens, or again painting a picture of a childhood event?
“I love the word fissure for one thing. On the surface, the poem addresses the behavior of kids who are playing outside on a scorching summer day where tempers can quickly flare. I think on a deeper level, the time in which I am writing, was one of great turmoil, anti-war protests, political corruption, racial tensions where things were unsettled and felt on the verge of breaking.”
Nature or events in nature have often been used as a metaphors for other issues,… afternoon rains (could be relationship problems) sought the vine covered (could be seeking out compassion from friends).. etc, etc. I see lots of potential metaphors, but I leave it up to you to tell me if there are any or if this is a poem that again paints a picture of some of your experiences growing up.
“I am glad that you recognize some of the language as being potential metaphors because I like the idea of language having several purposes in poetry.”
Globe
The little world you gave me,
not the one with the red house and bulldog
and eight rose bushes, ginger lilies that manage
to resurrect then thrive after each freeze,
where breezes certain times of the year
bring ship whistles,
wafts of melodies from the neighbor kid’s
daily piano practice, Rachmaninoff starts and stops,
to our front porch, shaded
by an apple tree and scalloped awning,
the other world, the one atop three odd prongs
the fragile replica, a birthday gift near the window
complete with all five oceans and seven continents
borders more numerous than capillaries
contingent on sunlight to spin,
thanks to cloud coverage, the ubiquitous gray,
it holds the stillness and dust of glass.
5/17/23
Did you interject yourself into this poem? If so, why?
“Yes. This poem actually started out as an exercise I gave myself to write about an object.”
Who is “you” in the first line?
“I had my husband in mind since he is the one who gave me the globe.”
The globe does not reappear until the end of the poem and then it appears lifeless. (no sun, stillness, dust of glass). Was the globe a metaphor for the relationship you had with someone that did not work out?
“No, the poem is really about contrasting what’s real and beautiful to what is objectified.”
The person gave you lots of material things, but the globe stood for them and it was now lifeless…. The person was out of your life????
“No, the person is very much in it. When I wrote it, I wanted to show that it’s the real things that matter in life, the everyday beauty that can surround us is far more glorious than an object.”
Gina will continue to be the Louisiana poet laureate thru 2027. We were fortunate to have her in Central Louisiana for the Cavanaugh Lecture Series put on the LSU-A. We need to find an excuse to have her back. In the meantime, you can find her on Facebook, and you can, if you are lucky enough, catch her via Zoom at one of the Poetry Buffet readings. You can reach out to her via her Facebook page to get an invite to the Buffett. You won’t regret it.
Robert Bussey is a local attorney and poet who has resided in CenLa since 1986. He interviews other poets and then writes these articles to help promote poetry. You can reach him at Rlbussey450@icloud.com if you are a poet and would like to be interviewed.
