Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Zachary Kluckman. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Zachary, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. What sort of legacy are you hoping to build. What do you think people will say about you after you are gone, what do you hope to be remembered for?

Legacy is such an intriguing concept, because on the one hand it creates a false sense of pressure to achieve some monumental thing, to leave some lasting edifice or historical footprint that everyone can see. It can lead anyone, but a creative person especially, to question what they have accomplished with the years given to their creation, as if dedicating decades of your life to something you are passionate about is somehow not enough. On the other hand, it can provide us with an opportunity to stop and look at the world and our place in it with fresh eyes, and maybe a new gratitude.

We know that whatever footprint we leave behind is, at best, a temporary remembrance. So, when I think of the legacy I hope to leave, it is not about what I have or may still build. It’s about the connections that people have made because of the work I have tried to do.

Connections to other people; colleagues, peers, friends. Family. And the connections to art that hopefully carry people throughout their lifetimes. Anything I have built or contributed has always been meant to foster community and empower people to connect with that creative part of themselves that cries out to be expressed. To watch people gather together over a shared passion, and a shared sense of connection with the larger world in a way that brings them joy.

I am a lover of the Sublime movement. The Sublime reminds us that, in the face of nature we are tiny. And that can be terrifying, or freeing. For me, it is freedom, because it means that I don’t have to try and control the world around me. I just need to understand how to occupy the space I am given and make something of it. And for me, that means inviting others to share that space and hold their own space as well.

But I will add this – when I created MindWell Poetry, it was with two main goals in mind. To provide space for people who have been marginalized, especially due to mental or behavioral health experiences, to share their truth, and in the process of doing so, to collectively work at destroying stigma around identity or individual experiences beyond our control. That’s why our motto, or one of them, is Stronger Than Stigma.

So, I hope that the legacy of MindWell Poetry, and the Chicharra Poetry Slam Festival both, are one of freedom of individual, authentic expression in safe spaces that leads towards dismantling stigma on a larger scale.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

I have been writing poetry since I was twelve years old, and like a lot of people who turn to writing, I was just trying to make sense of the world and express the inexpressible feelings I carried around. Poetry gave me a structure and a way to do that more profoundly, and in a way that others could understand and relate to.

Still, I didn’t share a poem in front of an audience until I was 25 years old – thirteen years after I started writing. Partly this was because I didn’t know where to go, or even if there were even really spaces that would make room for me. And if I’m being honest, I was also afraid of being rejected or embarrassed if people didn’t understand my poems, because that felt like it would equate to a rejection of me as a person. Poetry is such a vulnerable and intense part of who I am that it’s sometimes hard to know where one ends and the other begins.

After that first experience, I discovered that there were rooms across the country where people not only would listen, but actually wanted to. That wanted to hear the artful storytelling of poets. Fast forward twenty years, and I have shared poetry in every state in the nation. I’ve won awards for writing, performance and teaching poetry and for producing events. I’ve published three books of poetry and been invited to perform in Africa. Poetry has taken me places I never expected both physically and internally.

When I began producing my own events almost two decades ago, it was because I noticed some people were not coming back to some of those spaces. That was no fault of the organizers, or the audiences or other poets. What I was hearing from these folks was that they didn’t feel like their stories were being represented or received in the way they hoped. And I wanted to use my experience and passion to try and build spaces where they could be. Where everyone felt seen and heard without exception, regardless of their identity or experience level.

It’s never been about being better than any other event or producer. It was my attempt to fill in the gaps and add to the larger community in ways that I felt I could best serve. I didn’t want anyone to slip through the cracks again. Of course, we can’t be everything to everyone, but we can make an effort to listen, to provide space and platforms and to hold one another up in these spaces.

When I formed MindWell Poetry I wanted to open spaces to talk about the challenges it seemed weren’t necessarily being heard in poetry venues, often including mental and behavioral health challenges specifically. In almost any poetry space you visit, you may hear one or two poets sharing some part of their mental health experience, often focused on the trauma or specific diagnoses that are more “acceptable” to talk about openly. And behavioral health, specifically challenges with addiction and recovery, were very nearly absent entirely. So, these topics felt underrepresented to me, and as someone who is dedicated to creating opportunities for marginalized communities, I realized that we, as a community at large, were still managing to push mental and behavioral health to the side.

I also noticed that when poets were discussing these ideas, it was often limited to success stories or stories where these experiences were a small part of the overall discussion. I have been sober for 25 years now, but I still live with mental health experiences and I know too well that these experiences are part of every dat life. It felt to me like we needed to create spaces where these topics could have a larger platform, to make room for a broader representation of the spectrum of experiences that make up a life.

MindWell Poetry has two missions essentially, but they are both sides of the same coin. We want to ensure that people can come into the room, regardless of their experience and feel safe and welcome enough to share stories that are difficult, and not always stories of success. We also welcome stories of the ongoing struggle. The reality. And we want to end the stigma that comes with belonging to any marginalized community.

When a poet tells me after a show that they have never shared a poem in front of anyone before, but they felt safe enough to have that first exposure with us, that is everything.

I remember one time, a poet shared a story about their intrusive thoughts, and it was one of the most raw, honest expressions I have seen in two decades of producing events. I know some folks in the room, who had never had these experiences, were a little surprised, while those who related were nodding along. But afterwards, I saw people talking to the poet and learning about their experience, commending them on their courage in sharing. That is the beginning of ending stigma, to create understanding and demonstrate that at the end of the day, people are just people.

Every month we host poetry events that are open to anyone, regardless of their experience level. And we greet everyone that comes through the door personally. We are building community, and we are giving back in meaningful ways. We have worked with survivors of human trafficking, students, incarcerated persons, a diverse cross section of our community, using poetry to empower and embolden people’s lives.

Now, with the Chicharra Poetry Slam Festival bringing more than 75 of the best poets from across the world to Albuquerque for 3 days of art and community, we are expanding that mission. So you will see that we have multiple readings and events that are elevating communities that are historically under-represented by placing them in the forefront of our programming.

We were the third largest poetry slam event in the country in 2024, and next year we will be even larger. No matter what, as we grow and endeavor to build ever larger platforms for poets and community, our number one goal will always be to put the individual first, so that language and self-expression empower growth and change that benefits us all.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

The most rewarding part of being a creative is discovering the truth behind the philosophy that nothing is impossible.

In fact, my favorite quote, which is in my e-mail signature and on my wall at home, is a quote from the incredible poet Theodore Roethke, which is simply – “what we need are more people who specialize in the impossible.”

So, I do. Or at least, I move with that conviction impelling me forward. I have so many examples of overcoming what seemed impossible. Abject poverty as a child which limited my education. Addiction. Near death experiences. I survived and found a way through all of the hardest moments of my life to date. But I have also seen dreams, which I held as tenderly as soap bubbles for fear of their dying, become reality with hard work and determination.

In fact, I’ve been part of making world history twice with poetry events I either created or participated in at the ground level. I’ve published books and won awards, all without a terminal degree. For a decade I have had a dream of hosting a poetry festival in Albuquerque that would become a flagship event. And this year we brought 70 of the top spoken word artists in the world together for 3 days of art and community, and it was beautiful. But that was only the first step.

The truth is, there are plenty of things that don’t work. Whether it an idea for a poem or an event that never quite shapes up, or a piece of art you create that isn’t received the way you believe it will be. There are also plenty of people who will tell you that art belongs only to the dreamers because it is unrealistic. I say it belongs to the dreamers because they are the ones who know a dream is just the first stage of change.

And its not just events, or works of art. Its community too. As someone who never really felt he belonged anywhere, leaning into my creative tendencies and my peers has led to discovering some of the most remarkable human beings I have ever met. I’m blessed to be stubborn, and wildly in love with all aspects of the creative endeavor. And I am very fortunate to have met so many others who share that passion, and who have inspired, taught and cheered me on.

To be a creative is to sometimes feel alone, or misunderstood, and to be reminded over and over again that in those quite times, we are capable of building incredible things. Things we never thought possible.

Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?

You know, maybe I am naïve or overly optimistic at times, but I believe everyone is a creative. Maybe to more or less of a degree, but as people who survive in a society where we are driven to be problem solvers, survivors, successful – however you define that phrase – we are every day engaging in creativity, whether we recognize it or not.

Its why I believe teaching the arts in public education is so fundamentally necessary. If we don’t encourage creative thinking, we disempower problem solving skills and adaptability in our next generations.

Still, there are definitely aspects of existing as a creative in this world that are not easily translated to those who don’t feel the same calling. One of the hardest to explain is simply why someone would choose to engage in creative pursuits when the rewards, especially professionally speaking, are so often elusive and minimal.

I remember my former father-in-law telling me to give up on the idea of being a writer, because it was unrealistic and not going to happen. When I asked him why he believed this, he simply said, “because I tried, for ten years and it never happened for me.”

He meant well, but that reasoning is faulty. But he does has a point in one regard. It won’t happen for everyone, at least not in the same ways or at the same levels, and you have to be aware of your goals. I think we have to ask ourselves why we choose this life. Or even if we choose it. I genuinely believe that without my creative side, without the poetry and the writing and the attempt to add some beauty to the world in whatever small ways I can, I would be miserable. I whave often said poetry saved my life, and I stand by that.

But the funny thing is – without poetry and without choosing to take my shot at living within my art, my career and my life would be drastically less fulfilling. And less successful.

Ironically, writing and performing poetry led me to non-profit work, volunteerism and eventually a career in the health care field as a Community Health Worker. Something education alone did not achieve, I found through art and the creative community.

So, being a creative isn’t simply about making art and hanging out drinking coffee while snapping your fingers. It is about being involved in the city and community you come from, and in doing that, you not only feel the pulse of the world around you, but you might just find your place in it all.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.cicadapoetryslamfestival.com
• Instagram: @physicalpoet, @mindwellpoetry, @chicharrapoetryfestival
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/zacharykluckman/
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/zacharykluckman/
• Twitter: https://x.com/zacharykluckman and

Image Credits

Paul McClure Photography