Two Thousand Eighteen was a year filled with both joy and sorrow; buoyed by success yet scarred by tragedy; suffused with hope but plagued by pessimism; our Future obfuscated by humanity’s obsession with personal gain often at the potential risk of species Omnicide. We have become the personification of an Ouroboros…obsessed with the Past, its lessons ignored, trapped by our own hubris in a repetitive cycle of self-annihilation.
Nearly Fifty years ago I was “gifted” an opportunity to travel the length and breadth of the United States – literally from Portland Oregon to Portland Maine, and places in-between, in the company of two artists, then largely unknown outside their individual creative spheres; Irving Broughton, then a professor of Creative Writing at the University of Washington and publisher of a small literary quarterly and Frank Stanford, a poet from Arkansas whose early work had at that time recently been published by Irving’s Mill Mountain Press. This is one story of that journey. Read more