A NEW BOOK

I'm excited! My new book came today! Well, a "new" used book - and it's in perfect condition. I ordered Pacific Light - a book of photographs by Douglas Steakley, poems by Ric Masten. As I've said before, Monterey County in California is my favorite spot in this world, and this book brings it right here to me.


The Foreword is by Jane Smiley. Her last paragraphs say it for me. Of Ric's poems, she says: "...they remind us that it is possible to live in this world and not destroy it, over-run it, reduce it to a parking lot, but to reside right by the beauty, in balance with it." And then: "Doug's images remind us what the camera is for - to catch time in its passing and give ourselves the opportunity to ponder and experience what we would otherwise overlook. " and finally: "Taken together, they are a wonder."


In Ric's own Preface, he ends with,

"think
of the photographs as poems
the words
merely afterthoughts"

I don't think so, Ric.


I've only explored a little of it so far. Excuse me now, please. Have to go and allow myself to be carried 3000 miles away.

ON THE MOUNTAIN

Just one more time, I promise. I really want to print my favorite of Ric Masten's poems. I hesitated because it is a long one, but I do love it. Then no more - at least for quite a while. I wonder if you remember the first of his poems that I printed. It was for Martin Luther King.
But first, because I've been asked, yes, there are several books available:
Ric Masten Speaking
I Know It Isn't Funny But.... I Love to Make You Laugh
Stark Naked
Voice of the Hive
Parallel Journeys (with Dr. Larry Lachman) concerning his cancer
Pacific Light (with photographer Douglas Steakley) Scenes from Monterey, CA
and more. 23 in all, two not yet published




ON THE MOUNTAIN

last summer whenever possible
my visiting granddaughter Cara
would worm her tiny hand into mine
and like Hansel and Gretel
we'd strike out from the house
up the "Barking dog trail"
to the "Creaky swings"
don't you love the labels
little children put on things?
and after a few "Sky flying"
"Watch me Grandpa!"s
it was on to the "Sneaky table"
where hidden in the shade
beneath a giant live oak tree
we would split
the forbidden can of Coke I brought
"Damn it Dad her teeth will rot!"

rested and refreshed
we then ascend the "Slidey steep"
to check the water level in the "Water keep"
to lift the lid and take a peek
then down the trail in single file we go
through the "Witchy woods"
all the way to Arizona which is what
my spouse has dubbed the shack
she uses as her dream shop and studio
Grandma it seems
also has a knack for naming things
"If anyone calls tell them I'm in Arizona."

next stop - the family memorial garden
where we solemnly commune
with the trees Kim and Emil have become
chanting softly as we pass
"From ashes to ashes to flowering plum."

then wending our way
along a stretch of "Dusty dirt"
we search for yesterday's footprints
covering them with today's
"Backward walking" sometimes
"To fool our enemies and friends."

and always during the final leg
of this backyard expedition
my companion lags behind
little Miss Slowpoke gathering specimens
repeating after me the name
of every trail side shrub and tree
eucalyptus - sticky monkey
lilac - sage - madrone
and "Don't touch that it's poison oak!"
then suddenly: "We're home!"

last summer Cara and I collected
and polished these moments
leaving them along the path like pebbles
to be used in the distant future
the way a whiff of cigar smoke
brings my grandfather back to poke about
in the garden with his walking stick
the way my grandmother's face
magically appears
at the taste of peppermint
her watchful presence close at hand
whenever I shake sand from something
that has been to the beach

I know that on some faraway tomorrow
a sip of Cola on a hot day -
a pinch of sage -
the creaking sound a rope swing makes
these things with Cara's help
will bring me back to life again
and thankful as I am
for such life extending crumbs

sadly I also know that the cigar smoke
and peppermint trick
can only be done by me -
in a couple of generations it all becomes
a banquet for the crows


You really should try to go to Ric's site, or read one of his books. After each poem, he also writes what he calls an AFTERWORD. They are worth reading. In the one after this poem he tells us that when he wrote it, Cara had graduated from college. He also did the illustrations that go with each - line drawings, done without lifting the pen from the paper. I'm sure that Cara, and all others of his family, have some wonderful memories of Ric, as do thousands of others all over the world.

THE ESCAPE ARTIST

I told you Blogger doesn't like me. No matter what I do to change the date on this post, it will not let me do it. I give up. Let it publish today.

---------------------------------------------------


You seem to like Ric Masten's poems. I do too. Now that he is no longer with us, I believe I will print a few more of them.



THE ESCAPE ARTIST

if freedom
is nothing more
than being able to chose
your own cage
as I suggest it is
then perhaps
the fun comes
in being
an escape artist

in recognizing
the cage you are in
deciding how long
you will settle for it
and then
when you want out
seeing how clever
you are at slipping
through a space
in the wire

perhaps
the good life
the full life
is nothing more
than every once
in a while
pulling yourself
through a hole
in the roof
standing triumphantly
looking down
with a "hot damn"
and then around
with a frustrated
"oh, no, not again!"

THE VANISHING SPECIES

One more Ric Masten poem.


THE VANISHING SPECIES

I was born on a planet
almost seventy seven light years from here

an idyllic world
where children grew up
without the threat of nuclear holocaust
or global warming
no instant messaging systems
no black revolutions
gay revolutions
drug revolutions
no woman's liberation
not even the choice
of taking or not taking the pill

true
the seed of all this was there
but had nothing to do
with my formative years

and now
I find myself come to this harsh place
a kind of space traveler
having close encounters
with my own children

like creatures
from different star systems
we stare at each other
across the void
even our words have different stems

we are aliens in each others midst

but damn it
I am the one saddled with the memory
of that other place
part of a colony
stranded on planet earth
at the beginning of the twenty first century
marooned
with no way to go back
and no time to go on

like a moon being eclipsed
my kind will soon be gone
and in light of the headlines today
the sooner the better

RIC MASTEN

We lost Ric Masten last week. He lost his long battle with cancer at last.

You may remember me mentioning Ric a couple of months ago. Some of you may have gone to his site at that time, and discovered his delightful poems and drawings. For those who did not, I am going to print here a very moving poem that he wrote about his wife.


DEMENTIA

when I was 19
my parents went around the world
leaving
from the San Francisco marina on a freighter
with passenger accommodations
back in those days
when the gang plank had been raised
and the ship was ready to depart
the passengers
would line up at the rail looking down
throwing serpentine
colorful paper streamers
to friends and family on the pier below
we would hold tight to one end
while those we hold dear
held on to their end
of these
slender fragile ribbons
then slowly
almost imperceptibly
the ship began to move away
the paper connections
snapping
one by one
as the steamer headed out into the bay

after fifty five years together
my cancer is incurable
and your memory is fading
which makes me acutely aware
of time circling the drain
running out of the clock
wondering whether
the love of my life
will slip over the horizon
before I am forced to leave the dock


Ric has gone. He is survived by the love of his life. If you go to his poetry site, you will find that he wrote more about her, following this poem. I think you will enjoy his poems, as well as the drawings he did to accompanying them. I have no idea how much longer the site will remain, but of course, his work can be found in the library or the book store.

Poetry

This is an email I got from Kitty today:

"This is a local poet with some national notariety. Click on this week's link and you'll find another boasting grandparent. I thought you'd appreciate the company"

And the url she sent me is for Ric Masten.

I love it! I hope some of you will enjoy it too.'