Posted in Antarctica

On Paper

They were coolest people on the continent
artists in residence, United States Antarctic Program.
Every year, one or two
for the summer
or part of
transported to all points historic and contemporary
capturing struggle in a fragile Eden
or similarly syntaxed theme.
Invites to every party
introductions to all the bp’s
having a ball . . . . creating about hardship.

An artist could be
whatever art can be
put together a petition. And petition.
the soul to the mind of science
and body of logistics.

He had been before
and written a book.
There was no free lunch
even here where meals are supplied without cost
artists had to pay the ferryman
with publication
coffee table gloss.

He smiled too easily
and made his fame aware
to any who were unaware.
Fran was a shuttle bus driver
one of several, almost always, women
maintaining the umbilical between town and airfield
driving the crushed snow road every hour. 24/7.
The writer took to accompanying her
for the entire nine hour shift
squatting on the engine block when all seats taken
two thirds his age
butterscotch blonde
eye holding figure – undisguised by polar clothing.
We wondered. And then we didn’t.

His book was in the library
curiosity checked it out
the frontispiece
a dedication to
research assistant, editor, friend and wife – Anna.

For the back story click Backstage



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.

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