Tag Archives: stephen page

Winter 2015 Edition of The Fox Chase Review is Now Live

Pennypack Creek - Winter

Pennypack Creek – Winter

The winter 2015 edition of The Fox Chase Review is now live.

www.thefoxchasereview.org

This edition  features:

Poetry by:

M.P. Carver, Colin Dardis, Marty Esworthy, Melanie Eyth,  Gene Halus, Phil Linz, Gloria Monaghan, Stephen Page,  Chad Parenteau,  Prabha Nayak Prabhu,  Felino A. Soriano, Jack Veasey,  Lee Varon

Fiction by:

Ramona Long, Mary Pauer, Jeffrey Voccola

www.thefoxchasereview.org

In the Words of Poets- Why Poetry Readings?

Why poetry readings? We gleaned some answers from poets we interviewed for our, 10 Questions Interview Series .

472“After a year of touring, I actually started to feel more confident reading my poems to an audience.  With confidence, I believe my “reading” performance has been enhanced.  I have come to the conclusion that there are poems that are “page” poems and “audience” poems.  To elaborate, “page” poems are more complicated and/or heady poems and are meant for a reader to read and re-read slowly, calmly, and in the confines of solitude.  “Audience” poems are those poems that are more musical and/or narrative in nature, which make it easier for the listener to follow, as you read with rhythm, feeling, proper breathing, and annunciation.  By reading and re-reading poems aloud, you learn how to accent the poem where you want the listener to really hear and feel what you are reading. “– Diane Sahms-Guarnieri – Philadelphia, Pa.

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Jack Veasey“Largely that they enable you to finish the act of communication. If you write because you have things to say, that’s essential. Otherwise, you’re just talking to yourself. As far as getting reactions and feedback go – that really isn’t the reason you do it. And you have to be happy with it by your own standards regardless of whatever reaction it gets, or doesn’t get. You don’t do it for the reaction, but you do create the work, most of the time, in order to be able to share it. Then it’s out of your hands.”- Jack Veasey, Hummelstown, Pa.

kimmika“I perform because I have to! The poetry keeps me alive. It demands to be written and it demands to be heard…I’m just the vehicle. I’ve always said, if I couldn’t be a poet, I would probably be a preacher. I don’t know. I see the world this way…as poetry, and songs and stories. My first language is poetry. I write because if I didn’t I don’t know if I would be able to breathe. And I guess I perform for the same reason I still pray…everybody has got to have something to believe in!”- Kimmika Williams Witherspoon, Philadelphia

jane“I’m glad to speak the poems and hear how they sound in a larger auditory space rather than mumbled in front of the computer screen, but I’m always nervous. Some of my poems have visual quirks that can’t be relayed.” – Jane Lewty, Amsterdam, Netherlands

stephen-page-in-front-of-wheat-photo“Reading aloud to an audience is a public event, a gift shared with more than one person in linear time.  I discovered by reading my own stuff aloud, especially while I practiced reading aloud to myself, I caught the glitches in the lines, the skips in the meter, the loss of the music I thought was there.  Thus, by reading aloud, or preparing to read aloud, I was better able to edit my work.” – Stephen Page- Buenos Aires, Argentina

va 1“In fact I love doing live readings. It gives you an opportunity to connect with the pulse of your readers. Gives you instant feedback about your work and the joy of seeing your words settle in people’s hearts. The experience is quite matchless! I’ve had youngsters approach me with endearing trepidation after my readings asking if they could keep in touch with me…I’ve had older, established poets come forth and comment on what they see as strengths in my poetry. These are all the delightful fall outs of live readings! Also, when you read live, you portray not just your work but the entire ethos to which you belong. The way you dress, the way you carry yourself and the way you interact with fellow poets also helps to convey your sensibilities as a poet. It’s a wholesome experience that goes beyond the scope of mere words”. – Vinita Agrawl, Mumbai India

john dorsey“I travel constantly. As far as how important it is, that really depends on why you’re out there. Do you want to sell books? Are you attempting to build lifelong friendships? Unless you have really bad social anxiety, I think everyone should try to get out there. I myself need the book sales to eat more often than not, but the friendships that I’ve made outweigh $10 here, $20 there  or some silly idea of fame, when 99 percent of people could care less about poetry anyway.” – John Dorsey, Cleveland, Ohio

linda-nemec-foster-2“Let’s be honest:  being a poet can be a lonely profession.  The creating, crafting, and revising of poems demand concentration, time, energy, and discipline.  For me, it is very important to “get out into the world” and share my work with audiences on a regular basis.  Some poets don’t like to give readings and/or are not very good at public presentations.  I’ve heard some famous poets give awkward, poor readings and some relatively unknown poets give wonderful readings.  The bottom line is that a poem should be strong on the page and in the voice.  After all, poetry started as a purely oral tradition long before the invention of paper, the letterpress, or the laptop.” Linda Nemec Foster, Michigan

thad 4“I’m usually able to make a connection. I remember reciting a piece on the top deck of a boat on the way from Hong Kong to Lama Island. Two people were listening, one from Australia and one from England. We were just lying there in the warm air. I was interrupted by our cruise host, but after the host left, the Englishwoman said to me, “Do the rest of it. I want to hear how it ends.” – Thaddeus Rutkowski, New York

Kristina 124 (1)“I have been writing since I was a young girl. Reading my work aloud, however, is something I have only done in the last eight to ten years. At first, I was very reluctant to stand up in front of an audience and read. I prefer the quiet, solitary process of writing. But, at some point, I realized that my poems needed to be heard. I had something to say and, even if it only reached one person, I needed to say it.” –Kristina Moriconi- Montgomery County, Pa.

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Robert Milby 7 “I enjoy reading in states outside of my home state, New York. Performance is vital.  To paraphrase the great Harry Chapin:  “You must seduce the audience over and over.” It is important to keep the crowds’ interest.  A poet can connect with his or her audience in many ways. It is up to the novice and/or younger poet to go to readings and study the poet onstage.  Take notes if need be.” Robet Milby, Hudson Valley New York

 

Coming Soon….The Winter 2015 Edition of The Fox Chase Review

The Banks of the Pennypack Creek in Philadelphia

The Banks of the Pennypack Creek in Philadelphia

The winter 2015 edition of The Fox Chase Review is now in production. This edition will feature:

Poetry by:

M.P. Carver, Colin Dardis, Marty Esworthy, Melanie Eyth,  Gene Halus, Phil Linz, Gloria Monaghan, Stephen Page,  Chad Parenteau,  Prabha Nayak Prabhu,  Felino A. Soriano, Jack Veasey,  Lee Varon

Fiction by:

Ramona Long, Mary Pauer, Jeffrey Voccola

 

Readers Choice – Top Ten Interviews for 2014

Our list of the top ten interviews at The Fox Chase Review Blog for 2014 based on readership.

thad-2

10 Questions for Thaddeus Rutkowski

kimmika

10 Questions for Kimmika Williams-Witherspoon

jane

10 Questions for Jane Lewty

stephen-page-in-front-of-wheat-photo

10 Questions for Stephen Page

Kristina 124 (1)

10 Questions for Kristina Moriconi

louise-halvardsson

10 Questions for Louise Halvardsson

va-1

10 Questions for Vinita Agrawal

philip_dacey_at_ssu

10 Questions for Philip Dacey

Diane Sahms-Guarnieri

10 Questions for Diane Sahms-Guarnieri

rebecca-schumejda-2

10 Questions for Rebecca Schumejda

 

Thugs, Con-Men, Pigs and More by g emil reutter

thugfinish

g emil reutter’s first fiction release since 2008, Thugs, Con-Men, Pigs and More, has been released by Red Dashboard Press and is now available for purchase at Amazon.

Thaddeus Rutkowski, author of Haywire said of this collection:

“Reading these short, muscular stories by g emil reutter is like walking into the lives of good people who experience bad things. When trouble comes, these people do the best they can, but often it isn’t enough. Violence and heartbreak are just around the corner, and most of the stories end with a twist—perhaps the twist of a knife. As you keep reading, though, you find the humanity, community and even love in each difficult situation.”

Poet and critic Stephen Page said:

“These are stories that knock you back with short powerful jabs of empathy.”

To check out the book simply click this link: http://www.amazon.com/Thugs-Con-Men–Pigs-More-Reutter/dp/1502434873/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414853825&sr=8-1&keywords=thugs%2C+con+men%2C+pigs+and+more

The Woman on the Bridge over the Chicago River by Allen Grossman

theWomanOntheBridgeOverTheChicagoRiverByAllenGrossmanHardcover: 90 pages

Publisher: W W Norton & Co Inc; First Edition edition (June 1979)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0811207145

ISBN-13: 978-0811207140

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Reviewed by Stephen Page

When I picked up Allen Grossman’s The Woman on the Bridge over the Chicago River and began to read, I felt like Grossman had turned out the lights and I was going through a series of dreams and nightmares.  I tried several times to come out of the dream-nightmare-state but the poetry was too riveting, too compelling, even when the scenes became dark—so I remained lucid with them until culmination.  I was happy I did.  It’s a superb book even if a demanding read.  Grossman’s philosophy of poetry seems different from anyone I have ever read.  The narrative thread is not easy to follow, like your own dreams or nightmares where scenes change rapidly without reason.  Not that this disqualifies the poetry from accessibility, for it doesn’t.  The poems are works of a genius yet generous mind.  The reader just has to put him or herself in a different reality—one where details move emotion and the whole is synthesized only through contemplation, like the process of interpreting a dream upon wakening.  “The Department” is one of the nightmare poems where the narrator is driving a motor vehicle with the reader in the passenger seat through the land of the dead.  The scenery changes rapidly with each non-living person met.  In the end of the poem, Boime, the All-seer and self-appointed head philosopher character, demands the narrator to get off the road—meaning it is not time for the narrator to die yet.  But this is also meant to criticize the writer as narrator—in other words, Grossman’s method and thought of how poetry should be arrived at—the vehicle the metaphorical technique, the road the metaphorical path to result.  That is a Grossman self-effacing, or self-doubting, statement well said.  There are numerous poems of outstanding quality in this collection, too many to mention, but I particularly liked “Pat’s Poem,” a love poem, and “Alcestis,” a sonnet sequence written as a hymn.

 

Buy the book here: http://www.amazon.com/Woman-Bridge-Chicago-River-Poems/dp/0811207145

 

stephen-page-in-front-of-wheat-photoStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family. http://stephenmpage.wordpress.com/

 

She Had Some Horses by Jay Harjo

SheHadSomeHorsesPbkbig

  • Paperback: 80 pages
  • Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company (December 17, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 039333421X
  • ISBN-13: 978-0393334210
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Reviewed by Stephen Page 
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Friday afternoon.  I take a taxi to the Buenos Aires Airpark.  On my flight to Uruguay I read She Had Some Horses, by Jay Harjo. The poems seem somehow familiar, something . . . I am trying to put my finger on it . . . yes . . . they remind me of poems I have read in workshops at university—there is nothing technically wrong with them, but there is nothing outstanding about them either.  They evoke some imagery, but little emotion.   My friend meets me at the airport and drives me to his home.  That evening, after eating grilled lamb on a patio in back of his house, I gaze over what he calls a “backyard”, which is a hundred acres of rolling land surrounded by barbwire fence with a small herd of horses that graze on the grass.  Once in a while one of the horses will take off running, and two or three will follow its lead, running, jumping in the air, kicking their hooves about, neighing like they are laughing, manes and tails flowing.  Running about, it seems, just to run about—to have fun—to be happy to be alive.  I note how gracefully horses move. How proud they stand when they stick their heads up from grazing to look about.  That night, I read the book again.  I begin to notice a subtle tugging from the poems, an evasive yet imperative beckoning.  The next morning, I read the book a third time.  The poems stun me. Each one dazzles me, has my full attention—like the way I notice a woman is beautiful and interesting in a way I did not on a first meeting with her, but upon a second and third encounter, moves me, enters me, will not leave me.  One of the better poems in the book is ‘The Woman Hanging From the Thirteenth Floor Window’:
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She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor
 window. Her hands are pressed white against the
 concrete molding of the tenement building. She
 hangs from the 13th floor window in east Chicago.
 with a swirl of birds over her head. They could
 be a halo, or a storm of glass waiting to crush her . . .
 .
The woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 on the east side of Chicago is not alone.
 She is a woman of children, of the baby, Carlos,
 and of Margaret, and of Jimmy who is the oldest.
 She is her mother’s daughter and her father’s son.
 She is several pieces between the two husbands
 she has had. She is all the women of the apartment
 building who stand watching her, watching themselves. . .
 .
She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 on the Indian side of town. Her belly is soft from
 her children’s births, her worn Levi’s swing down below
 her waist, and then her feet, and then her heart.
 She is dangling.
 .
The woman hanging from the 13th floor hears voices.
 They come to her in the night when the lights have gone
 dim. Sometimes they are little cats mewing and scratching
 at the door, sometimes they are her grandmother’s voice,
 and sometimes they are gigantic men of light whispering
 to her to get up, to get up, to get up. That’s when she wants
 to have another child to hold onto in the night, to be able to fall back into dreams.
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And the woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 hears other voices. Some of them scream out from below
 for her to jump, they would push her over. Others cry softly
 from the sidewalks, pull their children up like flowers and gather
 them into their arms. They would help her, like themselves.
 .
But she is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window,
 and she knows she is hanging by her own fingers, her
 own skin, her own thread of indecision . . .
 .
The woman hangs from the thirteenth floor window crying for
 the lost beauty of her own life. She sees the
 sun falling west over the gray plane of Chicago.
 She think she remembers listening to her own life
 break loose, as she falls from the 13th floor
 window on the east side of Chicago, or as she
 climbs back up to claim herself again.
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The image of the woman hanging by her fingertips on the window ledge is vivid.  She is depicted metaphorically as EveryIndianWoman, but she could just as easily be EveryWoman, the poem is written that well. Every reader feels empathy with The Women, as do the spectators on the street below.  Thusly, EveryOne is up on the ledge with The Woman, right beside her, or as her.  The poem begins tragically but ends victoriously.  There is hope to escape the fall from the ledge in the sense of self-reclamation.  After all, hasn’t everyone been hanging from a ledge at least once in his or her life—at least some sort of a metaphoric ledge?
The rest of the poems are just as vivid as they are emotional.
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stephen-in-the-countryStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family. http://stephenmpage.wordpress.com/

Celebrity Chekhov By Ben Greenman

chekcoverPaperback: 205 pages

Publisher: Harper Perennial (October 5, 2010)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0061990493

ISBN-13: 978-0061990496

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Reviewed by Stephen Page.

The first thing a reader may think when he picks up this book and begins reading it is “why?”  I say “why not?”  In Celebrity Chekov Ben Greenman updates a selection of Anton Chekhov’s short stories and replaces the characters in the stories with contemporary celebrities. Is this satirical? Yes. Funny? Hilarious.  Greenman and Chekhov’s talents as writers can account for all this. Greenman doesn’t just update the stories and replace this character for that character—Greenman rewrites the stories, re-establishes them, revives them.  Why not bring to the present great short stories from the past?  People have been updating Shakespeare on stage and on film, quite successfully I might add, for decades, if not longer. And Shakespeare is supposed to be, quote, “timeless” and “immortal,” as is Chekhov.  Yes, some great writing does wear longer than other writing, due to the ability of the author to create recognizable characters drawn from inherited human behavior, and some writing stays popular due to the writer’s ability to create empathic situations created by said characters, but I say nothing is immortal or timeless.  Consider just how many years ago Shakespeare lived, or even how many ago Chekhov lived, and compare those numbers with how long ago modern Homo sapiens first appeared on earth, and compare that amount of time with how long the earth has been around, and compare that amount of time with how long the universe has been around, and compare that to.  .  .  well, you get it. Right?   Finally has anyone reading this taught high school or had a teenager in his or her home?  How many of those teenagers love to see a Shakespearean play set in Shakespearean settings? Not many, and of course it depends on their socialization, and, well, furthermore . . . getting back to my main point, “why not?”

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You can find the book here: http://www.amazon.com/Celebrity-Chekhov-Stories-Anton-P-S/dp/B005DI9VUE

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stephen-in-the-countryStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family. http://stephenmpage.wordpress.com/

 

The Last Cowboys at the End of the World By Nick Reding

LastCowboys1Paperback: 304 pages

Publisher: Three Rivers Press (October 1, 2002)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0609810049

ISBN-13: 978-0609810040

 

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Reviewed by Stephen Page

Once I took a vacation with my wife to visit some of the interesting places in Argentine Patagonia—the Perito Moreno Glacier, the Petrified Forest, the Cave of Hands, etc.  We decided on hiring a guide in a pickup that would wind us through Patagonia. Our guide was friendly and helpful.  In-between the beautiful locations (mentioned above) most of Patagonia is windswept semi-arid desert, so for hours at a time we would only see tufts of yellow grass and scrawny bushes (xerophyte classification).  Once in a while we would see a harrier, or a hawk, or a condor glide by. When we did see a tree or two, they where sticking out of the ground at a thirty-degree angle, because the strong year-round winds made the trees grow that way.  Occasionally we would see a guanaco (an animal genetically related to an African camel and also but more phenotypically related to a llama, which is a smaller, hairier version of a camel), a hare, a snake slither across the road, or a herd of huddled sheep overseen by a lone gaucho sitting in a saddle on a horse silhouetted atop a hill, him and his horse leaning a little due to the wind. Otherwise, our first impression of Patagonia was that it is all but barren.  The gauchos I saw looked ominous, hunched over in their saddles, puffing on hand-rolled cigarettes, staring at us with slit-eyed hatred as if we were something they were not or at the very least, intruders in their world.  I didn’t understand.  We were just tourists driving on a public (dirt) road.  The guide told us “some gauchos are irresponsible, resentful, lazy, violent, drunkards.”  But then he then added, “not all of them.  Most of them were good employees, and good human beings.”  I didn’t think much about those comments at the time.  I just associated gauchos with the romantic notion of cowboys of the Old West in the U.S. of A.—riding in a saddle all day, sustaining for weeks at a time on jerky and coffee (by the way, gauchos drink maté—not coffee—which is a loose-leaf tea sipped out of a gourd through a metal straw).  Anyway, most of the time on our trip, we stayed in one or two star hotels.  We ate grilled meat and white bread three times a day. We travelled . . . ascetically . . . to say the least. One evening the guide invited us to his home to introduce us to his family.  “It’s on the way.” He said.  “Just a few miles from our tour route.”  His house was set against a line of sand-beige foothills spotted with clumps of sparsely leaved green bushes and a few clumps of yellow grass.  A few sheep and a couple of horses were wandering around and chomping on the grass.  It was a humble abode, but well maintained and immaculately clean inside.  His wife was very accommodating and good-natured.  She cooked us up some lamb stew (guiso).  They had an infant child who was lying in a portable crib set by kitchen table and gooed while we ate.  We ate bowls and bowls of the guiso and sipped red wine and talked for hours.  By then it was after sunset, so the couple showed us the guest room.  It was just big enough for a small dresser and a twin bed, and since the only fireplace in the small house was in the living room, we slept with the door open. To keep us warm while we slept, the couple had placed 10 blankets atop the sheets (southern Patagonia can be very cold, all year round—did I mention that Patagonia was windswept? Yes I did. I forgot to mention that the wind is extremely cold, sometimes coming from over the snow-capped Andes, usually directly from the south—Antarctica). That was a romantic night for my wife and me, cuddled together in a small bed with a mountain of blankets over us.  It was certainly memorable. We often talk and laugh about it.

Sometime after, I read Nick Redding’s The Last Cowboys at the End of the World.    I bought the book just before I started studying at Bennington and read only part of the first chapter when a friend of mine, over a cup of coffee, in a Buenos Aires café called “El Gaucho,” explained to me the plot and the ending.  I was, to say the least, perturbed.  I decided to put some time between the book and me so I could read it somewhat unbiasedly.

The Last Cowboys is a wonderful book.  It has some tones of Chatwin, in the narrator behavior and voice, but in the end, overall, it is a unique story.   The setting takes place on a huge spread of a ranch in the Chilean side of Patagonia (more mountainous than the Argentine).  The main character, nicknamed Duck, whom Redding studies in the book is a gaucho, a family man (married and with children), and he is a hodgepodge of all the bad-guys in gaucho land—knife fighter, horse thief, cattle rustler, heavy drinker, wife-beater, philanderer, cuckold, malingerer, excuse maker, liar, irresponsible employee.  Duck lives Spartanly—as do all romanticized gauchos and cowboys—but not because he wants to, because he has to, due to his inadequate salary.  So, in order to live better, rationalizing to himself he deserves better for his family because the owners of the ranch he works on are rich, Duck sets up a system along with a few other gauchos from neighboring ranches, to “lose” a few head of cattle every time he moves the bovines from one pasture to another or when the big end of the year cattle drives are on.  I won’t tell you if Duck gets caught or not, but there is a detailed chapter in the book that explains how difficult it is to fire a bad employee even if he is not working in the manor the employer wants (with the labor laws in effect at the time).  The reader gets to know the inside story of ranching on a big spread—a dying entity in itself, what with feedlots and overpopulation causality.  Reding shows Duck working, in home at rest, his family, his social life. Duck confesses to Reding his dreams, his thoughts, his heartbreaks and elations.

To Reding, Duck’s cowboy/gaucho life is evolving (a most intelligent observation), and he explains why, not didactically, but through the actions of the main character.

Reding puts together a great novel, filled with drama, action, excitement, everyday work drudgery, and romanticism of the Old West set in the present.  I am glad I read it.   You should too.  I will quote something for you to ponder which Reding puts in the introduction:  “if you can’t tell a story without maintaining the dignity of the people involved, you should not be telling the story in the first place.”  I need to tape that to my computer screen.

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You can check out the book here: http://www.amazon.com/The-Last-Cowboys-End-World/dp/0609810049

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stephen-in-the-countryStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family.

 

Living Off the Country By John Haines

LivingOffTheCountryCoverSeries: Poets on Poetry

Paperback: 200 pages

Publisher: University of Michigan Press (January 1, 1982)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0472063332

ISBN-13: 978-0472063338

Reviewed by Stephen Page

While I was reading the introduction of Living Off the Country, I thought, Oh no!, this is just another treatise by an egotistical writer filled with ego-driven philosophy; but I soon changed my mind.  By page seven I knew I was reading a good book.  Haines’s perception of the evolution of language is keen: “one of the consequences of having a language and a culture is that these begin to exist for themselves in place of the original things we once lived by.” Our minds manipulate language, but mostly, language is manipulated by the powers-that-be to take on meanings other than the idea or thing.  “Go West young man,” or “conquer the last frontier,” are a couple of examples.  The statement is also an introduction into the main theme of the book, that is, place.   For Haines, place is Alaska; moreover the land, the natural world, the things in the natural world.  We must get back to nature and be a part of it.  This is sound advice, for the natural world is important and the human race has lost sync with it.  We build cities that wall out animals, and make noise that scares away more.  We give names to things so they fit our conception of the world (reminds me in a parallel sense of Bruce Chatwin’s Songlines).  Haines believes we must get into the “spirit of place.”  Try not to let the names of things block our perception of the world nor our sense of being one with the world.  And most of all, we shouldn’t allow our culture or leaders to manipulate our thoughts and feelings about things and ideas. The natural world is where the spirit of the universe can be felt best, and since people are natural beings, they should try to “be” with nature in order to “be” with themselves.  All places have different characteristics, different versions of the spirit.  Haines goes on to say in other essays: not everyone is in love with nature, nor can he or she be in tune with it all the time, the world has progressed and changed too much for that.  So a writer must be in tune with his surroundings wherever he may live.  A writer’s job is to write literature that takes on place.  Place must be in the writing.  I also liked how he emphasized in the latter half of the essays, especially in “From the Beginning,” that writers should be concerned about concepts larger than themselves.  He says that poets today lack grand ideas because they are only inwardly tuned, catharsizing and thinking that is all they need to do.  Writers certainly need to be inwardly tuned, to get in touch with themselves, but they should also be concerned about larger principles. Worldviews that concern humanity and the environment are some examples that poets might tackle today.  I still dislike introductions of books written by the authors, and I felt Haines’s autobiographical sketches at the end only turned the book around to himself again, which is defeating the purpose of many of his essays.  In all though, the meat of the book is informative and world encompassing, and I am going to return to it many times, and recommend it to other writers.

You can check out the book here: http://www.amazon.com/Living-Off-Country-Essays-Poetry/dp/0472063332

Stephen in the CountryStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family.