the brief upper peninsula indian summer has passed and the wilderness colors have vanished from the forest. very soon the wind-chill temperatures will flirt with zero degrees, and the snow measure will become knee high and rising. my snow shovel and boots have been liberated from the poetarium small back shed. also, the pickup tranny and bard res’ furnace have been given a serious winter checking. currently i am eagerly looking forward to the coming quiet days with fewer personal things to do. with the additional rat bastard time i plan to be frequently engaging the elusive damn dame lady muse in serious literary contest.
ebook
i recently enjoyed my first ebook publication, titled “t. kilgore splake.” the book represents several e-mail interviews that i conducted over the previous summer months with sacramento, california poet richard lopez. jonathon hayes, santa cruz, california poet edited the lopez interview materials for his window pane press ebook publication.
“t. kilgore splake”
richard lopez
the octogenarian poet t. kilgore splake makes his home in the upper peninsula of michigan. his is a poetry of lean words, midnight metaphysics & long wnters. splake is a small press poet par excellence who needs to be better known in the world of poetry. what I mean to say in no small words that splake is a kick ass poet.
jonathan hayes
i have noticed the name t. kilgore splake appear and resonate with its strange and rough-sounding originality in many of the little magazines of the small press across america since the early 90’s. thirty years later, the name continues to contribute raw, plain-language poetry that bites at your skin, down to your bone, and stark black-and-white minimalistic photography that documents the upper peninsula of michigan and its history, towns, and wilderness. several years ago, splake and i began corresponding, sharing our books with each other, and publishing together. as i gradually got to sense the man behind the name not only was a friendship born, but a realization that i had never come across an interview with him, and that this elder american outsider poet was the last of a dying breed who lived what they wrote day in and day out while removed from the mainstream among the remoteness of the upper peninsula.
robert zoschke
“lowdown” and “clutch” editor
if there were any justice to be found in the america poetry scene – the next t. kilgore splake book would be an addition to the penguin modern poets series, with splake taking his rightful place in penquin’s poetic canon alongside charles bukowski, ann carson, lawrence ferlinghetti, sharon olds, and william wantling. luckily for his avid readers, splake doesn’t let that lack of justice slow him down or impede him in any way. like bukowski before him, splake hangs out his “no visitors” sign and gets on with his writing, day after day, night after night. i personally know a slew of people who call themselves poets and made the pilgrimage to michigan’s upper peninsula to “spend time with splake.” they all left befuddled, with tales of splake being “elusive,” “difficult to pin down,” and “uninterested in lunch and dinner invitations.” what those people failed to grasp is the very thing splake’s loyal readers grasp – that t. kilgore splake is a poet who works the poet’s life he lives.
since my last splake site commentary, i have enjoyed considerable publishing success. splake poems have earned ink and space in “bear creek haiku” (editor ayaz nielsen) longmont, colorado, “glimpse” (editor george searles) clinton, new york, and “brevities” (editors joyce and robin odams) sacramento, california.
also two new poetry chapbook collections were added to my literary biography. “cemetery dreams” was published by transcendent-zero press” (editor dustin pickering) houston, texas, and “the bard res’” was produced by cyberwit press (editor doctor agarwal) in allahabad, india.
“bear creek haiku”
# # # #
early morning poet
staring in dark espresso
seeking answers of life
# # # #
wilderness silence
like empty church
deep holy feelings
# # # #
escaping cell-phone world
idle textings and i-tune songs
alone in wilderness
beside brautigan creek
poet’s shadow listening
to forest music
soft gentle whispers
floating downstream
# # # #
“brevities”
# # # #
solitary crow
lightning scorched pine
lonely poet’s shadow
# # # #
minister and poet
quiet serious dreamers
believing in angels
# # # #
neighborhood houses
all windows dark
little theaters quiet
# # # #
“glimpse”
new frontier – last dance
graybeard poet
upper peninsula exile
abandoning calumet metrops
tamarack location
old mining row house
quiet and empty
making successful escape
without anyone knowing
new bardic destination
some voices suggesting
san francisco trip west
following old route 66
with kerouac and cassady ghosts
or possibly florida
one-way ticket
turning greyhound miles
like ratso and joe
welcoming warm sun
close writing friends
musing over alaskan adventure
new writing place
finding small log cabin
remote wilderness
along yukon river
instead poet hiking
abandoned logging road
crossing small creek
at trailheads beginning
climbing the cliffs
on gently rising path
in morning darkness
northern lights still glowing
pale green and pink hues
ricocheting off dark clouds
light overnight snow
dusting forest thickets
steps crunching on leaves
creating eerie sounds
imagining dark companions
wild nocturnal creatives
yellow eyes watching
cliffs ascent
wolf or mountain lion
doe and fawn
hiding in shadows
steeper hiking rise
passing glacier scoured rocks
reaching summit
night lightening to dawn
moving through underbrush
off regular trail
to secret retreat
unpacking rucksack
bottle of jack
large wedge of cheddar
tin of spam
can of port and beans
couple of coffee tubes
dented tin cup
evening meal fixings
building small fire
collection of pine boughs
comfortable night mattress
long night hours
time for reflecting
life finally reached
point of no return
soon all memories
achievements and failures
love and divorce
fathering sons and daughter
college degrees
publishing book titles
smith family members
emery and margaret
sisters catherine and mary
everything forgotten
poet now realizing
paradise doesn’t exist
instead his life
constantly moving
always on the way
to somewhere else
journey not destination
important to remember
waking to angry sky
scudding black clouds
darkening horizon
storm soon arriving
without saving epiphany
sudden blinding light
taking final breath
knowing very soon
animals tearing at flesh
maggots and insects
feasting on remains
body reduced to dust
soul seeking new frontier
always somewhere ahead
# # # #
“cemetary dreams”
zen surrealism
canvas creating art
artist watching palette
pushing paint brush
# # # #
plato’s republic
banning all artists
for distorting truth
whitmans leaves of grass
‘singing body electric’
# # # #
movie goer
abandoning technicolor films
for black-and-white reality
harry lime in vienna
hank quinlin’s evil touch
rosebud in flames
# # # #
“the bard res’”
nirvana
kurt’s tortured voice
telling friends and enemies
“come as you are”
lying about his gun
# # # #
political science answers
we think
or believe
often suspect
maybe this
probably that
something
neither
# # # #
wannabe
telling his friends
only parttime poet
which means
parttime husband
parttime father
parttime teacher
parttime christian
parttime friend
full time nobody
# # # #
higher power
early sunday morning
light filtering through trees
central church bell
echoing along cliffs
poet’s shadow
alone in the forest
watching butterflies
flit and fluttering
listening to birdsong
music from heaven
surrounded by wildflowers
sweet fragrant scents
sitting on stump
like from row pew
enjoying wilderness service
# # # #
finally a quick preview of coming splake events. i am hoping that by the thanksgiving vacation to have a new collection of poems titled “black dress fevers” to celebrate.