It is practically impossible for me to read Hiram without a smile, without chuckles leaking out the sides because doggone it, I’d like to go back to “apron time” “when all wooden spoons stirred the morning.” It’ll take but one poem, to clue you in, the opening poem that is then “And Now,” defying time and grinding the rules of grammar into dusty fields of wonder.
How can you not chuckle when you read this stanza from Roy (p.10)?
And at 14 or 15 all your friends
are popcorn
Or
all of a sudden notice
that that dot in the distance
just waved.
And if you haven't awakened your imagination by the time you've reached p.12, A Corner Life will dash some cold water in its face. Go ahead. I dare you to decipher this using your everyday mind:
Yes
Clocks
seem full of know –
They
turn stars to wise
or
sweep past lovely fears
They
even chime the blue
like vines at dawn.
So how did that go for you? Now read it aloud and experience the Hiram Larew magic. This is just my opinion mind you– after having read his previous five collections, but Patchy Ways is Hiram's most sonorous work to date.
Stephanie Niles once said to me, "There isn't a poem in every story, but there's a story in every poem." Sometimes it can be challenging to find the stories in poems. But in every collection, Hiram offers up at least one poetic story with a memorable character that smiles or groans you, and a telling event that plucks heartstrings.
In Uncle Never (p.14), Hiram draws up a character that will grin you all over the place:
He
snuck in when no one was looking
Slipped
in unnoticed
just like a noontime shadow
And in Lazy Beds (p.19) we are treated to one of Hiram's favorite story topics, the Irish famine:
There
was nothing romantic about them --
no
misty aura or smoke or dreams
no
bedtime stories
They
beckoned no fairies to hover
and
plucked no harps
Anyone who knows Hiram personally knows that his spin on things is usually on the positive side. But in reading or listening to Hiram's poetry, you realize that he doesn't want you to think that everything is peaches and cream and grinning fields (maybe apples would be more appropriate than peaches, knowing Hiram). Oh no! Hiram throws a bit of spite at you like cotton candy mud looking for a wholly wall.
In Spite (p.21) he delivers
What a day it's been --
with every ornery stepping forward
It started with a hole that should have been
butter to dig
but was cussed with rocks.
And if you're reading even close to carefully, you'll note that Hiram himself is undercover ornery. Bicker (p.22) argues you right into that mist of understanding, suggesting that you should treasure bad apples and thrive on mistakes and praise fail. That sounds pretty ornery to me, but I have no desire to bicker with you or Hiram, lest my days veer off with shouldn’t bes. And tell me, just how profound is
It takes all of your tripping then falling
to
get to the sloppy good grace
of a fine giving in.
You might have to read the entire piece to grasp its full profundity. Like the poetic magician that he is, Hiram employs slight of word to make you wonder and wander down a mysterious lane carved out of a multihued landscape.
Listen, I could wax ecstatic for days about Patchy Ways and the barrel of rosy red apples it offers up for your ears and eyes to savor. But doggone it, just read the dang thing and you'll see what I am hopelessly trying to convey. Patchy Ways gets my thumb's (and every other finger except that one) up!
By the way, if click on The Poet and the Poem link below, you'll be in for a treat with Hiram and Grace Cavalieri spending poetic time together on her decades long program, The Poet and the Poem. When two poetic giants seed the landscape, we all grow!
