John Wieners in Gloucester

Spring. 1996   Albert Alcalay (1917-2008)

Reading in Bed

by evening light, at the window, where wind blows
it’s not enough to wake with morning 
as a child, the insistent urge of habit

sounds, to write a poem, to pore over one’s past 
recall ultimate orders one has since doubted
in despair. Inner reality returns 

of moonlight over water at Gloucester, as
fine a harbor as the Adriatic, Charles said, before the big storm 
blew up to land moorings, shards against sand 

of memory at midnight; ah yes the dream begins
of lips pressed against yours over waves, tides,
hour-long auto rides into dawn, when time

pounds a mystery on the beach, to no death out of reach .

January 9, 1970
                                      John Wieners

Moonlight. 1874  Winslow Homer (1836-1910)

John Wieners (1934-2002)

John Wieners, born in Milton MA, was a Beat poet and member of the San Francisco Renaissance. He earned a BA from Boston College and studied at Black Mountain College with Charles Olson, who remained a life-long mentor. Wieners often visited Olson in Gloucester, and for a period of time he lived on Dennison Street, at the edge of Dogtown.

Wieners’ honors include awards from the Poets Foundation, the New Hope Foundation, and the National Institute of Arts and Letters, as well as a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. For the last 30 years of his life he lived at 44 Joy Street, on Beacon Hill, in Boston. Supplication: The Selected Poems of John Wieners, was published in October, 2015.  This poem was written on the day before Charles Olson died at New York Hospital from liver cancer.

 

 

 

A Round of Robins

 

 

A Round of Robins

 

 

 

by Eric Schoonover

 

The snow from the last of the storms
melts into rivers that run down
the steps and a round of robins
jump and flutter ahead of me

in the evening’s blue snow. Six
of them, or maybe more, hop then
flutter, but the failing light won’t
tell me gender. They lead my way,

up those fifty-seven steps, to a
warmer time when snow drops
rouse and hopes enlarge to
greet a spring of warmth and light.

NOTE: There is no agreed upon collective noun
for robins: there are at least fifteen candidates, but
a round of robins seems to be the favorite.

 

Eric Schoonover is a writer living in Gloucester.
“fifty-seven steps” alludes to the staircase
leading from Spring St. up to Winchester Ct.

SPRING

By Eric Schoonover

Gloucester Harbor, 1894.                  Childe Hassam (1859-1935)

 

When they put up the signs NO PUBLIC TOILETS

I’ll know. And when the daffodils bloom in

front of the bank on Rogers and the gulls

fight and flutter over the chimneys, I’ll know.

When the sailing team yanks their amazing 420s through

the wretched gusts in the harbor; and when the

night thermometer reads 38 and it’s rain and rain,

then I’ll know it’s spring in Gloucester . . . maybe.

 

 

Eric Schoonover is a writer who does enjoy Gloucester’s spring. Eric is also a  boatbuilder and watercolorist, who lives in Gloucester in a small 1735 Cape Ann cottage with his wife, also a writer. He is the author of the award-winning The Gloucester Suite and Other Poems and a novel, Flowers of the Sea. His latest book, Telling Tales, has just been published.