poets lost: writings of three romantic men in my life before and after new orleans by judyth vary...

8/9/2019 POETS LOST: WRITINGS OF THREE ROMANTIC MEN IN MY LIFE BEFORE AND AFTER NEW ORLEANS by Judyth Vary B

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POETS LOSTThe FOLLOWING ENTRIES ARE BY POETS WHO I KNEW WHO ARE NOWEITHER DEAD OR MISSING FROM EVERY SEARCH IVE MADE. THEY HELPED SHAPE MY OWN PETIC THOUGHT AND IDEAS.

Don FedermanA former editor of the University of Floridas sometimes-banned publication, THE

NEW ORANGE PEEL. He once wrote a note telling me I was the Goddess of Amity.A lover of Zen and a lover of beautiful women, though he wore horn-rimmed gla

sses and was slight of build, Don was one of the most romantic writers Ive everknown. We lost track of each not long after my disastrous year in New Orleans

: things just were never the same.IN A LOVERS EMBRACEby Don FedermanLovers, in your embrace lies the worlds futureLet the proud, obdurate, principled

suffer your intensitySmother their hate with your armsMake sweet their griefs with your lips

Dissipate their anxiety with yourserene gazeWash away their sins of strangement

The world has thought itselfinto prostration

Make virile and alive again its ivy-covered bastionsFill the cup with quiet desireThat patriots and patriarchs should become

Lovers tooFor tomorrows su n radiates from your bodiesThe dawn coming with the first kiss.

Jan. 1963

GENE COURSON

He played the lead role in Bradenton Florida, Manatee High Schools The King & I, and he was not just believable. He was unbelievable. Magnificent! We were in the sophomore play together, just four of us, and I grew to think of Gene as agreat poet and writer, though I was told he committed suicide sometime after weall split up top go to college or wherever. Gene? Dead? He was a genius: we

had a group, a kind of secret society, where we passed around our masterpieces.

Orlanda Brugnola, now a pastor and artist (who has refused to respond to my calls and emails: I suppose because of my connection to Lee Oswald) was a memberof that coterie. Here are three poems Gene gave to me, which I treasured:

AN OPEN LETTERBy Gene Courson

I have been heldIn many more vagrant armsThan you will ever know,when all I knew was a nameand a place and the glitter

of the neon signs outside.And while adhering to your rulesI have broken you,


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For, on a journey throughThe fields of hell, I sang more clearlyThan all your flaxen angels.Go take your idols,Go take your blazing bannersAnd claim the place of light,For twice, wice in the darkness

I have burned more brightlyThan you could ever know,When I knew all a name and a placeAnd the glitter of a truthWhich all your lights could not diminish.

1961

absurdly s.o.sby Gene Courson

helpi amcrying helpand youkeep tellingmehow verycharming

i amhelp

the world is no damn goodby Gene Courson

the world is no damngoodand neither are youor me eitheror anyone elsefor that materexceptmaybe just onebeaglein east bend north Dakotaand Im not toodamn sureabout him.I think maybe hes queer.

The final poet was many things in his life.I did not appreciate him as I shouldhaveI cannot find him anywherebut wish I couldI knew he understood me.he c

ared about wanting to be GOOD. He cared about trying to find the least harmful

path through life. I had been quite damaged by life when we met again. I had been through the painful ordeal of having my life destroyed in New Orleans by great


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powers. Greg Peters was a runner on scholarship a Rice University when we metagain. In his characteristic way, he simply handed over his notebook to me ab

out his thoughts and feelings. I was unable to keep most of that notebook: over

the years, pages were destroyed by thieves and vandals, along with much else that had been precious to me. Evidence destroyed also meant most of Greg peters writings did not survive. But what did, I present here:

Greg Peters poem for me, when he met me again, miserable, though I had plenty of friends, and was trying to make peace with God after what had happened in NewOrleans, and with my lifes dream to cure cancer and help people ruined (I hada baby by then, and was painting. He understood the paintings very well):

May 26, Monday

For many years she now has been

within her darkened roomwhose walls are filled with painted workseach hidden by the gloom.

Many people stared outsidethroughout the night and day,

they see the room, sometimes the gloom,but rarely do they stay.

A few came in she knows now whybut then they soon depart

They take a little part of herAnd always leave the art.

Someday hell come and he will seeThe paintings on the wall:

The room will brighten likeThe dawn

And she will give him all.

--1969 Houston, TX---

From the WRITINGS OF GREG PETERS

The environment is constantly offering me choices, or so it seems to me.I found once (on a gifted high) that one should do the task at hand and

Found that others have advocated the same, cf Carlyle in Sartor Resartus.But when others make demands, either tacit or overt, I sometimes dont havethat strong assurance which guides me at some other times (only faith, lightlysprinkled with seemingly rational observations keeps me from thinking I amdeluding myself in believing in this guidance).

I have much to learn about living in the present.Buffie feels more like a little girl than a woman even though she has a very

matureattitude about selflessnessShe says I make her feel both like a little girl and


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a woman. She feels somewhat inferior, she says, because my intellectual levelseems so much greater than hers. I have told her that I have just had more timeto read, study, and experience than she, and otherwise , we are equals.

As a man thinketh, so he is.Learn never to criticize in word or thought.Identify oneself in all that breathes

and feels.Dont think of the future unless absolutely necessary.Dont plando what you have to do.More forgiving, More tolerant, More loving,More harmonious in conduct

and attitude,so our environment will appear pleasing

to us.

I must totally cease to feel bad a what seems to be my problems.I must cases thinking about how my environment(people, food, shelter, grades) is helping me and think about

what I am giving to the environment.Only in taking this attitude, I believe, can I hope to find that peace of God that passeth all understanding.

Greg also wrote that pain is merely discomfort, most of the time,and as a discomfort, it can be handled without complaining. I have tried to liveby that rule, as I happen to live in constant pain, which most people do not re

alize. I take that Spock attitudeand forget about the pain gnawing at my back and back, and smile, for I have th

e gift of life.And I had the great joy of knowing these three talented, inspiring and romanticmen.JVB

poets lost: writings of three romantic men in my life before and after new orleans by judyth vary...

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