A Friend in the Distance

Thanksgiving 2021 | A Menu PoeM

Guest of honor:
Hank Lazer
 A Friend in
the Distance

Thanksgiving 2021 | A Menu Poem

Guest of Honor: Hank Lazer

GH
BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York
Thanksgiving Menu-Poem 2021, Guest of Honor: Hank Lazer
Copyright © 2021by Geoffrey Gatza

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without

the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

BlazeVOX [books]
Geoffrey Gatza
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217

Editor@blazevox.org

publisher of weird little books

BlazeVOX [ books ]
blazevox.org

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 Thanksgiving Menu
Guest of Honor: Hank Lazer

Onomatopoeia

beef tartare with radishes, cornichons, frisée & horseradish crème fraîche,
served with grilled pain de campagne

Dom Pérignon Rosé 2006

Personification

Sweet Potato Vichyssoise with Curry Infused Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Nantes Carrots, Garden Radishes

Domaine Zind-Humbrecht Hengst Gewürztraminer 2005

Consonance

Crispy Hen of the Woods Mushroom, Whole Wheat Toast,

Deep Fried Pickles and honeycomb & toasted walnuts

Domaine Saint Prefert Colombis Châteauneuf du Pape 2019

Metaphor

Tomato Water Gelée, Fragrant Basils and Rumi Saffron Glaze

Rhyme & Rhythm

Bates Farm Roast Turkey, Cornmeal Stuffing, Chanterelle Mushroom Ragoût,

Autumnal Truffle Consommé and Crispy Cremini Mushrooms

Château Duhart-Milon, Pauillac 2012

 Alliteration

Belle Chevre artisanal cheese, Marinated Orchard Figs, Black Winter Truffle “Fondue”

Chassagne-Montrachet Rouge "Les Chambres," Prudhon - 2016

Assonance

Pecan tartlet, Banana Mousse, Brown Butter and Pistachio Sablés

Elegant Italian Espresso

Thanksgiving POEMS
IONIAN SCALES SOFTLY

I LISTENED FOR YOUR LOST VOICE THIS MORNING

GLOSSY MARKETING ON WET CARDBOARD

GIRAFFE-DOG

THE BLUEBERRY BLUE CLOUDS

THOUGHT GARDENS OF HANDWRITING

THE SWORD IN THE STONE

Thanksgiving Poem
Guest of Honor: Hank Lazer
A Friend in the Distance

IntroductionIntroduction

Hello and welcome to the 2021 Thanksgiving Menu-

Poem. This is the twentieth incarnation of the Thanksgiving
Menu-Poem! This series began in 2002 with a Menu-Poem to
honor Charles Bernstein, and since then this series engages
Thanksgiving as the basis to celebrate poetry, poets, and the
poetry community. Being a trained professional chef, I have
blended my love of food and poetry into a book-length work as
a feast of words and art to bring everyone a tiny bit closer
together.
This project is a conceptual meal served for the
thousands of friends I would love to have over to our home on
Thanksgiving Day. Since it is unavoidably impossible to even consider doing such a thing in real life, I have designed
a menu of foodstuffs that reflect upon the guest of honor as a person, a poet and their poetry. These works directly
respond to our surrounding environment and uses everyday experiences as a starting point. Often these are framed
instances that would go unnoticed in their original context. With a conceptual approach, this menu-poem tries to
increase the dynamic between audience and author by objectifying emotions and investigating the duality that
develops through different interpretations.
This year our guest of honor is Hank Lazer. This poem series represents a combination of autumnal and visual
poetries as a tribute to the magnificent works he has created. I have had the wonderful opportunity to work with
Hank over the past year publishing his book, field recordings of mind in morning. We had such a good time it was a
natural decision to ask him to be this year’s guest of honor.
I had been a fan of Hank Lazer’s work for decades now. His poetry is about openness and experimentation
with a questioning attentiveness that blends expressions of meaning with the visual. His work has evolved through
the LANGUAGE movement to spontaneous writing to unique handwritten books to musical collaborations. His
combination of poetry, writing, and color expand the notion of how the poem can be expressed. His writings take
shape in freeform spirals and other organizations, merging to the shape of the page size, which often determines the
look of his poem. This artistic text art creates moments of contemplation and introspection for the reader.
Everything exceeds intention in Lazer’s writing and it is so very exciting. The title of the Menu-Poem comes from his
2019 book, Slowly Becoming Awake (N32), and the poem, 9/7/16 Carrolton (p38). Written in brown ink:

is that a voice
a friend in the distance

I hope that this menu-poem adequately expresses my appreciation for him while creating a sense of harmony
that interprets my understanding of his work. Or instead of harmony maybe a better word would be a free-
translation, or an invocation of the intention Lazer creates

The menu

The structure of the menu takes the form of poetic architecture. Starting with the variety of senses the
autumnal season brings with it: aromas, temperature variations, mixed textures and flavor combinations that greet
you with a serene, elegant scenery of nature. This thanksgiving feast is complemented by seasonally selected
autumnal foodstuffs that not only tastes well-balanced but are also pleasant to think about.

The wines and beverages

The wines and champagnes are French. The highlights are a Alsace Grand Cru Gewurztraminer. It has a
delightful nose of honey and lychees, delicate and graceful on the palate with traces of spice and orange blossom.
Very elegant, refreshing, and crisp. The main course is accompanied by the Château Duhart-Milon, Pauillac 2012,
which is both demure and knowingly sumptuous, a captivating and graceful wine. This will be a delight with the
traditional roast turkey and trio of wild mushrooms.

The poetry

This series consists of seven poems, six autumnal poems and one longer poetry/art sequence, Thought
Gardens of Handwriting, for Hank Lazer. The autumnal poems address this season of change as an exploration of the
cycles between thoughts of memory and the thoughts of experience, these poems delve into the tradition of
remembrance as art, as an act of meditation.
The eight art poems are constructed with ink, markers, and watercolors on watercolor paper mounted on
board. They question the conditions of appearance of an image in the context of contemporary visual culture in
which images, representations and ideas normally function. By experimenting with handwriting processes, these
drawings generates multiple meanings. Associations and meanings collide. Space becomes time and language
becomes image.
These art pieces focus on the instability of communication which is used to visualize reality, the attempt of
dialogue, the dissonance between form and content and the dysfunctions of language. In short, the lack of clear
references are key elements in the work. By exploring the concept of handwriting in a reflective way, these pieces
investigate the dynamics of language, including the manipulation of its effects and the limits of spectacle based on
our assumptions of what handwriting means to us..

I hope you enjoy this meal, the menu, the cats and the poem. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Rockets, Geoffrey
Hank Lazer

Hank Lazer has published twenty-nine books

of poetry, including Evidence of Being
Here: Beginning in Havana (N27) (2018,
Negative Capability Press), Thinking in
Jewish(N20) (2017, Lavender Ink), Poems
Hidden in Plain View (2016, in English and
in French), Brush Mind: At Hand
(GreencupBooks, 2016), N24 (Little Red
Leaves / Textile Series, 2014), N18
(complete) (Singing Horse Press, 2012),
Portions (Lavender Ink, 2009), The New
Spirit (Singing Horse, 2005), Elegies &
Vacations (Salt, 2004), and Days (Lavender
Ink, 2002). Selected Poems and Essays of
Hank Lazer, completed by a group of translators and with a Preface by Nie Zhenzao, was published by
Central China Normal University Press in 2015. Lazer’s Selected Poems have also been published in
Italy (Pensando Cantando: Poesie Scelte di Hank Lazer, QuiEdit, 2015, translated by Anny
Ballardini) and will be appearing shortly in Cuba (Pensando Cantando, Torre de letras, translated by
Omar Pérez). In 2011, in collaboration with visual artists from the Taller Experimental de Gráfica in
Havana and the University of Alabama’s Book Arts program, Lazer published Indivisible, a fine press
bilingual edition of handwritten shape poems. Pages from the notebooks have been performed with
soprano saxophonist Andrew Raffo Dewar, including performances at the University of Georgia
(November 2013) and in Havana, Cuba (two concerts in January 2014), and most recently with
legendary Birmingham improvisational guitarist Davey Williams. Over the past fifteen years, Lazer has
collaborated with various jazz musicians, filmmakers, choreographers, and visual artists in seeking new
ways to present poetry.

In April 2015, Lazer was selected for the state of Alabama’s highest literary award, the Harper Lee
Award, for a lifetime of achievement in literature.

Lazer’s books of criticism include Opposing Poetries (two volumes, 1996) and Lyric & Spirit: Selected
Essays 1996-2008 (2008).
Audio and video recordings of Lazer’s poetry and an interview for Art International Radio can be found
at Lazer’s PennSound website: http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Lazer.html , as well as in special
issues of Plume#34 and Talisman #42, and spacecraft #10.

With co-editor Charles Bernstein, Lazer edits the Modern and Contemporary Poetics Series for the
University of Alabama Press. To date, the MCP Series has published over 50 books, including work by
Marjorie Perloff, Harryette Mullen, Jerome Rothenberg, Rachel Blau DuPlessis, and Brian Reed.

In January 2014, Lazer retired from the University of Alabama (where he continues to teach innovative
seminars for New College, the Blount Scholars Program, and Honors College) after 37 years in a variety
of positions, including Associate Provost for Academic Affairs, Executive Director of Creative Campus,
and Professor of English. Lazer also convenes a weekly Zen meditation group in Tuscaloosa. Lazer can
be reached at hlazer@bama.ua.edu.
Author Bio from Dos Madres Press

Interesting Links

hanklazer.com
https://www.hanklazer.com

PennSound

Audio and video recordings of Lazer’s poetry and an interview for Art International Radio can be found at Lazer’s
PennSound website: http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Lazer.html ,

Recent Books

field recordings of mind in morning | poems: hank lazer music: holland hopson (BlazeVOX [books], 2021) 128
pages. You can listen to recorded poems from field recordings of mind in morning poems: hank lazer music: holland
hopson
http://www.hanklazer.com/field-recordings/

COVID19 SUTRAS (Lavender Ink, 2020) COVID19 SUTRAS continues his exploration of the nature of consciousness
itself, and those momentary sudden inscriptions that are part and parcel of the grace of each human incarnation.
https://www.hanklazer.com/covid19-sutras/
Slowly Becoming Awake (N32) (Dos Madres Press, 2019) The book takes us through Lazer’s serious illness (June-
July 2016) through his recovery and into his increasing meditative writing time spent at a remote farm in rural
Alabama. https://www.hanklazer.com/slowly-becoming-awake-n32/

Brush Mind: At Hand (Greencup Books, 2016) 128 pages, hand-written, calligraphic book, poetry/philosophy; can
be read in its entirety in 7 minutes (or longer). Inspired by the calligraphy work of Kazuaki Tanahashi (to whom the
book is dedicated).

Poems Hidden in Plain View / Poèmes cachés en evidence (trans. by Emmanuel Moses), PURH (Presses universitaires
de Rouen et du Havre), 2016. 160 pages. Drawn from the first ten Notebooks, in dialogue with Heidegger’s Being &
Time. With an afterword. In two volumes, one in English, one in French.

Thinking Singing: Selected Poems of Hank Lazer / Pensando Cantando: Poesie Scelte di Hank Lazer, trans. Anny
Ballardini, Verona, Italy: QuiEdit, 2015, selected poems from Days (2002) to the Notebooks (through 2014), with
Introduction and an Interview. 220 pages. Bilingual, English/Italian.

N24 Little Red Leaves: Textile Series, 2014. Hand-sewn, beautifully designed (Dawn Pendergast) chapbook. Shape-
writing, handwritten book. 16 pages.

Interviews

Interview at spacecraft project.

Talisman #42: An interview with Hank Lazer conducted by Marjorie Perloff.

Plume #34: Interview with Hank Lazer by Glenn Mott; includes several Notebook pages, photos and sound file from
jazz-poetry improvisations with soprano saxophonist/composer Andrew Raffo Dewar.

Video

Reading & Conversation with Andrew Maxwell at the San Francisco Poetry Center, February 23, 2017

Bookmark TV interview with Don Noble (2015) for Alabama Public TV

7 recordings and videos from 2019 available on YouTube (Hank Lazer), including several pieces with Holland
Hopson and a live performance in Florence, AL with Jake Berry, Wayne Sides, and Kate Hunt (on theremin!)

Vimeo – Brush Mind: At Hand and Brush Mind: Second Hand:

https://vimeo.com/234908748

https://vimeo.com/369851981
 A Friend in
the Distance
Guest of Honor: Hank Lazer
 Onomatopoeia

beef tartare with radishes, cornichons, frisée & horseradish crème fraîche,
served with grilled pain de campagne

Dom Pérignon Rosé 2006

Ionian Scales Softly

My girl waits for me in chapter ten.

From the first few pages
My heart longs for her.
We met once on the docks
As I sailed away from port.

We were set upon by pirates

Almost immediately. I was left alive
But my crew were slaughtered.
I fought to stay alive,
To return home to her.

In chapter eleven, my girl becomes my wife.

We are happy until the wedding is over.

We purchase a clean home. Each night I cook a nice meal.

Enjoy calm every day, as if we relive echoes of
Sundays and Tuesdays and Fridays.

There is a blur that happens in repetition.

Her newspaper crinkles

As I ask her for the crossword.
She has never forgiven me
For giving her such a dullness
As the life we lead in the summer home.

What is an eleven letter word for life without pirates, she asks?
A seventeen letter word for freedom from fighting?
A four-letter word for life without battle?
A seven-letter word for unstruggle?
A twenty-six lettered word, with two hyphens, for freedom from the next triumph?

In the sunrise, our book closes

As a guitar plays Ionian scales softly.
 Personification

Sweet Potato Vichyssoise with Curry Infused Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Nantes Carrots, Garden Radishes

Domaine Zind-Humbrecht Hengst Gewürztraminer 2005

I listened for your lost voice this morning

My tongue is a flower, blooming.

Lightly tasting fragrant abstractions of dust
As if our words were pollen
spoken
fluttering from black stamens.

I swallow my voice
Before the bees and yellow jackets
find their way
into my mouth.

The tiniest of flavors attract tastebuds.

Buzzing drowns out my thoughts on smoke.
Smells, scents, ideas, rosemary, basil.

The interventions of herbs are aesthetic,

are licorice, are nature walks, are signs
hanging at countryside markets informing us
they are closed now but will reopen soon.

It is thriving autumn, a time for marigolds,

A time of spiritual and moving yellows yet
My mouth craves out-of-season golden apples.

From the garden to the gardener,

I will be on your side forever
No matter what my mouth utters.
 Consonance

Crispy Hen of the Woods Mushroom, Whole Wheat Toast,

Deep Fried Pickles and honeycomb & toasted walnuts

Domaine Saint Prefert Colombis Châteauneuf du Pape 2019

Glossy marketing on wet cardboard

Snow fell here too.

Just a light dusting though.
A coating of puffy dreams;
A bright stormy day.

It’s like we live somewhere

else, someplace special.

Our toaster-oven died last night.

It was sudden. The thing just collapsed
Right there on the floor, doing what
it loved best, heating up corn muffins.

Even the garbage trucks

Rolling down the street
Appear the very model of
Americana at Christmas.

Young people taking away

The packaging of new toys
and tossing decay bags of the once special,
The once brand-new into compacting jaws
of a damp future awaiting an inevitable when.

All of Christmas waiting to be carted away

In green-gold trucks to sugar-coated skiffs
Located in the outskirts of town.
 Metaphor

Tomato Water Gelée, Fragrant Basils and Rumi Saffron Glaze

Giraffe-dog

For a little while there,

it looked like a giraffe-dog.

The hip-bones jut

in the wrong places.

But, once I sliced the belly

and trimmed the legs a bit

I got a fine looking

Spotted-fawn
Out of it.

It is nibbling grass,
For now, at least,
In front of that sleepy
Red farm house.

Pasted down.
Wasting its life away.

Someone should tell that fawn

To get a haircut, get a job
And get it together.

But the fawn just leans into it.

It’s his brand, and that is how

The pandemic feels

Today.
 Rhyme & Rhythm

Bates Farm Roast Turkey, Cornmeal Stuffing, Chanterelle Mushroom Ragoût,

Autumnal Truffle Consommé and Crispy Cremini Mushrooms

Château Duhart-Milon, Pauillac 2012

The blueberry blue clouds

The October evening slowly becomes night.

Dusk blue clouds on a gray-streaked sky
with hints of blue and violet speak.

From where I am standing

Five clouds form to make a face.

Well, a cartoonish kind of face.

As if the sky itself was saying
Something fun like, “what ho, Geoffrey!
How are you tonight?”

The shape is familiar to me.

It is very like a face
I could have drawn in blue ink
On gray paper.

So, I run indoors, grab my camera

Zoom in to focus and run back outside.

In that short time

The clouds drift.

The night becomes like a birthday cake left in the sun.

The blueberry blue clouds with a wisteria undertone
no longer resemble a face I could have drawn.

I snap a picture anyway, just in case someone down

The street, someone who is standing in the right spot,
Might see the face of my drifting clouds, and be a face

To them. And when they come to me and say,

"Hey Geoff, I just saw a face in the clouds."
I'll be able to show them my picture.

It won't be a photo of my face, that one drifted onwards to them.

This will be a sideview portrait of their face in the clouds.

The one that asked them, after visiting me, how they were doing
Tonight, before drifting on to the next home and the next home.
 Alliteration

Belle Chevre artisanal cheese, Marinated Orchard Figs, Black Winter Truffle “Fondue”

Chassagne-Montrachet Rouge "Les Chambres," Prudhon - 2016

Thought gardens of handwriting
A series of poems for Hank Lazer
One:

Don’t we built magnificent poems,

Like fingerprints, like flowers

Dressed up in their frocks

Somewhat like a swansong

Somewhat like a bonsai tree

As if human hands never influenced

Pretty, massive bulbs from birth

A fate decided, a face in the sunshine

Belladonna bends to the Baltic sea

A small breeze makes the garden shiver

An autumnal fir tree roughens

Prepared to shine in snowbeds

Old soil is loaded on the flower beds

The orange flowers glimmering, the color of life
One
Two:

As you can see

Deep inside is a memory garden
A microclimate where bamboo shoots,
Echoes of dried peonies climb upwards
The language of birds flap in heliopsis

Branches and vines provoke spiders

Memories fade
Written in lines
Of text and pinecones

Thought gardens of handwriting

And fleeting depictions scrawling
Research of remembrance
Manuscripts attributed to robins

A golden-streaked finch takes flight

Double guess the gardener’s hard work,

Question the answers given in gardens

What could be more beautiful than growth

Two
Three:

Flowers and fashion transform

The old flowers will fade into

New growth with elegant buds

The exhibit blooms with emotions

The form, texture takes shape in foliage

Lovely white contrasting flowers

Growing on faceless mannequins

Tantalizingly, tirelessly inspiration

Flowers are a testament to imagination

Three
Four:

I remember going to visit Vincent in his winter home

His cottage lives in the sun, evoking a simpler way of life

A meditative quality, obsessed with work, the flower gives back

A revelation of old friends

Rather infectious, congratulatory
Overly attentive, in an opportunity to build

Stalls for flowering cactus, roses and envy

We only confirmed we were coming four weeks ago

And we did all the things:
The corn festival, the Ferris wheel, heavenly pizza

It’s been a real joy after the year we had, grateful each day
For wellbeing, a blossom of retirement, a revelation of color
Four
Five:

To imagine this is past-industry

We wind through the tree
On the side of the canal
A dark kind of backdrop
Silver-leaved trees shine

It’s meant to be a challenge, and it is

I can see it populated with people and nature
Shared spaces of greenery in towns and cities
The pandemic makes it more relevant

More pockets to have coffee

Pipeworks weave through the planting

We celebrate autumn as a snapshot of time

A bit of bling, a bit of sparkle, running silver
Water is the sound of hard work

And we join together in a wonderful moment

That was meant to be here
And will live on and be relocated in
Smaller, but no less ambitious, repurposed forges
Five
Six:

The colors are quite varied

Autumn is the perfect time
Linking spaces with levels, stairs,
We walk down together into the landscape

Random patterns, a see-through body

Flowing streams, spicy fragrances

You feel safer with the changes

Broad lines broken with tiny details

Smooth timber, clay pots arranged into a theater

This is about seating people and making them feel

The big strong lines stop

The fluid spaces begin

The eye-levels recede and we are with the bees

A moment of pride, our first participation
A tiny piece of soul woven into hanging stories we tell through gardens
Six
Seven:

To finally engage with people in a space

That has been in my head for so long
A dream comes about, physically bursting into a world

I sleep and wake up and there is inspiration

Discombobulates
Plants are ephemeral

Soft grass creates movement

A soft color palette brings you around to a bench, some birches
And you are looking right into a reflection

You look spot on

Plenty of shadows
Half moon
Dapple shade
As if you are in a dreamscape

But this wasn’t my dream at all

It was hers, and I am not sure why I am here
Seven
Eight:

A sun dappled summer day

A pure magenta world of trees

The crescendo
Driven by gravel, pavement
The ground is textured with movement, meaning

It gets picked up, reflectively, in the smile on her face

In reality we are dealing with a draining message

As a designer, being what it is, is to raise awareness

The difficult path, the journey, the uneven corners

Decorating the path with fractured silver-mossed branches

Dark and moody, it takes time to appreciate

Smell the smells, turn off your devices and take in
The healing power of trees
Eight
The Crescendo
 Assonance

Pecan tartlet, Banana Mousse, Brown Butter and Pistachio Sablés

Elegant Italian Espresso

The Sword in the Stone

There is a thicket on the outskirts of town unlike any other.

It is called the Valley of Wolves and has few visitors.
There are no trails, no flowers, and no place to stay the night.
Only trees. And, of course, the wolves.

For some time now, this valley has fascinated me.

I visited it a couple of times years ago. Its mystery moved me.
This place symbolizes everything I fear in the world.
It is a place where any one, or anything, can vanish into thin air.
I like to pretend it doesn't exist. But it does.

On my birthday I left home. I decided it was time

to find my future. I felt my parents were holding
me back from my dreams of becoming a cheese maker.

I loved cheese and since I grew up on a dairy farm

I had a belief that if I went to the city I could learn
how to make the best cheeses in the country. But,
I would have to cross the Valley of Wolves
If I was to realize my destiny.

I was deeply afraid of the Valley of Wolves

And, of course, the wolves who live there.
If I could muster up the courage to leave,
In time, I’d become a famous cheese maker,
and people would love me
for of the all fine cheeses I could conjure up.

So I walked through dark streets of my town and made

my way to the Valley of Wolves. Minute by minute,
Step after step, I kept remembering what led me to leave.

In the middle of no place in particular, I stopped to have supper.

I cut a slice of bread and broke off a chunk of yellow cheese.
The scent of the balsamic woodland breeze danced in my mind.
I breathed in freedom for what felt like the first time in my life.
That night I slept outdoors. I packed a warm wool blanket
and I made myself a pillow from soft pine branches.
The bright half-moon shone through open skies.
Deep in my heart I believed pine-scented dreams
would be a part of my life from this moment forward.

When I awoke, my pine-scented dreams vanished.

I became very disappointed very quickly.
The morning air was damp and I felt chilly.
My cheese was covered with dirt and ants.
A beautiful red robin flew off with my bread.
The pine pillow which smelled so fragrant
last night left my face sticky and itchy.

I expected hardships, but at this strange

point in my life, I hoped to leave worries
at home and find a stronger sense of myself.
I hoped that this adventure would lead
To my destiny as a cheese maker extraordinaire
but somehow I only found despair and ants.

At noon I stopped by a cobblestone wall

to eat an apple for lunch. The scent of lemon
and sugar filled the air. I felt happy again.

Then, a gust of wind came in from the east

and blew the yellow cap from my head.
It flew past the nearby pasture right
into the heart of the Valley of Wolves.

I love my cap. So I ran, chasing after it.

In my hurry I left my fear on the cobblestone wall
Along with my apple and my water bottle.

When I finally found my hat, it had landed

on the hilt of a large silver broadsword
plunged into the center of a hematite gray plinth.

This reminded me of a bedtime story my father told

when he wanted me to go to sleep. It was a story
of destiny, fate, free will, love, and revenge.

My father said, it all began with

A magnificent sword magically
wedged into a rock. Only the worthy
would be able to remove it and save
the world from one long night of darkness.

Seeing this sword for myself,

I was surprised by how well informed
my father was on these matters.

I dusted off my yellow cap and sat down

besides the hematite gray plinth and looked
at the magic sword as it gleamed in the sunlight.

I did not want to stay long. This area was dangerous.

I was frightened and not sure exactly where I was.

Night was approaching, so I built a small fire

to warn off the wolves. I looked at the sword
and did not feel comfort. I was confused.
I wondered how someone as hopelessly ordinary
as myself could find the mythical sword in the stone.

I did not come to the Valley of Wolves

looking for a transformational adventure.
I was hoping to become a famous cheesemaker.

This was a prize for kings, or someone who could lead

Others to greatness. I have only lead cows into pastures
And then I lead them back home again.
If this was fortune, I did not feel very fortunate.

But, since I was there, and the sword appeared to me,

I decided to give it a try. I believed it my duty, my calling.
I couldn't desert this adventure as easily as I did my lunch.

So I approached the sword and stood on the hematite base.

I wrapped my hands around the hilt and pulled.

I heaved and clenched my teeth. I wrenched it over and over again.

And with one last shove there was a loud clank. It moved!

The sword began to loosen. I slid it out of its shining gray rock.
It was very heavy but I lifted the silver sword over my head.

Triumph! I felt a blast of victory shoot through my body.

Even though I was young and relatively harmless,
And not really sure how to actually wield a weapon,
I wandered through the valley confident wolves
wouldn’t bother a knight errant carrying a sword.

I walked and walked with the heavy blade dragging

behind me until I found my way to an extravagant
manor house nestled in the heart of the Valley of Wolves.

I presented the doorman with the sword.

I told him to bring it to his commander
and I would meet with him at his leisure.

I waited for a very long time.

When the doorman returned four

very large men accompanied him.
I was worried, but stood firm.

I told them of my journey and how I plucked this sword

from its magic stone. I was here to present my prize to the lord
of this manor in hopes of claiming my honor as their new king.

After listening to me with stone-faced silence,

when I was done, standing tall and confident

the five men began to laugh.

Not a simple giggle, or a chuckle,

they were doubled over hooting laughter.
Their faces were red and tears filled their eyes.

At that moment, I discovered I had not

found the lost magical sword in the stone.
I had broken a sculpture, a piece of art
sitting in the north lawn of his home.
The owner of the manor purchased the sword
from a famous sculptor to decorate his orchard.

Fortunately, the owner was not angry I destroyed it.

He told me to write to my family and assure them I was safe.
In a few years my hard work would pay off the damages.
There is a manor house in the heart of the Valley of Wolves.
It is unlike any other and has few visitors.

There are no gardens, no flowers, and no cheese.

Only trees. Rows and rows of trees. And, of course,
the wolves.

In this most unusual house

I am called Arthur, champion of broken art.

I like to pretend it doesn't happen. But it does.

Geoffrey Gatza is an award winning editor, publisher and
poet. He is the driving force behind BlazeVOX, a small press
located in Buffalo, NY and was named by the Huffington
Post as one of the Top 200 Advocates for American Poetry.
He is the author many books of poetry, including A Dog Lost
in the Brick City of Outlawed Trees, (Mute Canary 2018)
Apollo (BlazeVOX 2014) and HouseCat Kung Fu: Strange
Poems for Wild Children (Meritage 2009). Most recently his
work has appeared in FENCE, Datableed, Delete and
Tarpaulin Sky. His latest book, The Albatross Around the
Neck of Albert Ross, Strange Stories for Wild Children was
released in February from Lavender Ink Press.

His writings are based on inspiring situations: visions that

reflect a sensation of indisputability and serene
contemplation, combined with subtle details of odd or
eccentric, humoristic elements. With a subtle minimalistic
approach, his works references surrealism as well as the
avant-garde or the post-modern and the left-wing
democratic movement. He lives in Kenmore, NY with his
girlfriend and two beloved cats.

Kenyon Review, Publisher’s Spotlight:

https://www.kenyonreview.org/2019/06/publisher-spotlight-geoffrey-gatza-of-
blazevox-books/

‘A much-needed sense of joy’: A Conversation with Geoffrey Gatza about

Writing, Publishing, and Fiction for Young Readers – curated by Kristina Marie
Darling
https://www.tupeloquarterly.com/a-much-needed-sense-of-joy-a-conversation-with-geoffrey-gatza-about-writing-publishing-
and-fiction-for-young-readers-curated-by-kristina-marie-darling/

http://www.blazevox.org