Shane Chase
A poet across borders

Florida, London, New York. Where next?
Shane Chase is a poet and educator. He earned a BA in English Literature at University of Westminster in London, UK. Originally from Southwest Florida, he received a scholarship from Florida Southwestern State College in 2018 to study at the Lorenzo Di Medici Institute in Florence, Italy, and continued to live and study abroad until 2024. Chase has been published in new{words}press, Clepsydra Literary and Art Magazine, Wells Street Journal, Pen to Print Magazine and has forthcoming work to appear in South Dakota Review. His poems are influenced by Southern folk art and environmental instability. Chase is currently a Truman Capote Fellow and poetry MFA candidate at Brooklyn College in New York City.
In our Community issue, American writer Shane Chase reflects on his feelings of identity, finding peace in travel, and the elusive feeling of home. Weaving the spirit of the South into his work, his poetry brings the past back to life.
Interviewed by Heidi Kewin
Shane's upbringing in Florida is at the heart of everything he creates. In his work, the writer finds ways to celebrate his state by acknowledging its glories aside from the palm trees and Disney World. For him, the concept of a home and community extends beyond one geographical place. After growing up in Florida, Shane lived in London for six years to study English Literature and Creative Writing, and currently resides in New York. At the core of our conversation stood a question to which many can relate: how do you find a home in a place that isn't your home?
"I was actually born in Tallahassee in North Florida, but my family and I later moved down to Southwest Florida. I had a very tight-knit community in both places, complete with lots of barbecues and hikes through the woods. It was so beautiful to wander through the wilderness that surrounded us. My parents and family friends had a deep reverence for the natural world, which I absorbed.
We moved down south to Fort Myers when I was six, before the recession hit. Fort Myers was ground zero for the 2008 housing crisis, so there were tons of abandoned houses with the little orange eviction notices on the doors – and that definitely brought the kids of the neighbourhood together. I grew up playing manhunt in a lot of these abandoned backyards, getting into the houses, climbing on the roofs – we all did. It was different to Tallahassee, though. Fort Myers is more conservative and was more depressed economically. And it was hot – it’s the subtropics down there. I think it was isolating at first for my family, moving down to such a conservative place after being in their little university town bubble, but my parents found friends pretty quickly.
I’m now living in New York, and here you aren’t as exposed to many middle-of-the-road American people. It’s a different wave of energy here because everyone is busy and trying to pursue life. It’s the same in London – it’s a very fast-paced environment and you don’t get a lot of your desperate idleness as you do in Southern Florida. I miss that slower moving, small-town life. That’s disappearing too these days. The upside is that here in New York, there are people from all over the globe, so it can be enriching to be exposed to that. New York belongs to the world more than it does America."
When talking about his poem, ‘Wretched Bridge,’ Shane lit up. He spoke about it with a wild, infectious excitement – the kind when something is stitched into your heart. Shane relived every mile as we spoke.
“This takes place on the drive back to Fort Myers from Saint Augustine. I was thinking about how many road trips I’d done with friends of mine and the irritation that can build up when you’re in the car with someone for around six hours. Florida is a very long state so, if you head North, there’s a lot of driving involved. The further North you go, the more the land changes; it moves from subtropical to marshland and gets hilly, more oaks and less palms, bridge after bridge, over brackish and freshwater rivers.
This poem is also infused with nostalgia of Florida as a place, but also the South extrapolated out to America in general. I think my poetry moves in this current where I want to say something definitive to do with this place – and to do so, I have to say something based on Florida, and thus, the South. And I think the South is really the heart of America – and if not the heart then at least the heartbeat, which is what I’m trying to mimic in my poetry.”
And how did your sense of ‘home’ – if you can even call it that – change when you moved to London?
“Being outside of my own home helped me to define it as a place that was distinct in nature and accentuated parts of myself that were connected to the place. I was suddenly shocked with this incredible intelligence of a financial capital in London. I was surrounded by all different types of people and made friends who were incredibly helpful and schooled me on what city life can be like. It redefined my relationship to my home, Florida, first off because London doesn’t have access to the beach all the time – and these friends surrounding me hadn’t experienced growing up in that way – growing up naked or at least shirtless for most of your life. There’s a comfort with your own body that comes from this beach culture or water culture generally, I think. My most precious memories of Florida as a child are swimming in the Waulkua river with schools of manatees, and in Fort Myers, I remember kayaking down all of these mangrove tunnels and paddling out to Mound Key in Estero Bay with my brother. It’s a different attention you embody when watching out for water moccasins and rattlesnakes and having this deep awareness of the natural world – all of which are completely unheard of in London.
Choosing London was a classic case of a young boy growing up and wanting to escape the small town, state; the country at large. The city always fascinated me, even though I have a deep admiration for the quiet and calmness of open country. I had studied abroad in Italy in 2018 through my community college and on the way there, I stopped in London. I had family friends from Tallahassee, who had moved to London a few years before my family left for Fort Myers, and so they’d grown up there. One of them was around my age and had recently graduated as an English Major. Needless to say, when we reconnected as adults we instantly fell in deep love. She even stayed in Florida with me for a little while and then we questioned: how are we going to do this? I ended up going over there and staying with her and her folks.
London had more of an open mic scene, and I met some really talented people. There were also a lot of ticketed gigs, where a very established writer like Zadie Smith or Simon Armitage would be reading. So you could either go to an open mic or pay something like £10 to hear them speak. I made good friends seeing bands like Sorry play at independent venues like The Social and The Shacklewell Arms. Those places and people made me feel at home in the sea of the city. Here in New York, it’s similar. There are constant readings with incredible poets, although the NEA grants pulled by our current administration is threatening a lot of that. Small presses and institutions like St. Mark’s Poetry Project, Poetry Society, and Poets House are under threat, which feels like the least of our worries politically, but it’s important for us, for poets. There’s still a small culture of DIY spaces here; I’m thinking of the poet and publisher Lee Ann Brown’s Poetry Parlor at Torn Page, which is really just her living room. That space is very special, it feels like the last salon environment in New York – and I love it.”
How would you be different if you didn’t live these experiences?
“Travelling is an education in itself. It’s hard to judge how I’d be, but perhaps I’d be more timid in areas of the world and life that I’m unfamiliar with. The newness and unfamiliarity has become a source of inspiration for me. It’s informative to learn how to participate in a place where you might not have the language, and I didn’t have that much Italian when I went to study abroad. You’re reduced to being there like a baby – examining their body language and using what little tools you have.
Travelling is such a whirlwind; lots of ups and downs when you’re doing it alone, but it was the first time I really felt free. As dramatic as it might sound, I didn’t have to worry as much – about guns, school shootings, driving a car, healthcare, being policed for drinking a beer at 18, and widespread violent events that shouldn’t even be on your consciousness. Florida, like much of the South, is an incredibly violent place. Last time I checked, Fort Myers had a higher homicide rate per capita than LA.
So instead, I could visit museums and immerse myself in the culture without any anxiety; see statues, and works of art that my younger self only read about in textbooks. It was a life changing experience. Getting out of their country meant getting out of their ideology. I feel incredibly lucky.”

And with that, do you feel parts of your American identity trickling through? Which part of America exactly?
“When I think of home, I think especially of Tallahassee – it was the place where a lot of poetry was happening. My mom’s friends are these crazy characters and it was very common to do silly little projects, like dipping a piece of driftwood into a bucket of red paint and then leaving it to dry so that it can be an ornament out in the yard. I try to be like that as a writer. My words are like objects I’m arranging that get imbued with the pulse, or the spirit of what I’m trying to get at. I aim for a mixture of themes: Florida as an oddity and a place shrugged off as a fool's state, with the stark beauty and important history of the place. It’s backwards politically and in nature. The alligators, in particular, reflect this; I mean they’re dinosaurs, but they’re also some of the last signifiers of an ancient past, and a more immediate historical past that is not to be taken lightly.
I actually wanted to write a book – and I knew that if I ever wrote a book, I would have to write at least something about Florida. A love letter, or hate mail. It would need to have this yearning to desperately talk about this place that I’m from. I’d like to do it justice, and conflate the weirdness and the atrocities of the place, but at the same time, not fully honour the stereotypes. While Florida is a very funny, sort of, laughing-stock place; it’s a ridiculous part of the country, it’s also got a lot of serious beauty. It’s more than just a tourist destination where you can see beaches or Disney World – it’s still a home and has been for thousands of years. Long before the Spanish came to St. Augustine looking for the treasures of the new world, among them the fountain of youth, there were people here. The Calusa lived in Fort Myers and had the focus of their civilisation at Mound Key – just a stone's throw from where I grew up. All of its history is still present in my consciousness and in the landscape, so in that way, it’s alive. The whole place is an organism, really.
I would definitely call Florida my home, even though I don’t live there. It’s the place that informs my entire worldview and, when we moved to Fort Myers, my parents agreed they didn’t want to fix the house or get nice furniture. My mom wanted us to travel instead, and invested in our understanding of the world. She wanted us to know that there was more than just Fort Myers in the world; more than these ostensibly dull conservative surroundings with their overwhelming beauty and nearly just as capturing alienation. Each time we’d go somewhere, I’d come back and see Florida from a different perspective. It would reveal something more, a new shimmer, a long dead road. Travel was fundamental to our family values. We went to California, Vancouver, Nova Scotia, Washington D.C., Boston. I saw a lot, I’m very grateful for everything my parents did in that regard, but we always came back to Florida.”
Wretched Bridge

Occasions Driving

Dear City of Palms
