spring tides rising

splake’s tales

     the upper peninsula season of “long white” has finally released its arctic grip and spring has arrived and is presently settling into the keweenaw far northlands.

     it has been a time of considerable publishing success for this graybeard poet.  recently i had a poem published in ‘glimpse,” a canadian magazine.  in addition, “bear creek haiku” in colorado had four splake poems.  the spring issue of “trajectory” contained four splake black-and-white photographs and a review of my recent book “depot.”  february, march, and april “brevities” editions contained a total of sixteen splake poems.

     also, “iconoclast” 116 published two pages of splake haiku-type poems and its editor, phil wagner, wrote an excellent review of my presa press book, “winter river flowing.”

     in may, the nationally acclaimed “beat” literary journal, edited by wisconsin writer robert zoschke was released.  in the new edition there were forty-one splake photographs and eleven splake poems.  my “cliffs” photo of the poet tree shared the inside cover honors with a poem by the famous lawrence ferlinghetti.

     a comment about coming events – to be listed in the next splake site takes – in june the new UP READER will be published with several splake poems.  also, the editor of a new asian publication, “ethos literary journal,” has accepted four splake poems for its inaugural issue.  finally, ed gray (jikiwe), a calumet potter of national recognition, is finishing a clay booklet containing several splake short poems.

“bear creek haiku”

red tibetan prayer flag
floating on creek currents
poet’s creative bloodline

“brevities” (february)

brevFeb.jpg

kite without string
floating away
lost somewhere in clouds

“brevities” (march)

BrevMarch

econoline van
horses running forever
turning miles in heaven

“brevities” (april)

BrevApril.jpg

barefoot girl
passionate eyes flashing
touch me touch me

“iconoclast” 116

“winter river flowing”
selected poems 1979-2014
t. kilgore splake

 mr. splake (aka tom smith) came to his vocation relatively late in life.  his calling coming in a moment of satori in the wilderness (which he has always used as a palliative and an inspiration).  he came of age in the thick of the postwar peak of american consumerism and conformity, a society that informed the rebelliousness in his heart against false notions of success, duplicity.  much of his early work is long, descriptive, narrative streams of consciousness.  there’s the road trip from michigan to maine (“journey to climb a mountain”), tales of “the trophy room,” a year of colorful drunken escapes while getting his masters (the “t room alky squad regulars” marching in disheveled formation around the block); three marriages, five (i think) children, countless one-night stands and short relationships – all taking place through endless gallons of booze, cheap cigars – and madness.  thank god for the leavening power of nature.  in short: hemingway meets kerouac.

but poetry gives shape and meaning to the quest.  the poet chooses what needs to be recaptured, remembered, noticed; what needs to be excoriated.  going home.  mr. splake’s poem’s become more compressed, impressionistic.  one word signifies an entier scene – the glint of light off a trout in an icy stream.  the poet’s rebellion against a shallow, money-grubbing world must lead to solitude.  if lucky, a home is found (in this case a michigan upper peninsula small town).  self-sufficiency is attained.  the work is what matters.  holding moloch and other demons at bay.

review by phil wagner

“clutch”

splake poems

deeper consciousness
late night storm
crossing superior
driving rain
bending pines
old chair
brautigan creek
guttural noises
yellow eyes
shining in darkness
hot blood scent
poet cleansed
vision restored
thunder lightning
moving east
solitary artist
moving beyond

# # # #

young girl leaving poems
writer’s cemetery stone
proof life worth it

# # # #

keep the motor running

escaping midwest
wheat and corn fields
vanishing in rearview mirror
pistons slapping
noisy tappets clicking
vintage transmission
turning highway miles
dreaming of new life
finding happiness
new woman to love
some place out west
pod buried in ear
“radar love”
ricocheting inside brain

# # # #

 

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