Mary of the Circle Brooklyn NY
Green Pavilion New York NY
HAWAII Honolulu HI
GUNTER GRASS Havre de Grace MD
KAFKA Prague CZ
SAMUEL BUTLER Renssalear NY
WALMART Secaucus NJ
FEEDING BIRDS IN WINTER Greenpoint Bklyn
GNATS Sugar Camp
JOSE ITURBI AND OTHER GHOSTS 7th & 56th
DRONE 1829 Stone House
MACEDONIA 7th & 23rd
JOHN BERRYMAN IN THE VILLAGE Sheridan Square
The Bangkok Lady Visits Champlain SUNY Plattsburgh
CAMP The Cabin
WAINWRIGHT MOUNTAIN Plattsburgh NY
RAIN (For Francesca) Plattsburgh NY
Boy on a Bike
'05 Eye of the Storm
Europe
Bath
Boys Clubhouse
Stone and Sand
CLICK AND GO!
(More on this page.)
San Felipe del Rio, Jan 18, 2009
HEB, Feb 18, 2009
Tornado, Feb 21, 2009
Souvenirs, March 5, 2009 (From A Gentleman's Travel Notes.)
(Email Exchanges.)
"The location is gorgeous . . . yet your poetry had a strong negative current throughout every page."
"Are you working on those memoirs yet?"
How to Read Poetry
Poetry is an ancient art form, like song except the music comes from the words only, the rhythm, color and volume of them. Any resemblance you may see in it to other kinds of writing is misleading. Poetry should not be approached like ordinary writing, newspapers, textbooks, selfhelp books, road signs, cookbooks, or anything on the New York Times List.
To read poetry correctly you pronounce the words out loud or silently into your inner ear, allowing the sounds, as they move along and modulate, to generate feeling and mix in with the ground swirl of it already present. Suggested images from your memory bank display in the mindseye, like a painting gallery or a slide show. Other sensory information may also be experienced, but this varies with the quality of the poem and the reading skills, intelligence and education of the individual. If none of this happens to you when you read a poem, it's a bad poem or you need to practice how to read poetry with Auden.
To get started practicing how to read poetry, I suggest you get W.H. Auden. Look for the early poems, and don't miss the one on Yeats. Careful not to spoil the experience with his later work. When he came to New York he missed his boyfriend, got cranky, homeless and lost his voice. Buy a copy for just $4.92 at Amazon
www.amazon.com/W-H-Auden-Collected-Poems/dp/0394408950/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262882595&sr=1-6
or contact me for my spare copy with a graduated reading list, $15 postpaid. After Auden, if you want the best poetry in English, get George Herbert and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Highly charged expressions, safe content. For the latest, hottest poetry you must find out two Irishmen, James Joyce and Samuel Beckett. Experimental in style, can be unsettling.
Poems don't mean anything. So they're not for everybody. The purpose of poetry, and why poets write it, is to show life as it truly is, an immediately recognizeable, illusive dream state between birth and death, and to hearten us to experience this, moment by moment, to the fullest. Poems make no effort to depict ordinary life, and, in fact, show us very well the opposite of ordinary life. Enjoy.
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Breaking away from the highway tangle that defines the urban landscape, I'm in the open on the state road 150 miles to the Rio Grande. At each dip in the road I look for the sign, some arroyo, creek or just a slough. From the rises I see the brushland extends unbroken to the horizon. Hardly any grass or understory. The bare plants have names like guajillo, blackbrush acacia, ceniza, and shrubby bluesage. I don't know them and I'm relieved later on to see black mesquite and an occasional live oak by the roadside.
A shipwrecked Spaniard journeyed through these parts many years ago. The native population he encountered was so varied he named them by their food supply which interested him greatly. Fig people thrived in the summer on the tuna or pear of the prickly cactus. Other times they dug for roots or ventured out for oysters. Hunters lived on deer and smaller game, or traveled to the unknown for bison. Vacas, with two sailors and a Negro, the only surviving members of his party, lived with these peoples as slave, healer or trader in a series of mutually beneficial relations that lasted seven years. With their help he was able to make it all the way to the Pacific and then south to Mexico. He didn't like what he found there and he was unrecognizaeable to his own countrymen. He wrote about his experiences for the King and was given the post as Governor of Paraguay. He later lost the job, advocating liberal treatment of the Indians, which angered the landowners.
When I see them at the restaurant from across the room they seem farther away and I think the distance will not be measured by ordinary means, as it increases when they're close up in speech. The man at the table is solid under a billcap with a religious motif. The woman is in black and heavy makeup while she
peels back the tortilla and adds sauce. His is cocacola and hers a dietcoke. Someone stands by the table exchanging information with them while waiting for his takeout. I watch this 15 minutes hoping to get the lingo. The patron seems to be inquiring about my meal and I join my thumb and forefinger
raising my arm in a sign that matches his.
The road sign points to a downtown of jumble streets and toothless storefronts, an artscenter in a 20's movie house and law offices in varied architecture with bilingual signs in front. The traffic heads north along a fivemile strip with big shopping, chain hotels, ruined structures and empty lots running east and west that tell the story of quick development here.
I pull off the highway on the way back from shopping. I pick the first road on the right and on the next impulse an opening in the fence into an empty shrub lot with pipes and equipment some of it on poles overhead. It's five in the afternoon so I turn the car around to face the sun and sit. Spots chosen with such careful attention to accident are the most memorable. Later when I look out my eyes are just a few feet from a grey dove on a branch. I watch for a long time.
Alert now for this bird I listen for its pigeon coo. One of them on a high wire this morning is joined by another. The second after a while lowers its head way down then raises it back up again, repeating this bowing motion several times. With the head down its figure is larger for the back feathers in a vertical display. After a moment they're off in a chase.
Del Rio TX Jan 28, 2009
(Find this at A Gentleman's Travel Notes for accompanying photo essay and more.)
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I play a game with time. Looking out for stars, the level of ambient light, clouds and other signs, I guess at the time, then reach for my glasses and maybe the flashlight. I've never done this before, and I attribute it, roughly speaking, to my aging and living alone. Both factors merge together, the new me.
Today the sky is white puffs in a regular pattern with occasional darker bodies trailing whisps. I see the face of an old man with all white hair and a long beard. The image of my Zayde when I was a small child. He dovinned at the big table alone in the morning. Sat on a green bench outside much of the day. A tree grew out of an empty square in the concrete. He took me with him down the block to the shul for the minion. I remember the ornate canopy.
The tree outside, she says, is Arkansas Ash. The fuzzy stuff that I was pointing at, all over my car and covering the ground around, isn't seeds. This is a male tree, she said, apologizing for the mess. She motioned groundward to a natural evidence of growth. Problem with the plumbing, she says. All the trees around are the same variety. A seasonal display of small bright green bunches. Black birds land on them, pause, and screech. Across the fence line dark mesquite and big ear cactus in a sprawl. She has a trash bag with her and one of those mechanical grabbers to pick up stuff. For the exercise, she says, pointing to her belly. The package she brought me was from Bert. Tax stuff and some welcome DVD's from my collection. Blier, Veber, Leconte and fresher Ozon. Yummy.
She's from Thailand. Came here as an exchange student in the 70's, majored in hotel management. Worked 3 jobs for ten years in NYC. She saved every penny and bought town houses with it in places like Lexington KY. No upkeep. Easy to rent. Now she buys vacant lots in the $25-50K range and sells them short term for as much as 100% gain. Got this place 12 years ago. In seven years she'll give it to her son and retire on SS, a Hilton pension and all the stuff she's bagged away. Live half time in Bangkok where the dollar goes a long way. A husband left her. She keeps the $90,000 check he cashed on the wall to remind her. The guy she's with now is hired help.
I've been here one month today. Admittedly a minor anniversary but still one that deserves some reflection. I pull into the big HEB parking lot and experience a sense of great pleasure in my situation. The sun is low and glaring behind the sprawl of cars, wires and macadam. I sense the familiar bustle of compact figures, often colorfully dressed, with children tagging along. The men are in white shirts and a straw. The workers are dark in a sort of navy blue uniform. I'm in no hurry to do my shopping. I guess at the time and look to be sure. 5:30PM. I sit with the orange sun behind the wheel.
When I get back I try to remember one by Lu You. He's on official business into the provinces. At one of the towns, after the formalities, he visits a hermit's place away in the bush. No one at home. He takes a rock seat outside and sits. He hangs out all night at a sake bar, drinking and flirting with the girls. When he gets back to the boat he flops on a coil of rope on deck and sleeps it off. It's still dark. The water makes slapping noises.
I couldn't find the poem, but learned Burton Watson published 25 more of them in '07 and ordered the book on Amazon. The beauty of the individual moment, seen through Watson's incomparible English, is a high point in human expression. His pen name translates, The Old Man Who Does As He Pleases.
Del Rio TX Feb 18, 2009
(Find this at A Gentleman's Travel Notes for accompanying photo essay and more.)
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.
Swallowtree Press
P.O. Box 76 Jay NY 12941
Dear Adirondack Visitor,
Thanks for your interest in "Poems For My Kids," many of
which have their setting right here in the High Peaks of the
Adirondacks. $6 for guests while they're here at Fourpeaks.
CLICK HERE to order $14 by mail (postpaid).
Here's a sampler.
Look for Cascade Lakes (p.21) where the mountains close
in on the highway to Keene and Connery Pond (p.17) in
the quiet spot on the scenic river drive to Whiteface
Mountain. Find the trailhead to Giant Mountain (p.23) to
stop for a while when you make your drive through the
notch to "E-town."
Take the book home with you to re-visit the nearby
AuSable Valley with the word pictures in Trillium (p.19),
Venus (p.5) and Big Dipper (p.7) among the longer poems--
and Rose (p.12), Moon (p.13), Fog (p.14) and Butterfly
(p.16) in the shorter ones.
And don't be surprised to find touches of this natural
beauty coming back from other places--Durham Fair (p.1)
and Belchertown (p.3)--in less idyllic surroundings--Winter
Kill (p.33) and Hotel Chelsea (p.31)--and working out the
problems and concerns in writing-- Swallows (p.42) and
Mud (p.40).
Good reading!
Sincerely yours,
Louise Merriam
Poetry Editor
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"The location is gorgeous . . . yet your poetry had a strong negative current throughout every page." (An Email Exchange.)
Subject:
Re: Your Fourpeaks visit 12/18/01 to Ridge Camp
Date:
Fri, 11 Jan 2002
From:
A**COWS@aol.com
To:
VisitUs@4peaks.com
Hi Martin-
Dave, Ellie, Adam, and I thoroughly enjoyed our visit at Ridge Camp last month, and we wouldn't have changed anything! Even the
weather was perfect! We hope to return next year, ideally in the fall, but that will depend on crops, etc. I believe our only
disappointment was that you don't seem to appreciate everything around you. The location is gorgeous, your two kids were very
appealing, yet your poetry had a strong negative current throughout every page. We would have purchased several volumes, as we
enjoyed the imagery and your style, but you never seemed to consider people or events positively and we found it depressing. My
family enjoys people, animals, and the outdoors immensely, but we view most in a positive light. Perhaps you would appreciate your
guests,your family, and your surroundings more if you could be less cynical. Life is good! Thanks for a great experience. We hope
to be back soon. Forgive me for being blunt, but I think that's what you wanted. -Sue Th***
Subject:
Re: Your Fourpeaks visit 12/18/01 to Ridge Camp
Date:
Fri, 11 Jan 2002
From:
Your Adirondack Guide Martin@4peaks.com
Organization:
Fourpeaks--Adirondack Camps & Guest Barns
To:
A**COWS@aol.com
Sue--
Thanks for your email.
My bad disposition is because I have a failed relationship with my wife.
But that's getting fixed. Pretty soon I may be viewing things as positively
(well, maybe not all that positively!) as you.
Please come back.
Did you take any photos? Share them if you have. See
http://4peaks.com/fgstbndx.htm I'll make a webpage of your visit.
Best wishes,
Martin
"Are you working on those memoirs yet?" (An Email Exchange.)
Subject: Claire P***** wrote on your Wall...
From: Facebook
Date: Sat, 11 Apr 2009 22:06:52 -0700
To: Martin Schwalbaum
Claire wrote on your Wall:
"Martin--Are you working on those memoirs yet?"
Claire--
"Are you working on those memoirs yet?"
Yes. I figure it's about time.
I'm collecting it all on my Fourpeaks webpage. You can see what I've done so far.
Adirondack Poetry at Fourpeaks. I've made a poem or a short prose poem about every memorable event of my life. I think you must have a copy of my "Poems For My Kids," published in '95. If not I'll give you a copy next time you're here.
A Personal Potpourri. 14 pages, including about me and Irene, me and Becky, the best 2 GF's I ever had, after Louise kicked me out.
The Fourpeaks Story: 1967 to Today. 40 years of building and fixing my wilderness place. How it all happened.
A Gentleman's Travel Notes. 10 pages, including the one about my last try to get back with Louise, or at least take her out for dinner, theater, music--whatever.
How I got George. I still have to write about how he got dognapped by an evil dogcatcher for ransom.
More pets. Tramp and Floppy, our family pets before the divorce. There's a lot about Albert my fave pet (a mini schnauzer who sang, 14 years, Louise adopted him when Joni kicked him out, how he got dognapped and Louise put an ad in the paper and found him in a flat in Hell's Kitchen) but I have to collect it and write it better.
I'm not saying anything about Salt and Pepper, 2 mini schnau bitches we got after Albert. We got rid of Salt, a runaway. Pepper got loose and run over at the Stone House.
My son Murray, his new wife, Iza, and their chicken, Carmalita. They live in Brooklyn so I don't get to see them a lot. But he helps me with computer stuff and says he'll run the place when I'm dead. She's an artist.
My daughter Maggie, and our fun vacation together with hippies in SF. She lives in nearby Burlington so I get to see her for hiking and shopping.
The '98 Ice Storm. How 100-year freeze just snapped the trees above us in the Stone House. Changed the forest foe a long time.
I'm adding stuff as I get time and inspiration. Murray says I should get a video camera and put it all on YouTube. Iza could help. But I'd rather write about it. Thanks for asking.
Love,
Martin
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A word from the poet.
I've been writing it since I was 18. It's a condensed form of expression employing elevated diction, striking imagery, sound effects and allusions to the intellectual and emotional library all humans share. The best language to write it in is Chinese, where it's totally free of syntactical rigidities. No verb declensions or connective elements. Only the "hot" words, the words with color, and impact. I try to write like this, doing the best I can in English.
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