Welcome to the 12th Wolf Twin Review!
Introducing: Alan Abrams . . . a motorcycle mechanic, carpenter, construction honcho, bootleg architect, and retiree turned burgeoning poet and writer.
I
This two lane highway—
mountains tell it where to bend,
where to rise and fall.
II
Stones thrown wound the pond—
how quickly their scars recede.
It's time to move on.
III
Beech leaves in autumn
turn soft peach. By march they fade,
pale as death itself.
IV
We do not judge you,
as we roll across the sky—
we, the silent clouds.
V
I pause among pines,
overwhelmed by their silence.
Then the wind rises.
Featured Poet Interview:
1. Have you always been poetic?
OMG no! I didn’t write a poem until my early 40’s, and even then it was by accident.
2. Do you prefer writing on paper or digitally?
Great question–in my late 20’s, I got into construction work. This led to a love affair with building design. I designed my first house with some tiny doodles on the fly-leaf of Ken Kern’s The Owner Built Home. Soon, I acquired a drafting board, and learned the fundamentals of architectural drafting from an article in Fine Homebuilding by Bob Syvanen. I also became a contractor, and studied the drafting technique of the architects whose projects I built.
And here’s where I come to the issue your question raises. The time I am describing was during the mid 90’s. I was aware of computer drafting (CADD) but I was fearful of abandoning the pencil. Why? Because I had already learned word processing (remember Wordstar?), and I could tell it was affecting the way I wrote. Before using the computer to write, I put a lot of thought into my words before I wrote them down. After learning word processing, I would toss out my thoughts on the screen and fiddle-faddle with them until I was happy.
But this diminished the use of the imagination. I felt that I was losing the skill to visualize the words; that I had to see them first, before I could write a complete thought. And I feared I would lose that skill with architectural design in the same way.
Ultimately, I arrived at a compromise, where in each field–writing, and architectural design–I would do some freehand sketching first, and then quickly move on to the computer to refine and edit the result.
What I learned from this is that the process always informs itself. Sketching and revision leads to revelation, to refinement, and finally perfection–or as close to perfection as I can achieve. The process begins with the pencil, but the computer facilitates the refinement.
3. Have your other careers made you a better writer?
If nothing else, they have provided sources of material to write about.
4. Does riding motorcycles get your creative wheels turning?
Hah! I quit riding motorcycles after I learned to operate a backhoe. Now there’s a thrill. But I rode long enough for it to be a source of material. A few poems, for sure, but also an important part of a novel I finished earlier this year.
Nowadays I ride (and build) bicycles. And yes, in bicycling, there is a state of mind that is conducive to writing poems. I bicycle alone, usually on familiar routes—and the repetitive motion—and the breathing—can put me in a sort of trance—from which, some words can arise. [I could send you some examples of each]
5. You could be called the Benjamin Button of writers, having started your writing journey after quite a lifetime of experiences. How did having so many varied experiences help (or hinder) you when you began writing as a career?
I started writing more seriously after leaving a long and unhappy marriage. It started with simple journals of travels, and progressed to poetry, short stories/thinly disguised memoirs, and a screenplay. In retrospect, it was a healing process.
6. You refer to some of your stories as “thinly disguised memoirs.” Are there topics from your life you would never write about, or is everything fair game?
OK, here it goes:
In sweat-soaked dreams, I return
to a sunbleached stretch of asphalt,
somewhere north of Ojo Sarco. There—
at the bottom of a barren gorge
a silent Chevy pickup rusts away.
I, too, have some secrets
I will carry to my grave.
But ultimately this is a cop-out. I think until I can really reveal the worst, the ugliest, my writing will never be worth a shit.
7. Poets as diverse as Frank O’Hara, Whitman, and Basho make appearances in your work. What other poets have influenced you?
Maybe influence is not completely accurate. Maybe it is that I respond to other writers. Or maybe I invoke them: Homer, Ovid; Kerouac and Snyder and Jack Gilbert; Heaney, and of course Ginsberg. Here’s one spoofing on Kipling:
I WENT INTO A PUBLIC HOUSE to get a pint of stout,
The barmaid turned and smiled at me, which really knocked me out;
A braid as blond as winter wheat hung down her pale white nape,
And when she leaned to fill my glass, I scanned her lovely shape.
Now don’t you get the wrong idea, I’m well beyond my prime,
This buxom lass with soft brown eyes could scant be ten and nine---
Though hope is but a foolish bird, and fantasy’s a trance,
Still my heart beat palpably, as though it had a chance.
But the writers that get into my blood are the great novelists. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read Moby Dick. I am staggered by the artistry of Conrad, the humanity of Faulkner. I am also drawn to the dramatic stories in Genesis, too. My novel’s protagonist is Jack Isaksen; the two women in his life are Rachel and LeAnn [eg Leah].
8. You have “lived in the heart of big cities, and in the boonies on unpaved roads.” How has that spectrum from silence to continuous noise affected your work, or ability to work?
My heart lies in New Mexico, but my roots in the DC area are deeper. There are vibrant communities of poets and writers in both locations. But my current home—in a high-rise condo—is a sanctuary. It’s plenty quiet, plenty private when the front door is closed.
9. Your collection of poems, True Enough: Poems of Love and Longing, was released in 2024, and you describe it as a “collection of poems on love—romantic love, as well as familial love.” What did you learn about love by writing it?
I think I became more closely acquainted with my flaws and my failures. It taught me that humility is a virtue. That love needs to be nurtured to flourish. That we need to embrace our own flaws, and the flaws of the ones we love.
10. If you were a tree, which would you be?
Do I only get to pick one? Well, I suppose then I’d like to be an aspen, growing in those bands midway up the slopes of the Rockies—higher in elevation than the Ponderosas, but below the firs and spruces. How they make a band of gold in autumn. Their fluttering heart-shaped leaves. The mysterious “eyes” that dot their pale, smooth trunks.
To Alan:
Thank you so much for submitting your poetry earlier this year and being our final Featured Poet of 2024. Congratulations on your latest release True Enough: Poems of Love and Longing! It was a delight getting to know your work and we are thrilled to say:
Welcome to the Wolf Pack!
Dearest Readers:
Greetings, fellow poetry lovers. Thank you for your continued support of the literary arts! Check back next month, or subscribe to our blog to see the moonstruck poets we have lined up. Owwwoooooo!
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