"A Picture From Life's Other Side: Appalachian Poems" by Bob Henry Baber

At times when I am in a book buying mood, I will often stray into other books I had not set out to search for and buy one or two I had not foreseen. Although, I had not planned to buy this book, I had been aware of its existence virtually since the day it was published. I was recently searching for a book or two which had roots in the Southern Appalachian Circuit of Antioch College, especially one or two which had been published by individuals such as Gail Amburgey, Pauletta Hansel, P. J. Laska, and Robert "Bob" Snyder. I found a copy of this book by Bob Henry Baber who had also been a student at the Southern Appalachian Circuit and decided to buy it. It has been relatively rare to find it on the typical used book websites such as Abe Books and Alibris from which I have bought hundreds of books over the years. Amazingly the copy I found was also in near perfect condition and signed with a generic signature. Bob Henry Baber self published this book in 1994. The title is taken from the music of Hank Williams and his song by the same name. Several of the poems had been previously published in small journals around the country including "Appalachian Heritage", "Appalachian Journal", and "Cold Mountain Review". Many of the poems are rooted in the coal mining industry as is a great deal of Appalachian writing. Some such as "Let Me Hide Myself In Thee" are comments on or reflections of the sometimes fundamentalist religion of much of Central and Southern Appalachia, Others of the poems such as "Taking Title" are strong examples of the Appalachian Value which Loyal Jones called Love of Place. Bob Henry Baber's life, as I have known him, has always been deeply rooted in his historical family farm near Richwood, West Virginia, which Bob has always referred to as "Baber Mountain". For several years, he held a summer get together there which was attended by both members of his family and his friends in the world of Appalachian Literature. Like many other, if not most, native Appalachians Bob Henry Baber has also penned his own paean to the Appalachian family cemetery in the poem "Severed Threads". The lines: "Who will bury our spirits beneath hearthstones to protect them from frigid air? Who will stir our memories and throw kindling on our ancient dreams? Who will cut the cemetery grass that will so shortly be given over to woods?" are another feelingly rendered manifestation of the deep rooted Appalachian people to the many cherished but overgrown mountain cemeteries on long lost family farms which had been scratched out of the resistant mountains of West Virginia, Eastern Kentucky, Western Virginia, and North Carolina. He chose to end the book with that poem and it was a fitting tribute to the ties which have always bound him to those mountain acres near Richwood where his ancestors made love to the land with gooseneck hoes, double bit axes, and hillside turning plows, and carried their hard earned raisings from the field to the root cellar in order to weather one more winter on the place which had woven its way into their hearts.

Walking At The Lexington Arboretum, June 2026!

A few weeks ago, I had an appointment in Lexingtno, Kentucky, and took a hike of an hour or so at the Lexington Arboretum which is a lovely, peaceful, and educational place to walk in beautiful, flowering, and wooded setting at the southern end of the University Campus. I frequently walk there when I am in Lexington. The Arboretum has a combination of fairly wide paved trails and others in the more wooded areas which are unpaved but usually filled with tanbark. I prefer the wooded trails and usually try to walk those unless it is after a recent rain since some of them are more prone to a bit of mud than others. On a busy day at the Arboretum, you might meet a half dozen or so people on the wooded trails. On a busy day,you might meet more. On the particular day I have in mind, I only met a few. At one area, there is small circular patch of perhaps a quarter of an acre open area beside the trail with a large central tree, a circular path at the outer edge of the circle, and a concrete bench for resting and meditation near the tree. I rarely stop when I am walking but sometimes will circle that area just to see if anything interesting is in bloom there. On the day I have in mind,I noticed a large plastic big mouth jug with a lid and a sheet of hand written paper on the front. The jug was filled with small scraps of paper. The sign read Free Poems, Take One or something nearly like that. I reached in and took one, the first one on top of the pile. I have scanned it below.

It was written on a receipt from Food Lion, Morgan Square, Route 522 South. It turns out that this store is actually in Berkley Springs, West Virginia. There is one other potentially identifying item on the receipt which I won't list in this blog post in order to prevent less honest people from having the ability to track down the author of the poem. The poem isn't the best poetry I have ever read. Neither is it the worst. This is what it says in seven lines:

It's nice, sweet, a bit too much leaning toward paganism for me perhaps. But it was a very nice gesture for some woman named meagan to leave a jar of her poems, all written on small scraps of paper in a waterproof jug in a forested patch of the Lexington Arboretum. Thank you, meagan!

"Soupbean: An Anthology of Contemporary Appalachian Literature" by Bob Snyder, P. J. Laska, et. al.

After thirty or more years of periodic searches on used book websites, I finally located a copy of "Soupbean: An Anthology of Contemporary Appalachian Literature" by Bob Snyder, P. J. Laska, et. al, a group of Appalachian writers connected to The Soupbean Poets Collective of Antioch College/Appalachia. The book was published by Mountain Union Books of Beckley, WV, in 1977. Mountain Union Books was an imprint which was briefly operated by Antioch College Appalachia, which was a branch of Antioch College of Yellow Springs, Ohio. This branch campus was created by Antioch College in the early 1970's, initially opening in Huntington, WV, and after a couple of years relocated to Beckley. The branch was operated for roughly 8 years before being shuttered by the mother institution which had created a group of such campuses in California, Alaska, West Virginia, and one or two other locations. The campus in Beckley was never large with an annual enrollment which was generally less than 100 students. But Antioch Appalachia, which also operated briefly as The Southern Appalachian Circuit of Antioch College, was staffed by several of the best writers in all of Appalachian Studies including Robert "Bob" Snyder, P. J. Laska, Don West, Bill Blizzard, Rod Harless, and Yvonne Snyder Farley. The campus also produced several well known authors of Appalachian Literature most of whom are still writing and publishing today. During the brief life of the campus, four of its female students were featured in an issue of "MS Magazine" as "Women Writers of Appalachia". Those four women were Gail Amburgey; Pauletta Hansel who eventually became the first Poet Laureate of Cincinatti, Ohio; Peggy Dotson Hall, now deceased; and Sylvia Evans. I ahve to admit that I have never met either Evans or Hall and know little about any subsequent work they did. But I have known both Gail Amburgey and Pauletta Hansel for years and read a great deal of both women's work. Other published student writers who attended or graduated from Antioch included the late Joseph Barrett who has two published books as the product of his brief life; Bob Henry Baber, the eventual mayor of Richwood, West Virginia, and the author or editor of several books. I am proud to say that I was briefly a student at Antioch Appalachia but didn't complete a degree there. I have published fiction and nonfiction in a dozen states and one foreign country. My first collection of short stories is pending publication at this time in late June 2026. I always have and always will say that being exposed to the faculty and students at Antioch Appalachia and the high level of education they provided was the greatest influence on my writing. Antioch Appalachia was a wellspring of and for writers and writing in Central and Southern Appalachia. In addition to the Appaachian writers who were produced by the campus, two other students achieved success in divergent fields. Sam Farley, a Vietnam veteran and eventual social worker who in 2007 was in 2007 recognized by The National Association of Social Workers, West Virginia Chapter, with the Catalyst Award for Direct Social Work Practice. Barbara Placier Ervin, another graduate of Antioch Appalachia became a professor at Lander University in South Carolina and served as Director of Montessori Education at that institution where she earned the Mary Frances Poole Alston Award, which is presented to a faculty or staff member who has provided "visibility for Lander University throughout the state of South Carolina, the United States and the world" which was a recognition of her internationally recognized work in her field. By percentage of the student body, this group of highly successful individuals stand out very favorably in comparison to nearly any other college in the nation. The book being reviewed here contains writing from several members of that group including Pauletta Hansel, Gail Amburgey, Mary Joan Coleman, Bob Henry Baber, and Joseph Barrett. It also includes work by Bob Snyder, P.J. Laska, and Yvonne Snyder Farley who all served as faculty of Antioch Appalachia. This little book contains the powerful and sometimes biting poetry of Gail Amburgey who was a survivor of the Buffalo Creek Flood and one of two Antioch Appalachia products who went on to be among the early female coal miners in Appalachia. Gail's writing is frequently colored by her exposure to that flood which was a glaring example of everything that can go wrong when an American industry is underregulated and its actions go awry. It also contains contributions from Joseph Barrett who published poetry in numerous journals around the world before his untimely death at only 39. There is also some fine writing by former student David Chaffins who became a career Navy noncom. Jim Wayne Miller, who was a professor of German at Western Kentucky University and a well recognized writer of literature in Appalachia, also contributed to this book which must be considered a complement to the little college that could. This is a generally difficult little book to find for sale since it was issued in a small edition in 1977. But if you can locate a copy, buy it, read it, come to enjoy one of the most productive institutions to ever exist in Appalachia and Appalachian Literature. You won't be disappointed.!

"Atlanta Review: Poland Spring/Summer 2023"

There is never a bad time to read good to great literature, and I often read literature much older than this poetry journal from 2023. Every year, the "Atlanta Review" publishes two issues. One of those issues will have about half of the writing from a selected foreign country. In this volume, the "Spring/Summer 2023" volume, the selected country was Poland. I am somewhat fascinated by Poland for a variety of reasons. I know oone or two Polish immigrants in the US. I have also read and written a small amount about the Polish Resistance during World War II. Poland suffered greatly during the war and resisted nobly throughout the war. This volume of the "Atlanta Review" is well worth reading whether or not you have an extensive interest in Poland or not. Of the 128 pages in the book, a little more than half are dedicated to the work of a large group of Polish poets, both historical and current. While I was not greatly impressed by a few of the poems, much of the writing is well above average. The book also has brief biographies of all the poets in the book, and those of the Polish poets are well worth reading to maximize the readers understanding of these people and their work. There are roughly 20 Polish poets who have work in the book. A few have only one poem while several of these writers have multiple poems in the book. Read them all when you locate a copy of the book. They are well worth the time to read them. All have been translated into English. Maria Konopnicka and Boleslaw Lesmian are two of the more notable historical Polish poets whose work appears here. The book is well worth investing the time and effort to locate a copy, and since it is only three years old, it won't require much of a search of used book websites to locate a used copy. Or, if you are not the type of reader who still prefers to hold a paper book in your hand, you can download the entire volume at this link on the journal's website. Enjoy!

"Poems To Ponder" by Alva Rice

Alva Rice produced one small, self-published collection of poetry to my knowledge which was printed in 1965, two years before his death. The printing company was Young Publications in Appalachia, Virginia. The book contains roughly 30 poems about life in Eastern Kentucky with some leaning toward being nature poetry and others which are reflections of family life including one which talks about young boys playing, most likely at some family affair. Rice used a lot of rhyme and sometimes exercied a bit of poetic license with regard to his rhymes. None of the poems are remarkable for the level of talent they show but they are a good look into every day family life in Johnson County Kentucky in the middle of the twentieth century. In particluar, Rice mentions a place called Little Mine Creek. I found the copy of the book which I own in a local Goodwill Store and bought it since I have a great deal of trouble ignoring anything which can be said to be autographed and this one is inscribed "Your Frien, Alva", and in the same handwriting contains the name Escom Chandler. The fly leaf of the book also contains the names of his wife Erma Maxine and three daughters Alice Evelyn, Mary Kathryn, and Betty Lou. As I often do when I encounter such self-published books, I did a quick internet search and located the burial place of Alva Rice and his wife in the Price Cemetery in Johnson County Kentucky. I also located a Find A Grave memorial for a fourth daughter, Phyllis Deane Rice, who died in a car wreck according to her tombstone at the age of 13 in 1957, ten years before the publication of his book of poems.

"Getting The Spirit" by Vernon Abner, Thoughts About An Interesting Little Book

The author "Getting The Sprit", Vernon Abner was a former US Navy sailor who was born in 1937 presumably in Jackson County Kentucky where he spent most of his life. After leaving the US Navy, he entered Berea College in Berea, Kentucky, as a nontraditional student at the age of about 36. During his time at Berea, he took at least one class from my friend Bill Best whose work I have written about several times on this blog. During his career at Berea, Bill Best encouraged many hopeful Appalachian writers and Vernon Abner was one of those. Bill Best actually wrote the preface to this book which was the only published work, to my knowledge, by Vernon Abner. This book was illustrated by Jon Howson with wonderful black and white drawings including the cover which is a portrait of Vernon Abner. Bill Best concluded his preface with these words: "The other students remember him as being "real", as someone who "understood his own life. He helped create in them a desire to understand their own lives more deeply. Those who take seriously this collection of his story will understand." In an essay on the back cover of the book, Carl and Sally Glover wrote "As you read this collection, we hope you celebrate Vernon Abner's humor and wit, feel his sorrow and depression, and share in his love and appreciation for all living beings. We trust that your venture into Vernon Abner's world will reward you for your time and effort." I am unable at this time to verify my belief that the Glovers were the owners of Kentucke Imprints which was the publisher of this book and is now defunct. "Getting The Spirit" was published in 1985, just 4 years before Vernon Abner's death. It is my understanding that this book was his only published work. The book is broken into three sections: Fiction, Poetry, and Philosophy. The Fiction section is composed of six short stories which are clearly Appalachian in nature. They are replete with examples of Appalachian aphorisms, cultural qualities, and demonstrate a writer who clearly knew the lifestyle of Appalachians quite intimately and effectively. I cannot say that these are great short stories. But I must insist that I enjoyed them a great deal and would gladly defend them as good examples of short fiction based on Appalachian mores and cultural values. They are at time riotously funny. They contain two central figures, teenage males and neighbors who love to play practical jokes on those around them. The title story is about the boys decision to place a hornet nest under the floor boards of a home where a local preacher is holding a service with the entire neighborhood in attendance with the nest situated in such a way that the hornets are able to invade the church service. Without using direct quotations from the story, rest assured that it is quite funny. For those of you with little direct experience in the Appalachia of the period in which Vernon Abner grew up in the 1940's and 1950's, such home based church services were common and I have attended many in my own childhood. This story is a fine reminescence of life in an Appalachia which is now almost entirely lost. The third story, "Did The Fleas Get To College?" is a rendition of another practical joke which is played on a visiting nurse who travels by horseback. It involves the use of a large number of aggressive fleas which the boys have managed to capture from some hogs which one of their fathers has bought and brought home. It is not quite as funny as "Getting The Spirit" but it is well worth reading. The other stories in the book are not at the same level of writing and humor as the two I have discussed but collectively the group of stories in the book make we wish that Vernon Abner had lived long enough to polish his demonstrated talent, produce more and larger books, and become the writer which his potential could have produced. The Poetry section is composed of three poems which are not at the same level of work as the short stories. The final section of the book, labled Philosophy, contains nineteen short essays of about a page each, perhaps averaging 500 to 750 words each. They discuss a variety of common subjects from everyday life in an interesting, but less than perfect, manner. It is regretable that Vernon Abner had not been able to produce a more lengthy book composed entirely of his short stories. He had obviously been compelled to live a life which required time in the US Navy before his college days, the need to earn his daily bread after arriving at adulthood in one of the more poverty stricken counties in all of Appalachia. Like many native Appalachians, he was born with a sizeable amount of talent and intelligence, a prodigous sense of humor, and a desire to share his world with the greagt world outside. It is a shame that life is sometimes not exactly fair.

Somebody Is Murdering Democracy!

Nobody sees their crimes on Pennsylvania Avenue We don’t have fingerprints or the weapons Putin used But they’re murdering democracy, cutting out its heart and soul They’re getting away with murder on Embassy Row The almighty dollar and the lust for worldwide fame Are killing democracy and for that someone should hang They all say not guilty but the evidence will show That murder was committed on Embassy Row Unfed children cry and the who country prays Treason and Russian hackers are right up in our face Hillary & Kamala didn’t have a chance against criminal politics Trump has murdered democracy and it makes me mighty sick Trump thought no one would miss it once it was dead and gone Putin told him no one will ever know just keep up the treason and sing a pretty song Well there ain't no justice in it and the hard facts are cold Murder's been committed down on Embassy row. Unfed children cry and the whole country prays Treason and Russian hackers are right up in our face Thomas Paine wouldn’t have a chance in today’s politics Trump has murdered democracy and it makes me mighty sick They’d even tell George Washington to pack up and go back home Since Trump murdered democracy on Embassy Row. Copyright 2018 by Roger D. Hicks with consideration to Larry Cordle and “Murder On Music Row”. I have a major problem with the computer language on this blogspot website and I can't seem to get it corrected. My last few posts have had major errors in them which I can't seem to edit away. I apologize and I am working to correct it. When the problem has been addressed, I will re-edit the previous several posts. Keep coming back and thanks for reading my blog!

Fantasies Of A Trump Cult Member!

 

I'm a Trump voter and I'm proud of that!

I go everywhere in my Maga hat.

I bought it from a man on the side of the road.

He must have had a whole car load.

He had them Trump flags four feet long,

Almost as big as Arnold Palmer's dong.

I wanted to buy one but couldn't right then.

I was outta money,  My welfare check hadn't come in.

I stood and looked at them big flags, 

Wished I had enough nerve to rob some fags.  

When all them wetbacks get shipped out, 

I'm gonna stand up and shout

When the rich people don't have to pay their bills,

They'll help us all cause they're having thrills. 

I know I'll get go be Trump's friend.

He's going to love me in the end.

I'll go vote ten or twelve times.

I'll spend election day standing in line.  

When Trump wins this election for the third time, 

He'll take back the country and treat us fine.

He's my hero.  He's my friend.

He'll put all things right in the end.

I had a dream the other night.

We were all in a great big fight.

I was the first through the Capitol door.

I was the first to shit in the floor.

I was the one to kidnap Pence.

I helped push him into an electric fence.

He lit up like the Fourth of July.

I saw sparks come out of his eye.  

Then we got all the Democrats, 

Even Jamie Raskin wearing his spats.  

Then we marched across town in our Maga hats, 

Dancing, and smiling, and killing all cats.

It really wasn't the fault of the cats

But they love Democrats and we can't have that.  

When I woke up I was so sad

Because in the dream I never had

Met my hero Trump, my dear God Dad

I wish I could see him, and Arnold Palmer, and me

Playing golf together off really short tees,

On greens as smooth as Trump's bald head

Hid by the wig he keeps under his bed.

In my dream, the last thing he said

Was please buy my Bibles, shoes, and stuff,

If you don't I'll have to play rough.  

Cause I need your money for women and stuff.

Then he left in a great big huff.

And I was crying when I woke up

And felt just like a little whipped pup.

I'll have a better dream tomorrow

Cause Trump is going to fix all my sorrow.

He'll cure my disease, he'll heal my heart.

He'll give me a brand new start.

He'll take me south to his big house.

He'll help me find a whole new spouse.

He'll give me money, friends, and fame.

He'll help me get in a whole new game.

Everything I need, I will receive. 

Because in Trump I do believe.   

 

Search For Relatives of William Howard Cohen

 Dr. William Howard Cohen, Ph. D. 

Because of two previous blog posts (first post) I had published about Dr. William Howard Cohen, a former professor at Alice Lloyd College in Pippa Passes, Kentucky, I was recently contacted by a cousin of his, Dr. Paul Newman, Ph.D. chair emeritus of the Linguistics Department at Indiana University.  Dr. Newman would very much like to make contact with a niece and nephew of Dr. Cohen who had previously commented on the two earlier blog posts (second post) I had published about him and his influence on me.  If these relatives of Dr. Newman see this post and contact me at rchicks@mrtc.com and I will give them Dr. Newman's contact information.  Thanks!

Roger D. Hicks

Love Must Be Forgiven

 

 

Sometimes, I get some ideas which are not fully hatched.  As I recall, I was wondering if I could have ever been a country songwriter when I produced this which I now consider just to have been bad poetry.  I was trying to write a country lyric with a hook.  For those who have never heard that word, a hook is a repeated line in a song.  The most memorable hook line in a  hook song that I can think of is from "Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me" by the great songwriter Mac Davis.  As I recall the story I heard him tell once about the song, he was in a dry spell with writing and hadn't produced anything significant in a while.  He said he was talking with his producer or music publisher one or the other about the problem and that person, whomever they were, suggested that Mac write a hook song.  So he sat down and wrote "Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me".  It was a massive success.  The song reached No. 1 on both the Billboard Hot 100 and Easy Listening charts in September 1972, spending three weeks as the number 1 song on each chart. Billboard ranked it as the No. 8 song of 1972.  That is the best story about a hook song I have ever heard and actually one of the best hook songs I know also.  My little piece of work below is very ordinary in my opinion and won't amount to a hill of beans. 

Love Must Be Forgiven

She said she’d love me all her life.

She said she’s proud to be my wife.

She said we’d be together till the end

But the end came early my friend.

She just left without a fight

Love must be forgiven somewhere tonight

 

She said we’d raise children just like me

She said how proud you’re gonna be

But when I look for what I cannot see

She’s missing from the family tree

She just left without a fight

Love must be forgiven somewhere tonight.

 

We never fought She never cried

But soon her love was denied

I loved her so Lord knows I tried

She just left and I could have died

She gave up without a fight

Love must be forgiven somewhere tonight.

 

I never saw the end until it came

My tears fall down just like the rain

I think of her through this refrain

She gave up without a fight

Love must be forgiven somewhere tonight.

Copyright August 2, 2021, by Roger D. Hicks

Book Signing And Reading, Kirk Judd & Edwina Pendarvis, Huntington, WV, July 28, 2023

 

On July 28, 2023, my wife Candice & I spent a long, rewarding day in Huntington, West Virginia, part of which I wrote about in this earlier blog post regarding our visit to the Huntington Museum of Art.  But our primary reason for visiting Huntington was to attend a joint book signing and reading by two of our friends at Cicada Books on 14th Street West.  The two friends are Edwina "Eddy" Pendarvis and Kirk Judd who have both been very active in the West Virginia literary scene for many years.  Both are excellent poets and Eddy has also produced several excellent works of nonfiction both in the field of Appalachian Studies and in her professional academic career in the field of education.  I have known Eddy for about 6 years and known about Kirk and his work for probably forty years although we had never met face to face before this reading.  Kirk and I had both participated in an online reading to promote the posthumous book "Milky Way Accent" by Bob Snyder, one of my early mentors and one of the best poets West Virginia has ever produced.  We have maintained an intermittent Facebook communication pattern ever since but this was our first meeting. 

Kirk and his wife, Eddy, Candice and I all arrived at the book store about an hour early for the reading and were able to converse awhile before others arrived for the event.  We talked about a wide ranging series of topics as most people do in such settings and at least hit the high spots concerning Appalachian Literature, poetry in general, the art museum, and God only knows what else which is the very kind of conversation which I enjoy.  The reading had a very sizeable attendance by the standards of such events in small venues and the room was soon filled with a wide variety of aficionados of literature.  We were able to meet and talk briefly with several others whom we had never known, most of whom were friends of either Eddy or Kirk and his wife.  

The reading began with Eddy reading some from both her historical body of poetic works and some short selections from her new nonfiction book "Another World: Ballet Lessons from Appalachia" which is available from the Jesse Stuart Foundation in Ashland, Kentucky. Although I can't say that I knew this book in its embryonic stage, I had been aware of it in a limited way as Eddy had worked on the manuscript and had eagerly anticipated its arrival in the world since I have enjoyed literally every word of Eddy's work I have ever read.  "Another World..." is based on interviews which Eddy completed with 24 women who took childhood ballet lessons in Appalachia and discusses various aspects of ballet and how it affected the lives of these women.  I am certain that the book is and will forever be a thorn in the sides of those perpetual detractors of Appalachia who live under the misconception that this is a region without both culture and cultured people.  It is an unusual topic for an Appalachian book and I admit that I have never seen another book about ballet in Appalachia.  Like myself, you may find this to be your introduction to the topic within the region.  I must say that this makes me justifiably proud as does any other occasion when I see those detractors set back on their heels.  But I must also say that for several years I had been aware that the father of the actor Richard Thomas, of "The Waltons" television fame, grew up to become a New York ballet dancer during his childhood in nearby Paintsville, Kentucky.  I will report more fully on the book after I have completed reading it.  

Eddy's poetry reading was and always has been a fulfilling experience.  Her imagery is crisp, both human and humane, and always reflective of her highly productive life as a successful Appalachian woman, professor, poet, and educator.  She read a limited number of her fine poems and both Candice and I thoroughly enjoyed hearing her once again.  

 

Kirk Judd's reading was somewhat longer than Eddy and came, in part, from a new book of poetry which he coauthored with three of his long term female poet friends, Susanna Connelly Holstein, Cheryl Denise, and Sherrell Runnion Wigal.  He says that the four of them frequently take a shared writing period together at a cabin retreat in West Virginia.  The book, "Porch Poems" and its title reflect their long lived practice of sitting, talking, and writing poetry on the very porch which is pictured on the cover of the book which is available from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions.  Kirk has a wonderful reading style which is as much performance as it is some more tame form of "reading poetry".  Both his vocal style and poetic rhythms are geared and polished over years of writing and reading in public to function best in this environment.  His work is the product of a lifetime of honing, fine tuning, and perfecting a style and a body of work which is best suited to such a delivery technique.  I have seen other lesser poets attempt to utilize such a delivery and rarely seen it succeed.  With Kirk Judd, the writer, the poetry, the delivery, and the pleasure therefrom are melded into exactly what such a style should be.  Kirk often performs his reading with the accompaniment of an old time fiddler and his earlier book, "My People Was Music", was published in its original edition with an accompanying CD of such an accompanied reading of some of the poetry.  The current second edition of that book is published with a computer code on the cover so the purchaser can access the recorded versions online.  

 The reading was a success both in terms of the pleasure the audience obviously received from both poets and based on the sizeable attendance in a small bookstore located in a somewhat seedy section of West Huntington,West Virginia.  All the books mentioned in this blog post from both authors are well worth purchasing by the student of Appalachian Literature.  I recommend the work of both authors without reservations not because they are my friends but because I respect both them and their work. 

A Wonderful, Early, Unintended Political Birthday Present!

 

Yesterday, July 19, 2023, we spent most of the day in the general area of Morehead, Kentucky, and got home late, about 5pm after I had hiked for an hour and ten minutes at the Minor E. Clark Fish Hatchery which sits just below the spillway of Cave Run Lake; then we went to Wal Mart and Kroger to stock up on groceries, etc. I had already had a good day for several reasons.  I had spent time with my wife, Candice, and I had hiked to the hatchery from the spillway area in the company of the man who supervises the transportation of the fish they raise there to about half the state of Kentucky.  We had a good talk and hike on his way to work and my way to hike.  He answered several of my perpetual questions about the operations of the hatchery including telling me that they raise a lot of gold fish to feed the muskellunge they breed for stocking lakes.  I had previously seen goldfish in some concrete holding tanks on the property but had never understood exactly why they had them there.  I had thought that since they are a form of carp they might have been keeping them to help keep tanks clean.  But actually, they are just another version of the fattening hog for the muskellunge.  Then I hiked on around several of the 84 growing ponds the hatchery uses to finish the fish they produce.  I saw a lot of bird during that time which I don't always see there because I am hiking constantly and not paying attention to the tree lines and sometimes flush birds before I can clearly identify them.   I saw a flock of about 24 Canada Geese, about 18 American Crows, 6 Killdeer which are actually one of my favorite birds, and I was able to identify my first Green Heron.  

Then when I got home, I found a small envelope in my mail box with the return address of Betty Lynn on it which I had known was coming in some form or other since Betty had told me on Facebook that she was sending me something she had found in her large collection of memorabilia from a long career at Berea College where she worked as a secretary for many years.  I opened the envelope and quickly realized that Betty knows me well and had chosen to give me a perfect birthday gift. It was a single sheet of aged, yellowed, frazzled paper with a poem written on it in blue mimeograph ink and the letterhead of Berea College on the other side.  It is a rhyming poem of 7 stanza each composed of 2 rhyming couplets by an unknown author who was most likely an employee of Berea College in the 1950's when it was written.  I will include it at the bottom of this blog post but let me say in advance it if funny and well located at this time in American History because it puts our current political problems in a good perspective and shows us that while the Republican party never had the best intentions in mind for the majority of our citizens they were surely not the absolute criminals in 1952 that they are today.  The man who is the primary topic of this poem was definitely not anywhere near the level of pond scum that TRAITOR Trump is and always has been.  

 

 

Here is the poem in its entirety: 

THE REPUBLICANS

The Republican's seed sprouted and grew, 

In the simple minds of quite a few.

Some are nuts about whom they like

And made up their minds to vote for Ike. 

They've promised a lot and they'll promise more

Let's look and see what they did before.

Twenty years have passed, and yet,

Those Hoover Days I'll  never forget.

When Hoover was in I lived on the farm.

A dollar bill looked as long as my arm.

I never saw a ten dollar bill, 

And, if Ike is elected, I doubt if I will.

When Hoover was in, things were really tight. 

The rabbits were scarce and the fish wouldn't bite.

The men too ragged to go anywhere,

And the women wore flour sack underwear.

Remember me when you cast your vote.

If you vote for Ike, you'll cut your throat.

Would you rather have a life of ease

Or water gravy and black-eyed peas?

Since nineteen hundred and thirty-two

The Republican party has been in a stew.

They've called the Democrats nasty names, 

But the banks stay open just the same.

If Ike is elected, I'll move to the farm.

I'll plant some taters behind the barn; 

I'll steal my neighbor's roasting ears, 

I'll try to get by for four more years.

Author Unknown, Berea College, 1952

While this might not be great poetry, it is above average political doggerel and it points out the very clear differences between the Republican Party of President Dwight D. Eisenhower and the Right Wing Radical Repugnican Party of TREASON, hatred, criminality, and disgust it has become since 1952.  While Eisenhower was not anywhere near the best, or even one of the best, presidents we ever had, he was a patriot, was a major player in winning World War II and was elected twice.  His most important achievement was beginning what became the interstate highway system which he envisioned while fighting across Europe against Adolf Hitler.  No, Eisenhower was not perfect.  But he was also not perfectly imperfect as TRAITOR Trump proves on a daily basis that he is.  While the country did not prosper as it should have during the administration of Eisenhower, it was never in mortal peril as it has been every day since TRAITOR Trump listened to his Russian master Vladimir Putin and consented to be the TREASONOUS beneficiary of as stolen US election.  While Eisenhower accomplished little in the White House other than the interstate highway system's birth, he never engaged in the kind of crime spree his vice president Richard Nixon did you just a few short years later. Dwight D. Eisenhower was a man of honor, a general of great military achievements, a man who could have been trusted to be in a room alone with a teenage girl.  TRAITOR Trump can not point to any actual achievements other than having become the greatest TRAITOR in the history of the world. America must realize that there is some truth in the little poem above.  But the most valuable thing in that poem is a chance to compare the last decent Republican in America to the worst TRAITOR in the history of the world, TRAITOR Trump.  We must learn from the comparison and we must send that TRAITOR to federal prison for his crimes against America, the American people, and the world.