Patrick Woodcock on Writing and the Kurds

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2024/09/14

Patrick Woodcock is the author of 10 books of poetry and countless reviews.  His work has been translated and published in 14 languages.  Since travel is so essential to his work, Mr. Woodcock has lived and worked in such diverse countries as Iceland, Poland, Russia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, The Sultanate of Oman, Saudi Arabia, Colombia, The Kurdish North of Iraq and Azerbaijan.  Within Canada he has travelled from the West to East coasts, as well as working as a volunteer for almost a year with the elders of Fort Good Hope, NT – 20km south of the Arctic Circle.  His seventh book Always Die Before Your Mother was shortlisted for Canada’s ReLit award in 2010 and reached the number one spot on the Globe and Mail’s bestseller list.  His 8th book Echo Gods and Silent Mountains was extremely well reviewed all over the world and was called “…the most beautiful, deep and touching collection of poetry written on Kurds by a non-Kurd.” by the Kurdish media network, Rudaw.   He has read at International poetry festival’s in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Slovenia, the Kurdish North of Iraq, Azerbaijan, England, The Republic of Georgia, Tanzania, Kenya and Canada’s Winnipeg International Writers Festival.  While living in Colombia he read at the Ibague Poetry Festival, The XVIII Medellin International Poetry Festival and was the first poet from outside of Latin America to ever read at the Bogota Poetry Festival.  Patrick’s ninth book of poetry You can’t bury them all which is set in the Kurdish North of Iraq, Fort Good Hope, NT Canada and Azerbaijan was published by ECW Press in 2016.  You can’t bury them all won the Alcuin Society Book Design Award for Poetry and was shortlisted for the JM Abraham Poetry Award in 2017.  After living for two years in Tanzania as a volunteer at Baraa Primary School, Arusha, Patrick moved to the hamlet of Paulatuk in the Inuvik region of the Northwest Territories to work while completing his new manuscript Farhang Book I which was published by ECW Press, Toronto, Canada, September 5th 2023 and called by CBC Books one of Canada’s must reads in 2023. The album “Bill Pritchard Sings Poems By Patrick Woodcock”  was released by Tapete records May 5th, 2023. He now lives in Iqaluit, Nunavut where he is the Instructor/ Coordinator for United for Literacy while completing Farhang Book II. Because his work can never escape the politics of where he resides, he is also a member of PEN Canada.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are here with Patrick Woodcock, a Canadian migrant writer, whose new book of poetry Farhang Book One was just published by ECW Press. You have a long history with the Kurds. I have a medium-length, on-and-off history with some Kurds, mostly those based in the West, primarily the United Kingdom and the West Coast of Canada. You got involved with them around college or near the end of college. How did that influence your path? 

Patrick Woodcock: I made my first Kurdish friend while attending university in 1993 but did not make it over to the Kurdish North of Iraq until I moved there in 2010 to work and write.

Jacobsen: How did that evolve?

Woodcock: I was teaching and writing in Colombia for a couple of years; then, I started looking for where I wanted to go and write next. This was when I decided to go. My mother had passed away. I didn’t want to go there when she was alive or she would have worried too much. So after Colombia,  it became a priority for me to go. I stayed for a little over two years and finished a book called Echo Gods and Silent Mountains about this time.

Jacobsen: Did you primarily stick to Kurdish north while there?

Woodcock: Yes, I was only in the Kurdish North of Iraq. In Iraq, there’s an autonomous zone in the North for the Kurds. I lived throughout that area only. I would not have been safe outside of it. But within it, I was fine.

I started in the capital, Erbil, known as Hawler, where I was teaching. Then, the school I worked for asked me to move to another city to teach and manage that school, so I moved to Duhok, which is further north. From there, I progressed to Zakho, close to the Turkish border where I worked at the University of Zakho. While in these three places and with my Kurdish friends, I explored as possible.

When I mention the North, I’m referring to the entire Kurdish region in the North of Iraq, not just a specific part of that area. As I travelled, I relished the differences in geography, dialect, vegetation and climate. As expected, it was extremely dry and barren, but there are also mountainous areas. The landscape is dominated by two colours: the beige of the land and the dust in the air, which constantly lingers unless disturbed by a sandstorm or some brief rainfall, and the incredibly blue skies due to the rarity of rain. I was there during a hailstorm, which was such a novelty that it felt like a festival for my friends and colleagues. We all danced in it.

Jacobsen: How did you experience living in such a different environment?

Woodcock: I enjoyed this aspect because this was the first time I had lived in and explored such a region, despite being in the Middle East before. The Kurdish North of Iraq is unique, especially considering its history and ongoing conflicts. But in the North, beyond the landscape, you’re quickly reminded that this is a different part of the world due to the numerous armed checkpoints. You can’t drive for hours and hours like in Canada. Their roads and highways are filled with armed checkpoints. When you arrive at one they tap your window with their rifles, check your ID, and then let you go. I never had any problems, and it didn’t bother me at all. It actually calmed me and made me feel safe.

During these trips with friends, or when I was first introduced to the area, we always had Kurdish music playing. I would listen to music, admire the countryside, and visit the various communities and historical sites like Halabja. There are subtle differences as you go southeast towards Sulaymaniyah, where you’ll find more greenery and a more lush, wild atmosphere. The dryness intensifies as you move further north and northwest. But if you go northeast towards Amadiya, you’ll encounter higher elevations where you might even see snow on the peaks. It’s an incredibly beautiful place to explore.

Jacobsen: Was the original plan to stay for two years, or did this become an extended trip?

Woodcock: I always intended to stay for two years or more. I’ve never just taken a vacation; I’ve always moved to a country and stayed there for as long as possible.

There were some transitions through work—adjusting and finding things once I was there. Working in education allows me to move somewhere and have a base so I can write. While there, I met Kurdish writers from the Duhok Writers’ Union. I attended their events, read for the union and the mayor in Duhok, and they translated some of my poetry and short stories. I would read in English, and they would read in Kurdish. I could easily have stayed longer.

There were more things I wanted to see, but obviously, my time on earth is finite, and I needed to work on the book I was writing there and move on to somewhere else. I moved back to Canada and then volunteered in Fort Good Hope, in the Northwest Territories, for a year while completing the manuscript and some poems that appeared as the first section of the following book You can’t bury them all.

Jacobsen: When it comes to the Yazidis, you had an interesting experience in terms of getting connected to a prince. What’s the story?

Woodcock: I was transitioning between jobs. Since I lived in Zakho, I would drive into Duhok to see lawyers because I needed paperwork to move from one job to the next. It took a lot longer than I expected. By the time I arrived in Duhok, I would be extremely hot and exhausted because the taxis didn’t have air conditioning, so I’d have to sit with the window down, bathing in the heat for an hour or so.

The head waiter at the restaurant of the hotel I would go to while waiting to see the lawyer—or after seeing the lawyer—was a prominent member of the Yazidis. I got to know him, and he took me to his village, where he was the Yazidis’s representative and head. Then, one day, he called me and said their prince had returned, he would sometimes be in London, and he wanted to meet me. So I went to this heavily guarded house, met and sat with him. I had already visited Lalish, their temple and the most sacred place in the world, and he invited me to travel their again to meet the rest of his council who were having a feast.

It was quite amusing because I had colleagues who were Yazidi. They couldn’t believe I had gone to Lalish because they had never been. Then I told them, “Yes, I also know the prince. We talk on the phone.” They didn’t believe me, so I showed them—he was on my phone’s speed dial.

That gave me a new level of respect amongst them. I brought a few of my Yazidi friends from the university on a trip there to meet him. It was brilliant.

Jacobsen: How do you integrate living in a foreign space? The experiences, the stories, the food, the culture, the observations, and the time to write, so that you have a coherent and comprehensive perspective firsthand of a culture. How do you make sure that’s done authentically—showing the good, the bad, and the parts of the culture that might not be widely known, some of the history where there’s high fidelity because it’s an active, living part of the culture? 

Woodcock: I’ve always wanted to write about the good and the bad of everything I see because it would be artificial if I didn’t do that. I’d be polishing it and lying.

I’m not out with expats or people from other countries when there. I work there, which means I’m in the system. Because I’m working, I’m dealing with visas, healthcare, and everything else. Then I have my students and I get the privilege of meeting their families. I talk to as many people as possible and travel anytime a trip, a walk or picnic is offered. I would go anywhere and keep an extremely detailed journal.

I always carry a recorder with me to capture sounds. I also carry a camera to capture the colours, street signs, and architecture, anything that might be gone or transformed later. However, I rarely finish writing anything while I’m still there. I’ll begin a piece, but once I leave and get some distance, I reevaluate it and see what stands out now that I’m away. Usually, the final edits are done somewhere drastically different from where I was initially and also completely different. 

The internet has been brilliant because I didn’t have it when I started writing. It used to be hard to fact-check or get back in contact with people. Now it’s a lot easier. With digital cameras as well—when I first started in 1993 I had to use cameras with film, so you never knew which photo would turn out because you had to get it developed first, and so much can go wrong when they are developing film quickly for you.

I also had to figure out where to buy more film which is hard if you are not in a city or town. Today, with a digital camera, I can take 500 photos in a day and then get rid of the ones I don’t need, and everything I need to write is there. I have the photos, the audio recordings, journals, and my memory. I piece it all together, let it ferment, and then edit it until it becomes what I want it to be.

Jacobsen: When it comes to that process, when you’re home and reflecting on your travels, how do you integrate those experiences, especially when you’ve moved out of the area where you were researching and living among the people of that culture? For example, you moved to the Northwest Territories after living in Kurdistan. How do you reflect on those experiences, reintegrate them, and refine the overall narrative in your writing?

Woodcock: Many of my stories and poems will come together while working on them alone. I’ll have a text and ideas. For instance, the first time I saw Amadiya, I knew I would write about it. So there are things I know and others that come together later. Many come to fruition when I start talking to people in my next location about where I was just weeks before.

I remember, for example, having a conversation in Fort Good Hope which is fairly close to the tree line. The closer you get to the tree line, the smaller the trees are, and even though they are old, they’re much smaller. I was volunteering with the elders and began to talk about these smaller trees with one of them. That led me to tell him stories about the trees in the Kurdish North that were also small. Then I pointed out something that many people might not know, which is that when Saddam Hussein sent planes to bomb the PKK or other Kurdish freedom fighters, they would drop chemicals to kill the trees so they could see the cave openings where the Kurds were hiding. So many of the small trees you see in the news are small because they are young.

So, one discussion about trees in the Northwest Territories led me to talking about trees in Kurdistan, which gave me a new direction and idea for my writing. Then I’d started talking about the war and the importance of caves. Within those stories, something clicked, and I went home and began something new. Some things are set when I leave a country or location—like “this, this, this, and this will all be written about.” But at other times, I’ll have a stack of paper and let it come together as I’m reading through it and talking to people. Their reactions and interest guide me a lot.

Jacobsen: What are the qualities of Kurdish culture that stand out across all its different aspects—whether it’s food, dance, religious or philosophical beliefs? What are some of the consistent themes?

Woodcock: I’ve lived abroad for 32 years now, and the Kurds are one of, if not the most, artistic community I’ve ever been a part of. Their love of music, dance, and literature is second to none. You can trace part of this passion to the fact that great art often comes from resisting and rebelling against repression. When you have to entertain yourselves to keep hope and your sanity alive, creativity flourishes. I learned this from the Irish side of my family.

The first people I met when I left Canada to write and teach were in Poland. My colleagues had created a mime troupe for theatres. It wasn’t because they loved mime; but because the Russians arrested them and censored everything they wrote. So they thought, “Let’s do it without words and try to convey the same message.” Artistically, the Kurds are wonderful. As I mentioned, Kurdish musicians and dancers participated in my last two book launches in Toronto. The Kurdish ‘Dilan Dance Company’ in Toronto just performed at my last book launch for Farhang Book One and it was incredible. I adore them.

Kurdish generosity is overwhelming. I joked with my friends in Toronto that there were certain streets I wouldn’t take in the Kurdish North when I had to go to a store because people would call me in for tea whenever they saw me. It felt rude to say no, so I would take different routes because I didn’t want to offend them. But it’s a lovely thing. If your day is overwhelmed by generosity, then it’s not a bad day.

Jacobsen: What is the ethic of Kurdish culture? What is the overriding value system?

Woodcock: I’m hesitant to generalize too much because the Kurds I’ve met in the Republic of Georgia, Kurdistan, Canada, or those from Iran, all have different focuses. However, one consistent trait is their sense of honour and respect for family, which I find incredibly inspiring. There’s also a strong sense of pride and shame among my Kurdish friends. They feel deeply ashamed if they make an error or try something that doesn’t work out and such pride when it does.

They have a passion to keep pushing forward optimistically. If I was in their situation, I don’t know if I’d have that optimism. When you’re surrounded by countries that do nothing but try to repress you, and then Western governments use you during military campaigns only to abandon you, I’m surprised there’s any optimism. But my friends still have it.

If it wanes, gets stretched and occasionally breaks, it gets fixed. It always gets patched back together. They’re an incredibly strong, resilient people. When it comes to faith, it’s faith in each other. They believe in each other, and this helps them get through the constant betrayal of others. The Kurdish community is an extended family making sense of the horrors surrounding their desire and need for a nation to call their own. 

Jacobsen: How does it work for someone with European heritage, from Canada, with English as a first language? How does that impact your experience of coming into the culture, integrating, being accepted, learning about the culture, etc.?

Woodcock: There was certainly no negative impact. As I mentioned, I was often the only foreigner in many places I went, and they were eager to stop me on the road and ask, “Why are you here? What do you think of it?” Usually, if not the first question, the second would be, “What do you think of the Kurdish people?” Because I work as a migrant writer, I want to know as much as I can about the culture I’m living in—what they believe, what they eat, how they get their food, how they built a city on a mountain. As I learned these things and they got to know me and I’d been there for a while, they would say, “You’re almost a Kurd.” I wrote a poem about a sandstorm and my friend showed it to a colleague who was shocked when he learned a Kurd did not write it. That was a great compliment.

When the power went off at my place, I’d say, “Wait, the government power’s off, so the generator will kick on in five, and then there’s another generator.” You learn these little things. I’d talk to writers and ask about differences in dialects as I moved around the area. It’s a small area compared to Canada—where we have this endless expanse of land —but there are distinct provinces and with noticeable differences. I could hear the difference in the intonation of the language and their preferences for music. I knew that as I moved southeast, I’d encounter a different cuisine with fresher fruit because the land is more fertile, whereas, in the drier regions, it’s brought in.

Electricity is extremely expensive and sporadic, so in the north near Turkey I always went to the market for fresh food. They were lovely and welcoming, and they wanted to practice their English with me as much as I wanted to learn Kurdish, which was difficult because the language was not fully defined. If they had their own country, it would be different. I was told that a group of academics in New York were working on an official Kurdish language that could be used. I don’t know how that has progressed, but most people wanted to practice their English and simply talk about life.

The smile on their faces when they would grab my hand—a stranger would walk up, grab my hand, and ask, “Why are you here? What do you think?” They wanted to know me and were obviously unaware I lived there. They thought I must be a tourist passing through, so that they would bombard me with questions. It was lovely. I never had a boring day. There was never a day where something didn’t happen that didn’t make me richer as an individual, a better artist, or a better person. It was certainly a high point in my life.

Jacobsen: Thank you for your time, Patrick.

Woodcock: Thanks a lot. A pleasure to meet you.

Links to further information:

https://writers.ns.ca/member/patrick-woodcock/

New book:

https://farhangbook1.substack.com/

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