Robert Fillman on "Witness" 

When I wrote "Witness" I was thinking of a friend who always had a complicated relation to animals. He was an outdoor enthusiast who exhibited a genuine appreciation and love for the natural world, but he was also an avid hunter and fisherman. This poem is based, in part, on a true story, though one I heard about only in passing and years after the fact: the killing of a pet rooster. Of course, as writers do, I fabricated many of the details to dramatize the narrative. 

I tend to put people in my poems. I am interested in why people do things. For example, what drives an otherwise unassuming person to commit what many would consider to be a barbaric act? What justifies it? Alternately, what causes a person to feel remorse? I'm also interested in the idea of inaction-as-violence and the dynamics of spectatorship: when is a person obliged to intervene? When is a person willing to ignore signals of suffering or distress? 

As I see it, "Witness" has three principle players: the alleged perpetrator of violence (the neighbor), the witness (the speaker), and the confidant (the reader). In arranging this triangle, I am hoping to open up some narrative play. Because readers receive the information second-hand (from a witness whose reliability may be in question), and because the supposed agent of violence remains voiceless (and off-screen), it is difficult to know what really happened. There is also a deliberate use of the conditional mood—adverbs like "probably," "maybe," and "perhaps"—which is meant to give as much insight into the speaker's state of mind as the neighbor's. 

As to my work as a whole, I think I am most comfortable writing lyric narratives like "Witness." I want there to be a surface accessibility to my poetry, so readers can reach the end of a poem and feel confident that they understand the general contours of the plot. I also want readers to feel at ease with the speaker's delivery. I aim for speech that is natural and relatable, but I also want there to be a lyricism to it. This poem may seem like free verse, but it is actually written in syllabic verse: every line is seven syllables long. I particularly enjoy working with that line length because it closely emulates everyday speech, registering a kind of phrasing that allows for the pauses and breaths we experience in conversation. This type of line construction also enables me to play with enjambment and image, and hopefully achieve some surprising effects. There is something really fun about working within a form and then trying to push the boundaries of it.

All of this is to say: What I really hope for is a second reading. I want the subtler dimensions of the poem to come to light, and I want that to happen gradually. In "Witness," the outburst of violence committed against the bird is at the surface. It is the core act. But it is also kind of a red herring, as the style of narration and somewhat impressionistic details that emerge are what, I hope, prompt a deeper engagement with the psychology behind the story.