Portsmouth, NH
In this time of diminished expectations for many of us in many different realms, I’ve decided to focus on what’s nearby and readily available. In recent months, I’ve noticed this happening naturally in ways large and small in my life. I would think that I needed to go buy a new sweater and then discover one in the back of my closet I’d worn only a few times that looked great. Presto – new sweater. Instead of bemoaning what isn’t, I’ve been trying to focus on the abundance of riches I do have. These are many. Yesterday I walked across the Memorial Bridge to Kittery to do an errand instead of driving the car. The fog was just rolling in as the sun set, and the light over the river was murky and beautiful and strange. This walk is one of the riches waiting right outside my door. I only have to make the time.
In the writing I am doing now, I’m staying close to home, too. The non-fiction book I’m working on is about Portsmouth, where I live, and solitude, and my friend, the poet Robert Dunn. I have wanted to write about Robert since his death two years ago, but it took a while to find the form for the story. Robert was a rare individual who lived off the grid close to downtown Portsmouth – without a car, telephone, or computer. He sold his books of poems, which he made by hand, for a penny. He was a brilliant poet and possibly the most well-read person I have ever known.
Robert Dunn, Portsmouth Poet Laureate. Photo by Nancy G.Horton
In the final years of his life, he had no choice but to rely on others, something that was difficult for such a solitary person. I was one of the people who helped care for him. I’m writing about the challenges and miracles of Robert’s final years, and about how much he was a part of the landscape of our town. The book will be about both a unique character and a unique place, and how they defined each other. Maybe it’s the time in my life, or the uncertainty about what is happening to the publishing business, but writing local feels right for now – a celebration of what I see each day out my windows, a celebration of stepping out my door.
My favorite Robert Dunn poem:
rees Communicate
Trees communicate
(if they do)
by listening,
just as humans
communicate (if they do)
by talking.
If you have any news,
tell it to a forest
Thanks, Katie, for posting this. It’s one of my favorites, too. You’ll get a signed copy of the book when it’s out.
The sentiment is lovely. My modus operandi has traditionally been to have one foot out the door, to be ready to move on, to wonder where I’d live next. Lately, It’s struck me how happy I am right here–I live in the woods and have wonderful neighbors, I’m part of a community of writers and painters and actors, and I have enough work to keep the wolf from the door (or is it the wool from the dwarf?). Your blog reminds me to “keep it simple.” I lesson I seem at last to be learning (at least, until someone offers me a job in Italy).
I am so thrilled to hear that you will be writing about Mr. Robert Dunn. What a wonderful story it would have to be. In 1995 I bought quo, Musa, tendis at the Little Professor book store and, after inquiring about the author, I learned that I’d seen him often, walking about, and even at a reading. Mr. Dunn later left a copy of Airs (for a penny!) for me at the bookstore, and though we never spoke face to face, I admired him a great deal and told him so by phone one night when he was at the Athenaeum. Of course, he was very humble and kind, as you know. I appreciated that I could “get” the poems. A huge deal for someone who leans on logic and feels not-so-artistic.
I’m sharing this now because, at the time, I was amazed that such people existed in the world. True originals, I mean, gifted and lovely, yet not interested in glory. Unheard of! I just recently learned of his passing and am grateful to have found your post. Before leaving Portsmouth I made him a necklace from strung apple seeds (seemed fitting) as a small thank-you for the inspiration. I left it with the book store guy who assured me he’d give it to him that day. And that was that. I’ve since thought about this person often and I guess I am telling you this now because it’s one very fond memory I hold onto–my one and only connection with an artist I admire–and I think I needed to share it with someone. So, thank you! And be sure – I so look forward to your book and will be looking for it.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful memory of Robert. One of the best things about writing this book is the stories I have been hearing from all sorts of unlikely folks about their encounters with Robert. He was a true original, as you put it, and yes, uninterested in glory. He inspired many, even those, like you, who may have only seen him on the street and never spoken with him. I’m glad you made this connection with him. It’s very moving to know how many people he touched with his poems and his presence in Portsmouth. It will be a while before I can get this book finished and published, but I will post news as I have it here and on my website.