My self portrait, I’ve been painting off and on for almost 50 years, in three stages, a pop-art stage in the 60’s, then a burst in the early 80’s when I got remarried and had to pause to make a living for all of us, for Joan and the kids, Chandos and Cybele, then a more productive period after I retired in 98.
I started poetry at Berkeley in the fifties, but then went and became a un-degreed physicist working mainly in optics; at the end as a self employed consultant. During the Berkeley awaking in the late 40’s and fifties Jack Spicer, Robin Blaser, and Rocert Duncan were my mentors. Most of my work has been written in the last twenty years. I was the treasurer of the Gloucester Charles Olson society which we terminated in 2015, and am one of the Cape Ann Poets who gather every 2 weeks
I live in Essex Mass, next to the great marshes, used to sail a Nonsuch out of Manchester, and with my wife, Joan, a catboat on the Essex river.
I’m 88 in this photo of me taken June 2016, still writing and trying to get a new book, ‘The Nightcap Poems’ published.
I urge everyone to look at or get my new book, ‘Kartharsis, Sifting Through a Mormon Past’ which was published.at the end of last year and which is available on Amazon, and at my publisher Harvard.com/bookstore/Kartharsis. It is a long poem, with prose passages, describing my upbringing, in Utah and San Francisco, my rejection of Mormonism, and the history of one branch of my family coming from Denmark in 1850, joining the Mormons and hauling a handcart 1300 miles through the Rockies to Salt Lake City, and about the fate of people living in the arid and difficult west.
The Poem on the back cover I included to illustrate my sense of Kartharsis as a cleaning out of the defining old stuff within oneself.
After a child learns to see and walk,
it’s why? Why is the grass green,
the moon yellow then white,
what’s good, what’s bad?
You’re big, they’re small,
they believe, they invent
and they want you to tell them
how is Santa Claus, and every
thing you say sticks inside
where neurons form forever.
The true and the untrue alike,
the moral and the immoral they see
all the viruses of belief
get stuck inside,
and its hell to get them out.