probably one of the worst places in Maine to create a literary reputation because it is stuck in its "blue collar" psyche. After years of financial and psychological dependence upon the paper mill, the town has not been able to release itself from that dependence. Even now, after more than 20 years of an economic depression, it refuses or fears to test other directions.
Having written in this small town for many years, read around the state in previous years, I can say that it is, however, a very good place to write because no one will bother you or make an issue of your being a poet. No one is interested in poetry. This allows you complete freedom to write. And, you may be eccentric because the "blue collar" populace is tolerant of differentiation in themselves and others.
I do like the people in Rumford whom I meet in my daily round of living my "human" life. I married a native daughter of a paper mill worker who supported my writing without question although she was not interested in the literary life. And my wife, my wife's family, and others, have contributed positively to my human life in the town. I and my family were accepted into the town's extended family from the time we came "from away".
My relationship to this small Maine town of Rumford is like my relationship to myself: I am good and not good. Rumford is good and not good.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
resize
the universe is not human-size yet we humans have a need or desire to reduce
the universe to human size, thus we humans distort
the universe
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
These...
words we use every day in our speaking with each other.
And, of course, we think in words as well, although not always in words.
The words from our minds make sound, noises, from our throats and mouths.
They become a reality in the air. Are, a reality, in our minds, silently, before becoming a reality in the air.
Now, on paper, we make words, or on a computer screen.
We see the words before us, unchanging, clearly.
We like words, and they are more often with us than is the thought, or activity of, sex.
They are more important than sex to us although we take them for granted.
I don't know.
Death is not a word.
death
And, of course, we think in words as well, although not always in words.
The words from our minds make sound, noises, from our throats and mouths.
They become a reality in the air. Are, a reality, in our minds, silently, before becoming a reality in the air.
Now, on paper, we make words, or on a computer screen.
We see the words before us, unchanging, clearly.
We like words, and they are more often with us than is the thought, or activity of, sex.
They are more important than sex to us although we take them for granted.
I don't know.
Death is not a word.
death
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The beats...
I am reading now. Not the first time, of course. The past few months I've been reading the playwrights of the Off-Off Broadway theater of the Sixties with Lanford Wilson, LeRoi Jones, Sam Shepard, Joel Oppenheimer, Paul Foster, Jean-Claude van Itallie, Maria Irene Fornes, Megan Terry, Adrienne Kennedy, Edward Albee and others, returning to my visits to the Caffe Cino, La Mama ETC and the Judson Memorial Church during the Sixties. This was an exciting time for theater in NYC and America. The beats I'd previously sampled but was not impressed by Kerouac's On the Road. I have now his original scroll version of the novel and I am impressed. Never liked "Howl," or much of the other poets of the group, I will admit and I am not overly impressed yet although I am still reading. I do note that some of the form of the poets correlates with my own, although I had no contact with any of the poets, and did not know their work when I began to explore form. However, my spiritual attitude toward life was clearly the same, even though I left the city, settling for good in Maine to write: that attitude toward my society, life, made living very difficult for me, even though I was heterosexual, inactive politically, and very difficult for my wife and companion, who subsidized me spiritually. I was anti-establishment for creative reasons.
In the Seventies, here in Maine, I became active in a free thinking writers' group organized by out-of-staters who had gravitated to Maine to live off the land, absenting themselves from normal American middle class society and its values, and were involved in political and social protests. Most had college degrees, long hair, no bras, second-hand clothing and were into soft drugs, (which was not my direction since I gained enough satisfaction and problems with alcohol), and as a group published mimeo magazines, held readings and workshops around the state. They were Maine's first hippies and a valuable support group for me at the time although I was not involved in their political or social protests. The group began to slowly change, however, as many began to network with academics when they read and taught workshops in schools, gained publication in mainstream literary magazines, and they left behind their anti-establishment direction once so vocally espoused, for a better mannered establishment that they were creating. They changed their dress, were clean and well-scrubbed, and began to live more stable lives. I, as far as my research has learned, am the only member of the group to remain an "outsider," an anti-establishment literary person, although still not involved in political or social activity. I oppose the new establishment created by these writers. I cannot, however, ignore the fact that this original anti-establishment group of writers, the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance, was very significant in supporting my development as a writer.
So much for the outsiders, the beats, the anti-establishment writers, the hippies...let me continue with my reading of the beats.
In the Seventies, here in Maine, I became active in a free thinking writers' group organized by out-of-staters who had gravitated to Maine to live off the land, absenting themselves from normal American middle class society and its values, and were involved in political and social protests. Most had college degrees, long hair, no bras, second-hand clothing and were into soft drugs, (which was not my direction since I gained enough satisfaction and problems with alcohol), and as a group published mimeo magazines, held readings and workshops around the state. They were Maine's first hippies and a valuable support group for me at the time although I was not involved in their political or social protests. The group began to slowly change, however, as many began to network with academics when they read and taught workshops in schools, gained publication in mainstream literary magazines, and they left behind their anti-establishment direction once so vocally espoused, for a better mannered establishment that they were creating. They changed their dress, were clean and well-scrubbed, and began to live more stable lives. I, as far as my research has learned, am the only member of the group to remain an "outsider," an anti-establishment literary person, although still not involved in political or social activity. I oppose the new establishment created by these writers. I cannot, however, ignore the fact that this original anti-establishment group of writers, the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance, was very significant in supporting my development as a writer.
So much for the outsiders, the beats, the anti-establishment writers, the hippies...let me continue with my reading of the beats.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Problem with "The Pain"
is that line spacing makes it read quickly
neutering the timing and emphasis
upon the lines. Acceptable for prose
the lines are.
neutering the timing and emphasis
upon the lines. Acceptable for prose
the lines are.
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