Showing posts with label Bob Arnold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bob Arnold. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 15, 2026

BOB ARNOLD'S "SWWIMMER" ~













"Artists feed each other: John Cheever fed one of the best. Bob Arnold was inspired by the John Cheever’s short story.“The Swimmer” to write a fact based novel SWWIMMER (the double “W” is intentional) that honored Cheever’s achievement. In doing so, Arnold created a rare work of art: a stunning trade book that is also an artist-book, an example of masterful writing, exquisite design, and a story that takes the particulars of personal family relationships and makes them universal as they develop the themes of love, loss, abandonment, the striving to return to inner peace by finding a way outward, “swimming” into the world’s confusions and mysteries." — JOE NAPORA

"The list of can’t do’s for a non-swimmer living by a river, is staggering. We decided we would never give up. And at the age of eight, one June day near his birthday, after we took a trail down to the river through the woods and kicked our sneakers off on the rock ledge and figured this 500th swim would be up for a fight, we heard a splash. Our dog Bo was still beside us." [pp 8-9]


There are so many fine aspects of this writing: the  long “trailing” description of the walk to the river, the detail of kicking the shoes on the rock, but what is most important to notice is what is missing, a narrative voice that tells of the boy jumping into the water. Arnold accomplishes this by staying with the present, acknowledging the privacy of the spot, none other than the boy could make the splash since “Our dog Bo was still beside us”. 


This absence involves the reader. The writer is not presenting a scene, he offers one to our imagination, taking us to the scene that he too can only imagine as he can only hear the sound the boy makes as he jumps into the river.


I am reminded of a similar scene from a very dissimilar scene in the movie Lawrence of Arabia. Not a river but a desert. Not a boy making a splash in the water. A man shooting a companion, a friend. We never see the man being killed. We see the effect on Lawrence as he pulls the trigger of the gun. We see his arm move as he pulls the trigger again. The sound of the gun takes us there. Sound connects. That is masterful directing by David Lean. It involves us.  That is masterful writing by Bob Arnold.            — JOE NAPORA




 Bob Arnold

SWWIMMER


Longhouse

2026

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Wednesday, March 25, 2026

NEW! POSTCARD POEMS ~






















L O N G H O U S E    P O S T CA R D    P O E M S
S P R I N G    2  0 2 6


Love Thy Poet Forever Series

________________

   Enjoy ~

May be purchased individually
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Tuesday, February 24, 2026

BOB ARNOLD ~ MORNING LETTER. . .~

 



Morning Letter to Friends


They are calling it a “bomb cyclone.” The word Blizzard doesn’t seem to be enough. Is it the weather that is out-of-control, or the weather forecasters. All the forecasters. I step out onto the long sideways porch living room of the “Ojai" and see all the snow blown across eight feet, and over the old rug, and right up to the side of the house. I sweep off the rug and call it clean. Snow is a cleanser. Often we have taken our rugs, wool included, out into the fresh snow and given them all a thorough cleaning. It works. They almost stand up and applaud when brought back indoors and set back down. Brighter. Even startled.

The red squirrel (one), black squirrel (one), gray squirrel (one) all at the feeder with juncos, chickadees etc and this time, in the cyclone, the juncos don’t wait to scavenge seed sent down from the feeders by the robust chickadees but are right up into the two feeders with everyone. Everyone sharing. Mankind remains at a loss. Not enough watching the animals, the birds, the weather. Our town plow ventures down the road and into the cyclone gingerly, opens about a one lane road. Tomorrow the sun may shine, the cyclone off over the Atlantic, I’ll have drifts to contend with breaking open the long snowshoe tract building to building. All 9 buildings in the brunt of blizzard. I built each building. They can take it.

Reading Di Prima's journals of when her friend Freddie leapt out a 5th floor window. Junkie. As Lenore Kandel once sayeth, “too many of my friends are junkies.” The Italian Di Prima, always down to earth, friend of both Pound and Olson, shares the history the junkies (including Janine) couldn’t or wouldn’t want to quite remember. Di Prima, lover of LeRoi Jones ("Roi") and printing the first issues of Floating Bear, my very own inspiration. 

Susan tablet weaving on the sofa in the living room all of it on her lap.

The best firewood saved for today: rock maple. I remember this tree I made the firewood from. There is more, blown down over the winter, up in the woodlot, waiting for me and Spring. I’ve many times snowshoed past the fell'd trees. Half of my work is already done.

The woods take this blizzard like nothing to it. They know one another.

I work on my forthcoming selected short poems, 50 years worth, 250 pages, and move a space, add a space, there are 400 short poems not in there. One day I’ll get to the longer poems. Cover all designed, poems all chosen. I just wait now months to see what is going to appear. Or what will tire and to be removed. We’re all about lasting. Me, we, and the poems.


___________________________
Bob Arnold
Green River
Vermont
23 Feb 2026



Saturday, December 20, 2025

Bob Arnold ~ Children in the Wood


Bob Arnold  

Children in the Wood 




Bob reads his poem "Shelter" (2025)



New, perfect bound, 170 pages of poems

 Longhouse, Publishers & Booksellers

Limited to only 100 copies:

$20

plus $5 shipping

by Paypal or check

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P.O. Box 2454

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Vermont

05303





 

Tuesday, August 5, 2025

BOB ARNOLD'S MUSEUM ~

 




       Purchase MUSEUM


~ Update ~


BTW, Birthday wishes for Bob with all love, Sweetheart!





Stone work by Bob Arnold, Summer Flowers 2025











Wednesday, May 21, 2025

BOB ARNOLD'S ~ WHILE ALIVE ~






Secret Love

Tucked inside the large
wheel well of the old fire
truck is the robin's nest







Painting


She is walking
in a soft blue dress

through splashed summer
grass and I can watch

her from faraway come closer
a bell-shaped bag with our breakfast

swings lightly in her hand and
I still can't believe that I

have known her forever
and may meet her again


_____________________________________________


New, perfect bound, 115 pages of poems

with an introduction by Margaret Randall

Limited:

$20

plus $5 shipping

by Paypal or check

_______________________________

LONGHOUSE

P.O. Box 2454

West Brattleboro

Vermont

05303





Wednesday, March 19, 2025

BOB ARNOLD'S FANCY ~

 


A collection of ten new poems

_________________



Anthem


It was the most exciting country in the modern age. It had

mountains and rivers and cities and towns and villages and prairies

and canyons and dead ends and avenues and broadways and even

a sunset strip. A Big Muddy. It was an empire, and a folk song, and

a parade. A myriad of languages and skin color and appearances.

It had been away in world wars and bombed and also been bombed

upon, millions had died and also been born. The sun came up, the

sun went down. Stars at night overlooked all of it. Nothing was

spared. It was working, not perfectly, which is what made every

day involving. If the land was perfect, the sun and moon and stars

wouldn't have been needed. They came to help. All the people had

to do was also help themselves, and one another. It was already

there the way each person was made with two legs and two arms

and hands and two ears and eyes and a mouth that could talk. The

ability to talk! Animals couldn't talk but the people could talk to the

animals, they could talk to anything. To themselves, to a stranger, to

a loved one, while wandering lost in the woods. You are never lost

because you can talk. Until that day you refuse to talk and instead

you lie, which isn't talk, but backward words. And one comes and

lies and then another sees that easy advantage and they lie and soon

a room is lying, a whole building, all the town, into the bright lights

of the cities and soon lies sweep across the prairies. In less time than

you think everything that was working well, is now broken. A vast

majority have decided broken, somehow, is best. There are millions

of people who will now take over and lead this broken existence. In

basic electronics it is called a loose wire. Left to its own devices, it

will burn a house down.


                                                                           ~ Bob Arnold


________________________________

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Wednesday, October 23, 2024

FEW WORDS, MANY BOOKS, UNWAVERING LOVE ~


Bob Arnold 2017


BOB ARNOLD'S

"FEW WORDS, MANY BOOKS, UNWAVERING LOVE"


Book Review: Cup, Faraway Like the Deer's Eye, and Darling Companion by Bob Arnold

by Svetlana Litvinchuk

October 4, 2024
















Bob Arnold is one of those rare visionary poets whose work stands the test of time, bypassing trends to arrive at something foundational. With his impeccable vision, he makes it his mission to get us to slow down and see what matters in this brief life. Even from a moving train speeding from Chicago out west and back again, which is the setting for his collection, Darling Companion, he reminds us to take time to notice, to “find sunlight to sit in,” and to ponder things like, “Nebraska. When will they have time to chop all this corn” or the reasons why “as we cross America/ look up every main street— nobody.”

Arnold doesn’t use a lot of words yet manages to say so much. One remarkable quality of his writing is that there is almost no sense of the poet himself in his aphorism-like poems. His scenes are always grounded in a strong sense of place but his mastery is in showing while making the narrator invisible, managing to melt into the scenery with jewels like, 


“in a new land

otherwise taken for granted— 


the evening breeze

touching every leaf.”


Cup 1 

 

This is a gift he bestows upon the reader— he offers pure glimpses and unmarred observations of landscapes and of Americana, urging us to pay attention, or in his own words, to “buy so many postcards— as if you’ll never return.” By stitching together tiny vignettes, Arnold paints a larger picture of rural life that seems to expand throughout his work. With precision and economy of words, he whittles poems down to attain the minimalist aesthetic that befits an ascetic. Take the poem, “Mountain” for instance, which with four simple words creates a story of a mountain greeting the day:


“Mount Blanca

Sunrise

Stone”

 

His work relies on recurring themes, and we get the sense that he writes poems the same way he builds cabins, constructing images piece by piece until they are large enough so the reader can walk around inside and look around. Much as in architecture, the materials are basic and uniform, the words are simple building blocks. But the artistry is in their configuration; the grandness is in the whole becoming greater than the sum of its parts. 

Always present in his work is his obvious fondness for his partner, Susan, his cup of his love overflowing for her at every opportunity. In his book Cup, we get a deep yet brief and intimate glimpse of their decades-long love affair taking place in their small cabin where he chops wood, washes her hair by the fire, gazes at the way it falls in front of her face, and takes the time to admire her long cotton skirts as he melts snow into water, and we are endeared by the flour on her lips in her otherwise clean kitchen after she finishes baking and watches the river freezing, then thawing, then flooding the bridge into town. He shows us that we are ultimately defined by who we love and how we love them, by what we do and why we do it. 

In Arnold’s work, Susan is not a figure left to our imaginations shrouded in mystery, as her photographs liberally grace the pages of his other books. In Far Away Like a Deer’s Eye, we get a deep look into his entire life through stories that span his childhood all the way into the present where we find him today, well into his 70’s, complete with color photos of the poet and his muse growing older together and as in love as ever. Through this glimpse of their shared lives we are warmed by the fire of the unfolding tale of the tender tale of their marriage and family.

Bob Arnold is a poet with a strong back and an open heart, but his words are not those of a romantic. He is never effusive or overly sentimental. His poems are bare as a no-frills cabin life in the woods of Vermont. Still, they are gentle, precise, and devoted, a hallmark of a carpenter who has been softened by years of reverence for the forest. His cool, even tone gives rise to a deep well of emotion as he tells us about “places[s] of many trees, grasses, and children playing and we could have broke down weeping to see the earth this way.” Over the decades, Arnold has honed the skill of helping us access a passion for the natural world and the interconnectedness of human relationships, showing us what a true humanitarian, environmentalist, and craftsman aspires to, leading us to beauty both very near and the very far with lines like, 


“same stars as home

except these nearly

touch the ground”

 

 and


“not electric lines anymore

across New Mexico plains—

strings of sunlight”



 

 Despite his brevity, his attention to detail and simultaneous hawk’s eye for the big picture is a gift. Zooming in and out, he says much in what he leaves unsaid, painting millennia-long stories of fields with “trees far off/ never climbed by a child/ only crows.”

While each short poem has its own legs to stand on, with a singular pearl of wisdom to share, woven together into a collection the poems create an inspiring landscape. Through repetition of the images of things that surround him, like trees, snow, the wood stove, and the bowls in their kitchen, the reader can cobble together a broader panorama of the world and the few things in it that matter. Arnold makes connections in quiet, pensive, and humorous ways with observations like:


“$35 night

in Kayenta—

motel hot

water is cold

cold is scalding

drain is slow”

 

Wholly Zen with an untiring admiration for nature, his ability to notice and to help us see is unfaltering. His books are candid, the poems brief, yet in a series of vignettes strung together he opens our field of vision to an unfolding landscape that leads us up the mountain of the Self, placing a picture window in front of us and sitting us by the wood stove. As we gaze, he tells us stories, quietly gathers kindling, and builds a fire to keep us warm as we look out onto the world, remembering that our Earth is merely a “rock rising to light.” All that matters, his poems tell us, is to take a few deep breaths and to practice seeing the fleeting nature of life on our own, to find the beauty in it—the magic, the love. 



Svetlana Litvinchuk holds a double degree in Foreign Language and Literature and International Studies from University of New Mexico. She is the author of a debut poetry chapbook, Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024). Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared or is forthcoming in Apple Valley Review, Sky Island Journal, Plant-Human Quarterly, ONE ART, Willows Wept, Union Spring Review, New Verse News, Merion West, Propagate: Fruits from the Garden Anyhology, Black Coffee Review, and elsewhere. Originally from Kyiv, Ukraine, she now lives with her husband and daughter in Cape Girardeau, MO. She is passionate about nature, the Earth, and sustainable agriculture. She is a reviews editor with ONLY POEMS. 


Wednesday, November 29, 2023

VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~

 


Dear Michael Boughn,


I’m not sure what has happened — you invited me into the fold to send a piece about Kent Johnson for your proposed anthology I ONCE MET KENT JOHNSON. The title, of course, drawn from the two titles Susan and I edited, designed and published from Longhouse of Kent’s delicately mountaineering written portraits I ONCE MET. It sounded like a terrific idea and you sent me the almost finished manuscript of all those already involved. I wrote a little piece for the anthology, sent it along, and the rest is history, which I believe I will share in all our correspondence shown below — and why not — also with the general public. Kent would understand. I’ll also show my tribute to Kent at the closing, since all went quiet (never a good sign in publishing) after you accepted my tribute, revealed you wept reading it, and then months later published the anthology for Kent without my tribute. Why not tell me why there has been no explanation to my tribute being erased, nor any word here to the book's release.  I had to ask an old friend of Kent's and mine who let me know about the book's publication. My copy arrived a week after his, which I thank you, but not for this treatment. 

[BA]   


Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Kent
Date: March 13, 2023 at 2:09:36 PM EDT
To: longhousepoetry@gmail.com

Hi Bob and Susan--

We are putting together a collection of tributes to Kent called I Once Met Kent Johnson. I attached some below so you can get a sense of what people have written. We'd very much like it if you could contribute something, especially since you published Kent's book. I'm hoping to get something together in next couple of weeks. Let me know if you'd like to add to it.

Best,
Mike


-- 
Michael Boughn


 



____________________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: March 13, 2023 at 10:01:56 PM EDT
To: Michael Boughn

Mike,

What a cherry idea!

What’s you latest deadline?

We have too much snow and too much mud to deal with.

Plus Susan just got out of the ER.

Time, at the moment, is funny.

Let me know.

stay warm & well,
Bob



____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: March 14, 2023 at 7:15:45 AM EDT
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Hi Bob — sorry to hear of your various travails.  There’s no tight deadline, but I’m hoping to be able to put something together in 2-3 weeks.

m


Michael Boughn


____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: March 18, 2023 at 10:19:53 PM EDT
To: Michael Boughn

Hi Mike,

Nor’easter here gave us over three feet of snow. No power, phone, water, road for days. I’m writing now but no way to send it because the Internet is out. It may be out for a week or weeks. The power is back after five days. We’ve been moving snow everyday. One day this note will go out and get to you. With luck, I’d like to have a piece for Kent in your hand by the end of the month.

See you when I do.

Bob


____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: March 19, 2023 at 2:06:41 PM EDT
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Terrific, Bob.

m


Michael Boughn


____________________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Kent Johnson
Date: March 27, 2023 at 7:18:14 AM EDT
To: Michael Boughn

Hi Mike,

After the Nor’easter here (42 inches of snow in 24 hours) we had no power for a week and no phone or internet for almost two weeks, plus there is no wi fi reception in this valley, period, except by the phone line — finally some restoration at the end of March — getting this piece for Kent off to you. Looking forward to hearing from you.

Will this gathering be both on-line and book form?

all’s well, Bob


Bob Arnold
P.O. Box 2454
West Brattleboro
Vermont
05303






____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: Kent Johnson
Date: March 27, 2023 at 3:18:23 PM EDT
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

That’s terrific, Bob. Had me in tears. I really miss him, too.

I’d explain why you got drawn in later than some others, but it’s complicated. Suffice to say, the whole process was ad hoc and anarchic. And it was all on me, and I am grossly ignorant and isolated when it comes to the poetry world. Not mention usually stoned.

Thanks for this. If Susan is sending something, I will wait.

m



Michael Boughn



____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Kent Johnson
Date: March 27, 2023 at 4:41:30 PM EDT
To: Michael Boughn 

You’re a good sport, Mike, appreciate it.

Susan is quite happy with what I wrote. 

She likes Kent in there, voice man and all.

When is it all appearing?

all’s well, Bob



____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn 
Subject: Re: Kent Johnson
Date: March 27, 2023 at 6:09:16 PM EDT
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

It shouldn't be too long, at least in PublishingTime. Billie Chernicoff and I started collecting these when Kent told us he was terminal. There's a small  group of us, most of whom were on the Dispatches editors list. It was half social and half Dispatches sounding board. We kept up a conversation after Dispatches closed up shop. When he broke the news to us, we all wrote something to give him cheer and let him know how much he was loved and respected. He sometimes had a hard time recognizing that, and according to Deb, his wife, while he was sick he was frequently despondent about the universal enmity he felt. So we decided to ask a few others to join in. No one was in charge. Everyone reached out, but mostly it was me. I knew the names of a lot of the people he had close relations with because I witnessed it during Dispatches. So I reached out to them. The manuscripts collected in Billie's computer because there was just too much else going on to make a book, too. I was out of the country for a while, then had a cardiac issue. Anyway, you know how it goes with time at our age. Poof. When we got back to it last week, I decided to reach out to people I had missed the first time around. And you and Susan came up. And now you have the whole sordid story I said I wasn't going to bother you with.

I think it will be available in a couple of months -- say June. Or July. I definitely want to make a book and I have some very reasonable ideas how to do that. As well as get it online.

All the best,
Mike



____________________




Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: IOMKJohnson
Date: August 7, 2023 at 10:37:53 PM EDT
To: Michael Boughn 


RE: I Once Met Kent Johnson

Hello Mike,

Deb has sent the lovely memorial booklet of and for Kent which includes a brief passage or two from IOMKJ.
Has the book now been published?
Please let me know.

all’s well, Bob 



________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: IOMKJohnson
Date: August 7, 2023 at 11:16:19 PM EDT
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Hey Bob --

It's on hold. I am waiting for one last important contribution that's been held up because of health issues. I've been led to believe that I should get it soon.

Deb took that from the old pdf. 

Glad to hear all's well. Here, too. I have been up on Georgian Bay a lot at our cabin. With my dog. It's good.

m


______________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: IOMKJohnson
Date: August 7, 2023 at 11:18:12 PM EDT
To: Michael Boughn 

Thank you, Mike — we’re all looking forward.

stay well, Bob



______________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: November 19, 2023 at 3:07:33 PM EST
To: John Bradley 

Dear John,

Between letters, a question — have you ever received the anthology Mike B and others were planning for Kent Johnson?
I thought I had heard from Mike they planned to have the book out this year.
Please let me know whatever you know.

all’s well, Bob


______________________




Begin forwarded message:

From: John Bradley
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: November 19, 2023 at 3:23:36 PM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Dear Bob,

I just received a copy of the book this week.

I don't see your essay in the book, though, Bob.

John

__________________________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Kent
Date: November 20, 2023 at 9:52:21 AM EST
To: John Bradley 

Dear John,

That is a bit of shameful news to receive on a Thanksgiving week, but thank you, John, I thought those involved in this project might be capable of such a cowardly move. 

Glad the book is out for Kent. Glad those contributing are there for Kent. More than glad Kent and I were together and Susan and I were able to publish I ONCE MET not only once in a hand-sewn gold cover booklet but the expanded and perfect-bound edition that Kent knows we plan to keep in print.

However, to never have Susan and I included in the first place (and I have to ask) and then to be invited, my submission taken (all shown in the spool of this brief correspondence) and then be dropped without any explanation — heavens to betsy!

I believe I’ll show all this correspondence to allow what happened to speak for itself, and then post my piece to Kent, which turns out to have a little wave of foreshadow.

all’s well, Bob


___________________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: i once met
Date: November 25, 2023 at 10:46:42 AM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Dear Bob Arnold --

First of all, please accept my profoundest apology for omitting your contribution to I Once Met Kent Johnson. It must have been hurtful to discover that and I feel horrible about it. I'm not sure exactly how it happened--especially after I went to the trouble of tracking you down and requesting a contribution. I was diagnosed a few years ago, along with my then teenage son, with ADHD and mild dyslexia, something I have spent most of my life covering up and feeling less because of it.. Somehow your contribution to the book fell into the hole in the corner of my mind where I am wont to lose things. This is not the first time this has happened. I probably shouldn't be in this business at all. My very first published book (by the University of Virginia) -- the bibliography of HD -- failed to include in the bibliography a crucial article I referred to in the introduction, a failure I was humiliated to learn from the book's first reviewer. I still agonize over it. I could go on and on with other instances. All of which is to say, your omission was a terrible mistake I am deeply apologetic for and will continue to feel awful about for the rest of my life.

 

That said, your response--to publicly excoriate me online in your blog without any attempt to contact me first--was what we we in the olden days called "chickenshit." That was really a chickenshit move, Bob. We also sometimes referred to such a gesture as the act of an "asshole". The truth is, I don't know you well enough to know if you are truly an asshole, or if you just acted like an asshole because you were feeling hurt. But it was an asshole thing to do.

 

All the best,
Mike

______________

The message below was written as a combined email to MB and his “co-editor” Billie who I have had previous correspondence with in the past. Billie requested not to have her two emails included in this thread, which is fine and understandable.

Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: i once met
Date: November 25, 2023 at 9:33:04 PM EST
To: Michael Boughn

Thank you, Billie, and I would never post your email since none of this was business between you and me.

I posted Mike’s emails, and mine, and carefully removed Mike’s email address in each of his emails ( and not mine ) but apparently from an email from Mike today, he can’t live with his words.

History is tough.

Stay warm and well this winter.

all’s well, Bob


____________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn 
Subject: Re: i once met
Date: November 26, 2023 at 6:24:51 AM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Dear Bob Arnold —

I can live with my words. That’s not the problem. 

Your failure to talk to me before posting a private conversation on line is the problem. 

You are rude. 

But, hey, etiquette is tough.



_________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 26, 2023 at 10:02:41 AM EST
To: Michael Boughn

Etiquette is tough, Mike, but notice you failed to sign your name in your letter below.

Please understand you made a dreadful mistake in developing and presenting the anthology I ONCE MET, whether it was done to me or any other author. And you have no wherewithal to know what to do about it. I’ve been 52 continuous years in the writing, editing and publishing world. I have made mistakes, and I learned and lived through them. It isn’t up to me to contact you about anything here. You made the mistake of leaving my work out of the anthology. You aren’t built to advise, so please don’t. Please heal. And I mean this Mike. Addressing me as an “asshole” is dire weakness. Either scrap the anthology and with dignity re-print it correctly, including everyone who was promised and should be involved, or go about thrashing and making excuses for yourself. If you do the former, you’ve done your job. If you don’t, you haven’t. Continue to surround yourself with people who give you kudos, but know you have learned nothing.

Best to you and have a warm and kind winter yourself.

all’s well, Bob

_____________________

Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 26, 2023 at 12:18:49 PM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Dear Bob Arnold,

I’m certainly not going to compare publishing histories with you. You win, hands down. I have never been more than an occasional amateur. Nor have I ever made a cent from it. I paid for the printing and distribution costs out of pocket for the tribute to Kent and gave it to the contributor’s, and I am not really in a financial position to redo the entire process. I did have a possible remedy to propose. It would have been nice if you had written to me about the omission error before publishing my private correspondence to you. Then I would have suggested printing your contribution on a sheet the size of the book and mailing it to everyone with an errata slip and an apology. Which is still a possibility.

Most sincerely,
Michael Boughn

Ps: I did not call you an asshole. In fact if you read the note carefully, you will see I explicitly said that I don’t know you well enough to know if you’re an asshole or not, but what you did by publishing my private correspondence without consultation was an asshole act. Even the most pure among us occasionally acts like an asshole. I speak from personal experience.

____________________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 26, 2023 at 7:20:43 PM EST
To: Michael Boughn

Dear Mike,

Ed Ochester has a terrific poem about an “Asshole”, old poem of his, very old, I once had it tacked up inside my woodshed door. Very short. The weather eventually took it away. You might be able to find it in the world of the Internet.

Those separate sheets, like errata sheets, almost always go lost. Few keep them. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Kent knows the truth.

all’s well, Bob

______________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 27, 2023 at 6:16:36 AM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Bob, I hear your concern for loose sheets, but I would very much like to set the record straight about my omission. Some people may lose it, but some won’t, and everyone that’s part of the project will get a chance to read it. So unless you vigorously object, I will go ahead and send out an errata package in the next couple of months.

Best,
Mike

____________________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 27, 2023 at 9:44:08 AM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

is this the one ? 

Monroeville, PA

One day a kid yelled
"Hey Asshole!"
and everybody on the street
turned around

it reminds me of Kent's bar joke

______________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 27, 2023 at 10:11:55 AM EST
To: Michael Boughn

Correct, Asshole.

B.


_________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: i once met, and it's been enough
Date: November 27, 2023 at 10:17:21 AM EST
To: Michael Boughn

Dear Mike,

I simply object, because while all good intentions, it looks lame. The press looks lame, the editor, and me. Not my way.

I don’t want to go into what losses and pride I have gone through in 52 years of running a press correctly — if you wish to dig around, you could find the Longhouse story. But you made a mistake and a strong contribution was left out for Kent and there is only one way to correct it, since there will be only one book. One Kent. One Mike. One Bob. One future.

all’s well, Bob 



Nov 28: No reply from MB. I believe this ends the exchange. Regarding Ed Ochester’s poem to “Assholes”— I trust MB understands my reply was made in the same jest as the classic poem. We’re all assholes, folks. The other day, working alone in the woods, ready to fell a tall and dying cherry tree, I was into the work and reaching to my back pocket where I always slip in a felling wedge, it turns out I forgot it. I said to myself, “Go get it, asshole.” None of us are spared. My essay to Kent that was omitted from the anthology is down below —
 

(and since the very last messages above between Mike and I and posting it all on the Birdhouse, comes this addendum of very last messages below)

_________

Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn 
Subject: Re: VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~
Date: November 29, 2023 at 11:23:25 AM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Interesting what you deleted.




_________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~
Date: November 29, 2023 at 2:56:20 PM EST
To: Michael Boughn 

Hello Mike,

If something was “deleted", perhaps be a supportive writer, and show me what is missing. Nothing was purposely “deleted.”

all’s well, Bob


__________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn 
Subject: Re: VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~
Date: November 29, 2023 at 3:05:06 PM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Sure Bob. Here. Maybe I missed something. We know how that goes.

Thanks,
Mike. 


_______________


Begin forwarded message:

From: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~
Date: November 29, 2023 at 3:08:17 PM EST
To: Michael Boughn 

Mike,

I found your letter before your return email here, and it is important, and it has been put in its place.

all’s well, Bob


________________



Begin forwarded message:

From: Michael Boughn 
Subject: Re: VISITING KENT JOHNSON REDUX ~
Date: November 29, 2023 at 3:09:37 PM EST
To: Bob and Susan Arnold <longhousepoetry@gmail.com>

Thanks.

Mike



______________



KNOCK KNOCK, A Visit With Kent Johnson


I not only ONCE MET Kent Johnson, I saw Kent the other day — waiting for me up in my woodlot in Vermont, sitting with his legs comfortably crossed on the large ash tree Yuri the Russian and I dropped a few weeks ago. A very big tree, maybe 100 feet tall. The tree has been dying now for some years but still taking its time. Like a cat who finds the softest spot in a room to curl up or a dog who slumps into the warmest spot in the dooryard on a winter day, Kent knew where to find me. He, of course, asked about the tree. Pointed to all I had bucked up and hand-split. It’s nearly two cords of prime firewood. Kent wanted to know all the juicy details — like, who was Yuri? 

Yuri was from Moldova. He’s half my age. I was looking for a young tree-surgeon and one afternoon at the grocer’s Susan got out of the truck and cried, “Oh wow! the top of that pine tree just fell over.” That was Yuri up there. I didn’t know him yet but I was going to. He was working as a favor for friends from the same neighborhood church. Susan went off to shop and from the parking lot I watched awhile Yuri work. Then I walked over for a closer look. I got Yuri’s phone number from one of the ground workers since Yuri was too high up in the tree. Yuri was at our place a week later with his little family snug in a company work truck. Not his truck. We took down the ash tree when it was ten degrees, late February. The money Yuri earned would pad his pockets for a three week trip back to Moldova to visit his young wife’s family since they hadn’t yet seen the baby. Kent loved all the story. Told me again of his own travels to that part of the world, the poets he met. He then put one of his hands deep into the hollow of the big log he sat on. I still had the last twelve feet of the ash tree to buck up. It was three feet thick. The hollow rot would at least give me a leg-up when starting to split the large chunks. Kent asked how long it would take. He kept smiling and shaking his head as I described everything. Taking his hand out of the hollow he then asked was it true it was only after twenty or so others were invited to this anthology of I ONCE MET, I was then invited? 

I beamed and nodded. “Nothing new in club-house poetry America, Kent.” I added that the editor was kind enough to share with me many of of the contributing pieces. “I know, Bob, but you published the book I Once Met. Hell, you encouraged me to write this bigger book of memories from the smaller handmade golden booklet you and Susan published. Don’t you remember how I told you I planned to go to this bar I like and sit there and write? Well, I did! And then you added in all those great photos”. . . “By the way, how is Susan?” I told Kent Susan was back at the house keeping the wood fires up but as the sun gets warmer she’ll follow my snowshoe tracks and see us. Kent asked if I was going to write a piece for the anthology. I said I hoped to. We had a real true blue Nor’easter blow through the week the invitation arrived laying in over three feet of snow in twenty-four hours. We lost power, phone, water and even the dirt road along the river for days. But I read through portions of the anthology that was sent to me and saw mutual friends John Bradley & George Kalamaras in there, plus a sharp, warm remembrance by George Quasha. I never met Quasha but I bet maybe Kent had (he nodded his head). I bet you also felt the same thrill I did when young and finding a copy of his Active Anthology? Kent didn’t say anything, just kept smiling at me. Neither a nod or a head shake; he was a man in love. I waited while Kent came back from wherever he was, thinking or dreaming of poets and books.

He then blinked and looked me dead in the eye and said, “I died too young, Bob. I miss my family. I miss my dog Ben Jonson. I miss you all. Look at me — my hair’s grown back!” We laughed and let that all sink in. The sun had finally reached our spot in the woods. Snow was melting around the big log. “Yeah, you died too young Kent,” I said. “Everyone misses you. But you still lived almost twenty years longer than Basho.” Hello rolled into goodbye.
           

Bob Arnold
_______________                    
28 March 2023
Green River



This is a fine tribute anthology to our memorable friend, Kent,

packed with many of his cohorts and friends —

The book is published by:

Shuffaloff

11 Conrad Avenue

Toronto, ON. M6G  3G4

contact: razzamatootie@gmail.com