Conrad Aiken died of a heart attack on Friday,
August 17th, 1973.In his New
York Times obituary notice of
Sunday, the 19th following, Alden Whitman wrote, "As the years wore on Mr.
Aiken came to have hardly a kind word for anybody or anything except comic
strips, martinis, and John O'Hara's short stories.In an interview with this reporter in 1969, he wrote off
contemporary American poetry as having come to 'a temporary pause' and dismissed
Archibald MacLeish, Robert Lowell and Allen Ginsberg, among others, as
over-estimated." I am sorry the Times obituary is the last impression the public had of the end of a great
poet's life.On August 26th of the
year of Aiken's death I wrote Mr. Whitman a letter — never acknowledged — in
which I corrected his vision of the poet as a bitter old man who had lost his
interest in poetry.
In the fall of 1970, nearly a year after the
reporter interviewed Aiken, I found a first edition of the poet's The Coming
Forth by Day of Osiris Jones
(1931).Aiken is one of my
favorite authors, and I had several others of his books, among them his 1961 Selected
Poems which I had praised in a
review I'd done for American Weave,
the magazine of my friend Loring Williams when we had both been living in
Cleveland in the early 1960s.In
October of 1970 I wrote Conrad Aiken a letter to ask if he would be willing to
inscribe a book or two for me if I sent them along with return postage.I hoped to get a favorable response by
reminding him of my review.
On October 29th Aiken replied that he would be
"glad to sign it.And
thanks," he continued, "for reviewing me.Maybe now again?"For it appeared that Oxford University Press had on 27th August 1970
published his Collected Poems1916-1970 and committed the error of printing on the title
page, "Second Edition."Aiken was considerably upset that they had done so without consulting
him and without mentioning that the new volume contained "FIVE more books
than the 1953 edition," he wrote, adding, "They are going to correct
it but too late.It will get NO
reviews.Ars lunga etc."
As soon as I got his card on November 2nd I sent
Aiken two of his books, Osiris Jones and the Selected Poems,
and I included a letter.I said
that I was enclosing two of my own books "as a gift — one just out today, The
Inhabitant."The other was Awaken, Bells Falling (1968).
I also wrote Daryl Hine, editor of Poetry, to ask if he'd like me to review the new Collected
Poems, as Aiken had
requested.Hine responded quickly
in the affirmative, even before I had gotten the review copy.I wrote to Aiken to tell him that I
would do the review, but I was not prepared for the note I received from him —
he didn't even mention the review.The postcard was datelined "Brewster, Mass., Nov. 20 70":
Dear Mr. Turco: The Inhabitant2 is the best new poem I've read in something like thirty years — profoundly
satisfying to me, speaks my language, such a relief to have WHOLE meaning
again, instead of this pitiable dot-and-dash splinter-poetry, or sawdust
cornflakes which we usually get.And you're all good.You give me courage to read again, and even to believe again in
myself.So you see how handsomely
I'm in debt.Thank you!You should be, and will be, better known.The Coll Poems are being sent, but
don't feel you must like me because I like YOU — gawd ferbid.
Before the mail had arrived at my family's
apartment in Oswego, New York, on November third, I had written a note to tell
Aiken that I had received the signed books; after the mail came and I had gotten
over the first effects of Aiken's letter, I sat down and wrote him again on the
same day to tell him how much I appreciated his remarks about my books.I said that The Inhabitant "will have a very small circulation, but I'd
rather have your single opinion than a thousand readers."I told him his comments would have no
effect on my review, as I had long been his admirer anyway, and had said so in
the earlier review.
I added, "I'd like very much to meet you some
day.My home town is Meriden,
Connecticut, and we spend our summers in Maine....Perhaps, on a trip someday from here to there, I might visit
with you for a few minutes?"
The review copy of Aiken's book finally came, and I
sat down to write the review for Poetry, which had set fairly stringent space limitations for the piece.When it was finished I sent it off to
Hine, and by the end of January 1971 I had received a formal acceptance of it,
together with a note of thanks from Hine, one sentence of which read,
"Belated thanks for this review, which manages to say so much in such a
The next communication I had from Aiken was
datelined Savannah, Georgia, March 8, 1971, and it was also a surprise:
"I'd like to nominate you for the Loines Award, of the National Institute
of Arts and Letters," he wrote, "for an American or English poet
whose work has not been too much recognized."He said he didn't have my books with him, though, and
wondered if I wouldn't send the Institute copies and tell them he'd told me to
do so."Don't hope too much!"
he wrote."You must know as
well as I do what happens on these damned committees.I served on one at the Institute which tried to give the
Gold Medal for fiction to K A Porter instead of Faulkner!But I proceeded to nominate F and of
course when it came to a full vote of the Institute he walked away with it,
suggested further that I look up a critical piece on his new book that had
appeared in the Saturday Review
for January 30, 1971.He ended
with, "We're here til May, then to the Cape end of that month.Communicate, and try to come by at
Brewster.It would be nice to see
I knew that one couldn't apply for the Loines Award
oneself, and I felt diffident about sending them my own books.I wanted to avoid any appearance that I
was responsible for initiating this nomination; therefore, on March 10th I
wrote Aiken to say I appreciated his efforts in my behalf, but I suggested that
I send him the books to forward.I
enclosed a copy of my review of his book, though I'd not yet received proofs
from Poetry, I told him.I said I'd look up the Saturday
Review piece, and I ended with,
"I'm looking forward to the summer.I intend to take full advantage of your offer while we're on our way
down to Maine."
On March 13th Aiken responded with "...thanks
for books and the review."He
agreed that he himself had simultaneously decided that his sending in the books
to the Institute "might be more tactful!I'll send 'em on to Insti.Your review is very good, AND kind — I only regret that you
can't have been a LITTLE more specific about early, middle and late, etc
etc.But VERY useful.And I'm glad you slapped O U Pee on the
wrist...and yes, a martini next summer!"
I replied on the 9th of April with thanks for his
last card. I wrote that I would
have liked to have more space in my review, "but the enclosed
correspondence from Poetry will
explain things, I said."I'm
working on a book of criticism," I continued, "and I'll get a chance
to expand on your work, I'm sure.
"I don't know when the book will be finished,
but I'll let you know when it is — and when and if it's published."
Unfortunately, my Visions and Revisions of American Poetry [see the note below], with its comparison of Aiken
and Wallace Stevens in a chapter titled "A Modernist Coin," wasn't
published until 1986.1
On May 20th of 1971 I wrote Aiken again to give him
the news and to say, "We'll be leaving for Maine in a few
weeks."I gave him my summer
address and phone number.I told
Aiken I'd be on sabbatical in the fall, and might stay on in Maine for a
while.I enclosed a copy of the
first review of The Inhabitant
to be published.
Aiken was back in Brewster by June 1st, which is
when he next wrote me.He quibbled
a bit with the review of The Inhabitant: "But does he quite see that it's ONE POEM**??I wonder!Don't know about seeing you this month — the trip up took a
lot of whey out of me, I'm still weak and shaky — could you perhaps call me to
see what's what a few days before you start—?"He gave me his phone number and suggested that perhaps the
fall would be better for my visit, "as June looks now as if it might be a
little crowded.Sorry — let's wait
and see.I'd very much like to
I replied over a month later, on the 8th of
July.I thanked him for his card
and said that of course I'd come down whatever month he wished.I also thanked him for having Oxford
send me the new edition of his impressionist autobiography Ushant, which I was reading and enjoying.I told him I'd have Jerry Patz, publisher
of The Inhabitant, send him a
copy of my new book, Pocoangelini: A Fantography and Other Poems, when it appeared in September.3"I read proofs on your review in Poetry not long ago.It should be out this month or next.," I wrote.Aiken replied on July 30th that he
looked forward to October and my visit.
I was apprehensive about Aiken's health, and I did
not want to tax him during the month of August by writing him letters he might
feel obliged to answer.During
this period, though, the review in Poetry appeared and I sent him a copy.On August 13th Aiken dropped me a card from Brewster:
"Thanks!" he said."The review is damned good, and Allen Tate said so in a note this
morning.He sent me a
copy."Aiken said he would
see me in October.
Not long after, I sent him a copy of Pocoangelini, just out: Jerry Patz had asked Aiken for
permission to use his letter of praise for The Inhabitant as a blurb on the new book, and it appeared on the
back cover of the paperback edition.Aiken replied with a card dated September 9th: "Many thanks for the
little angels, which I haven't had time for yet.We're a hospital at the moment, and I have no mind or
energy."He wasn't as
intrigued with this book, though, and of course he was right, for all three of
the series comprising the volume — "Pocoangelini, A Fantography,"
"Bordello,"4 and "The Sketches"5 — had been written earlier, some of them much earlier, than The Inhabitant:However, the latter had originally been published as a chapbook in 1962,
and it had received good reviews.The middle series, a short one, had never appeared as a set before, and
it was subsequently to be picked apart again as individual poems were picked up
and anthologized frequently."But don't believe anything I say!For I don't either," he wrote; "I'm a little out
of my mind."I took it that
he meant that he was feverish.
David M. Ungerer of Reston Publishing Company had a
bit earlier flown to Maine to ask that I turn my S.U.N.Y. correspondence course
study-guide into a college textbook, and I had just signed a contract to write Poetry:
An Introduction through Writing.5I planned to go home to New York State,
where my professional library was located, to work on it, so I wrote Aiken
before I had received his card, on September 11th, "I'll be leaving here
to return to Oswego about October 17th.Would it be possible for me to drop in on you in October before
When I finally got his card, I dashed off a note on
September 13th to hide under nonsense how upset I felt about his health
problems.It was meanwhile
becoming clear to Aiken that the National Institute of Arts and Letters wasn't
nearly as enthusiastic about The Inhabitant as he was, for on September 22nd he wrote to say
that he'd written a letter to the secretary of the Institute, Felicia Geffen,
"for the committee, but don't know if it's now too late.[Malcolm] Cowley was here a week ago,
but was offhandedly noncommittal about it all, so I haven't too much hope."He said further that "my wife is
better, but as we're both shaky, I fear we must again postpone positive
decision about seeing you next month — hope we'll be in the clear for lunch or
a drink.So let's reappraise round
Oct 9th or 10th."
Obviously, Aiken was still expending energy in
behalf of my book, and I wanted to spare him and reassure him that I wasn't
very much concerned about the Loines Award.Literary politics has never been of interest to me, any more
than it was to Aiken who had always been something of a loner.On the 24th of September I wrote,
"I'm tremendously pleased to hear your wife is better and that you're
feeling better than you sounded in your last card."I told him not to worry about the
award, for his praise was better than any award I could receive.
Of greatest concern to me was Aiken's health and
the often-deferred visit I was to pay him.It was put off for a final time when, on October 3rd, he
wrote from Brewster, "Dear Lewis: This is sad, and I'm sorry, but I fear
it can't be helped."Besides
Mrs. Aiken's ill health, the poet himself had "...gone and had another
heart flurry."The doctor
told him he simply had to slow down and specifically not see people, as
excitement sent his blood pressure soaring."So, forgive me," he wrote, "but we'll just
have to put it off for another year."He and Mrs. Aiken had "sorrowfully decided to leave for
the south, and more clement weather, earlier than we'd planned.Don't hold it against me.And forgive me too," he continued,
"if I don't correspond, for this too has become a burden, my desk is a
snowdrift of unanswered letters.Hell."
The next note I wrote, on October 7th, was brief
for two reasons: I felt I had been bothering Aiken excessively, and I didn't
want to add to his problems.The
other reason was that I was deeply disappointed, although I didn't want to show
it."Dear Conrad," I
said."You have my love.We'll see each other next year.Meanwhile, my very best to you and Mrs.
After quite a long lapse I wrote Aiken again the
next year, on March 10, 1972."Please don't feel you have to answer this letter," I
said."I just feel like
writing you.I thought you might
not mind hearing what I've been doing...."I gave him the news and wrote, "I look forward to the
summer, of course, which isn't far off now."I added, "Perhaps we can see each other then.I hope so."
I received no response, and I judged Aiken was
still quite ill.A couple of
months later I sent him another letter, dated May 15th, telling him I'd been
"scouring the bookstores for Aikeniana."I asked if he'd be willing to sign some bookplates for me,
and I sent him a copy of a poem I'd written.On the first of June 1972 Aiken wrote me his last letter,
It was as I had surmised — he had been "ill
since fall, prostate with complications, had to delay trip south, and now the
doctor won't let me travel.Nor
can I walk, or read with intelligence...."He enclosed the signed bookplates — "that sounds like
fun," he said."Don't
know when, if ever, we'll get back to the Cape.Meanwhile our house has been brutally robbed of most of its
objets d'arts, lifetime collection.Sickening."
Conrad Aiken lived for a bit over another
year.That he was a harried,
disillusioned man with overwhelming health problems is true, but that he ever
lost his interest in literature and life is not.If the current revival of the long narrative poem by the
Neo-Formalists is successful, we will look to Aiken as one of the few modern
masters of the form. Many of the poems in his Collected Poems 1916-1970, about which he was so exercised, were longer than
short, more narrative than lyric; yet it is difficult to place Aiken
definitively in any cage of conception or of genre, for he refused to sound
like anyone but himself or to conform to mid-20th-century literary
etiquette. That is to say, he derived very little from Pound and Eliot except,
now and then, a slightly recognizable weltschmertz —
which Babylon translates as “sentimental pessimism” — but even that isn’t
certain, for it has been argued that Eliot and Pound derived something of their
tone from Aiken.
Conrad Aiken’s poetry can be explicit and allusive
at the same time; it can contain philosophical insights without obtuseness of
diction or abstraction of syntax; it can evoke a scene, create a sonic “image,”
print a spatial pattern without risking thralldom to traditional form or
surrealist metaphor. A long story may be told with great variety of locutions,
as in “The Coming Forth by Day of Osiris Jones,” a name and a title that
combines the mystical with the quotidian. Here Aiken employs a sequence of
related shorter poems with increasingly sharper viewpoints. The life story of
O. Jones is told and retold in fragments by clocks, faces, mirrors, and coin
machines; in short, the matter of a life becomes its accuser and judge until
there is nothing left but the medical report of a dying old man and a
“landscape with figures” — birches, larches, pines, junipers; brooks and
crickets; echoes and grass — extended over a hollow time.
Aiken lived through both the Modernist and post-Modernist
periods, and he survived the New Critics as well as the old simply by writing
his own idiosyncratic work and refusing to engage in the literary scene. He was
never in the forefront of the era’s imagination, nor was he ever a fad. His Collected
Poems, then, was a major book by a
major neglected poet. It contained the lifework of a man who listened with his
inner ear to the nuances of the spirit and of the marrow. Aiken was not
satisfied merely to listen, however. He worked to find the craft and the
strategies that would enable him to convey to others what he experienced, and
he succeeded in his intention in larger degree than nearly any other poet of
the twentieth century.
The poetry of Conrad Aiken is a poetry of
wholeness: whole meaning, whole experience, whole saying. From first to last
his oeuvre is some of the most sustained and exquisite writing the tongue can
boast. Aiken was a musician of the language, and he heard things in humanity
few others have been able to articulate.
It is not so much that he wrote poems as that all
his work is a single poem ranging over personalities and ways of being that
Aiken obviously lived in his mind and committed to paper so that his audience
might live these strangers and familiars as well. He built, out of words, a
cosmos in which an identifiable and evolving consciousness resides, and that
cosmos is large enough to accommodate the reader as well as hosts of fictive
One of the reasons why many critics and scholars
have found it difficult to come to terms with Aiken is that he must be
perceived in toto, not in
shards and slices. Though the tenor of his creation has been apparent for
decades, the vehicle was not complete at the time of his death, as no cosmos is
ever completed. Nevertheless, it may be argued that in his oeuvre Aiken
accomplished what Pound did not manage in his Cantos. We can finally perceive that Aiken was a
Pythagoras of words — their depth, height, and breadth. He was a Magus who
listened to a linguistic “music of the spheres,” but he lived in an existential
age that seemed to deny a Pythagorean mathematical harmony of all things.
What Aiken did, then, was to create a paradox, a
universe that cannot, but that despite all, does exist. The tension of his work
derives from the mind’s symmetry opposed to the whirlpool of doubt, rationality
struggling with instability, but it is Everyman’s struggle, not the ascetic’s,
for we can all see ourselves standing in the circle of his horizon. The poetry
of Aiken is an Ouroboros of consonance and dissonance, the hermetic worm that
devours its own tail in order to exist, and in that metaphysical circle which
contains all of Man — his mind and his heart, all men and women — all things
are encouraged to be until they are extinguished in the total Being. Conrad Aiken left as a legacy to us a
trove of poetry, fiction and autobiography that few writers have equaled in
quality, and fewer have surpassed.He left, as well, the memory of great vitality to the end.
of this essay appeared as "Ouroboros" in Poetry, cxviii:5, August 1971; as "Corresponding
with Conrad Aiken" in Conrad Aiken: Priest of Consciousness, Georgia State Literary Studies 6 edited by Ted R.
Spivey and Arthur Waterman for AMS Press, 1990, and as part of an essay titled "A Modernist Coin" in Visions
and Revisions of American Poetry by Lewis Turco, Fayetteville AR: University of Arkansas Press, UArkansasPress 1986. ISBN 0-938626-50-7, trade
paperback, $12.95. Recipient of the 1986 Melville Cane Award for criticism of
the Poetry Society of America. ORDER FROM AMAZON.COM.
Inhabitant, poems, with prints by
Thom. Seawell, Northampton: Despa Press, 1970.Paper. Out-of-print; all
poems are collected in Fearful Pleasures: The Complete Poems of Lewis Turco
1959-2007, www.StarCloudPress.com, 2007, ISBN 978-1-932842-19-5,
jacketed cloth, $49.95; ISBN 978-1-932842-20-3, trade paperback, $32.95, 640
pages. ORDER FROMAMAZON.COM.
5The Sketches of Lewis Turco and Livevil: A Mask, Cleveland: American Weave Press, 1962. American Weave Award Chapbook.
Out-of-print, but the series of poems is collected in
Fearful Pleasures: The Complete Poems of Lewis Turco 1959-2007, www.StarCloudPress.com, 2007, ISBN 978-1-932842-19-5, jacketed cloth, $49.95; ISBN
978-1-932842-20-3, trade paperback, $32.95, 640 pages. ORDER FROMAMAZON.COM.
An Introduction through Writing,
Reston: Reston Publishing, 1973. ISBN 0879096373, paper. Out-of-print, but
available from ERIC (Educational Resources Information Center) of the Institute
of Education Sciences (IES) of the U. S. Department of Education.
Yesterday Garrison K.
was going on at length during his Writer's Almanac [National Public Radio show http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2010/07/19]
about the Salem witchcraft trials & the Putnams & I was thinking of you
& your book [Satan’s Scourge: A Narrative of the Age of Witchcraft in
England and New England 1580-1694
by Lewis Putnam Turco, www.StarCloudPress.com, 2009,
ISBN 978-1-932827, jacketed cloth, $54.95; ISBN
978-1-932842-26-5; trade paperback, $39.95, 808 pages. ORDER FROM BARNES & NOBLE / ORDER FROM AMAZON].
I don't suppose Keillor
mentioned that I sent him a copy of my book when it came out last year, which
is where he got his information. He never acknowledged the gift.
I thought Keillor was mining your book. Certainly that was
where the Putnam info came from. Did you hear the broadcast (must not have if
you are asking about the mention -- no, there was none)? It's on his website.
Over the years I’ve sent
Keillor several of my books. He’s never acknowledged any of them. I did inquire
about one of them and was assured by someone on his staff that he did, indeed,
receive it. So much for the courtesy of Lake Wobegon.
It’s a good thing he is
in broadcasting rather than in academics. If he had written a paper or
delivered a lecture without citing his sources he’d have been fired, or at
least severely reprimanded.
I guess he doesn’t like
me or my work, even when he makes use of it. For my part, I think a good deal
less of him now than I did when I discussed his taste in music and poetry on my
Didn't Dorothy Parker
remark about someone, "There's less there than meets the eye"?
Probably "the ear" for Keillor. At least the bastard could have given
out a little publicity for your book. Look what authors get from a night at the
I think it's worse than
being in academics for Keillor not to (at least) acknowledge your books -- he
pretends to be promoting writers, for goodness' sakes -- he calls his daily
program the Writer's Almanac
& it's not himself that he is reading. I think he has some deep-seated
jealousy of writers and is afraid that he is not a writer, but just a purveyor
of work by others. His little Saturday night skits involving made-up writers
often reflect this sense of worthlessness. But be gentle to him -- I think he's
losing it: his monologues recently often center about fart jokes or adolescent
moonings over girls in grade school. He had a minor stroke not long ago &
that might have something to do with it.
Wait a minute: Let me
turn on my record of "Hearts and Flowers."
Tom may not know that
Keillor, alas, is a writer. Not a good writer but a writer.
I think that’s what Tom
meant, Jack, but judging from Keillor’s taste in music and poetry, I doubt he
would know what a good writer is. I’m certain he doesn’t have a handle on what
a good poem is.
Read a review of Satan's Scourge by Joe Danciger in Per Contra, Spring 2010, at
'Wesli Court' is the
anagram pen-name under which Lewis Turco writes his traditionally formal poems.
collection by the astonishing Wesli Court is an event calculated to shiver all
literary seismographs. Readers addicted to poetry, but weary of ill-made poems,
can latch on to it with joy. Aspiring poets can seize it as a handbook of
models, learning how to write anything from an ode to a sonnenizio, from an
epigram to a blues epilogue. While often striking a wistful, wintery tone of
hail-and-farewell, there are notes of infectious cheer and some genuine
surprises — even a poem to fulfill an unused title that Wallace Stevens left
lying idle. With unique skill, Court shows us what a truly good metrical poem
used to be, could be, and (in his able hands) still is."
– X. J. Kennedy
increasingly rare pleasure to read poems about the real world in language as
clear as it is lyrical, wth deep roots in the past and illuminated by careful
– Miller Williams
thing about all these poems is the way they avoid sentimentality and the
temptation to reinvent the past, preferring, instead, a difficult blend of
affection and detachment, honesty and regret."
Rhina P. Espaillat in a forthcoming issue of The Hollins Critic.
I've had time to
read The Gathering of the Elders
and admire both its poignancy and its savoir faire — what a pleasure to read poems that sound like
poems and feel like poems! Especially after dipping into The New Yorker from time to time and thinking, What hath Ashbery
(and Helen Vendler) wrought? After reading the Elders I had to have a second cup of strong coffee. —
The gallery of portraits, of characters, is a
traditional poetic mode of ancient lineage. Mr. Turco has given us his
contributions to this form in other books. His Pocoangelini: A Fantography
and Other Poems (1973) contains
three sequences: “Pocoangelini,” “The Sketches” , and “Bordello.” The
“Pocoangelini” sequence, not related in theme to the other two sections, runs
sixty-four pages. “Bordello,” a mere ten. The three parts joined together in
this way, unrelated as they are, give the book a jerry-built feeling, and my
impression is that the superior poems in the collection deserved better
editing. “Bordello” struck me as nothing new, a series of ballad-like pieces
dealing with men and women and sex, all perhaps a little too prettily, too
“Pocoangelini” describes the spiritual journeying
of a Quixote-like, Ariel-like, Adam-like character who undergoes a series of
changes in a strange, dark, yet glittering world. Turco is a metrically skillful
poet, and the Adam paradigm fits:
Elsewhere Pocoangelini has
conversations with a mouse, with Mr. Earth, the moon, the mirror, a dandelion,
and encounters magical situations.
Turco seems to have
the whole of the English lyric tradition at his fingertips, and though this is
not entirely a good thing — too much tinkle here and there, here a bit of
Keats, there a bit of Mother Goose — I belong to the old school and see in this
bravura the commitment of a poet to craft. I trust poets who show clear
influences, and I don’t trust the groggy, toneless, “spontaneous” mutter of
much that goes by the name of verse today among the younger, studiously
untutored poets of the Confessional school. Many of the poems of the
“Pocoangelini” sequence were first published in magazines like Tri-Quarterly,
Saturday Review, and Poetry.
would like to see Turco, who is an actively publishing poet as well as teacher
— his Poetry: An Introduction through Writing is one of the more original poetry texts on the
market — return to the inspiration of “The Sketches,” the sequence that forms
the middle third of this book. There, in a handful of character vignettes — A.
R. Ammons called them “an autobiography of biographies” — we have a poet who is
direct, clear-seeing, musical, and quite real. Poems like “Guido the Ice-House
Man,” “Ercole the Butcher,” and “Mrs. Martino the Candy Store Lady” speak to
the human condition with grace, always a strong point with Turco, and warmth.
Just as important, I think the resistance of the subject matter — real people,
often simple, not particularly highly endowed — works well with this poet’s
tendency to treat his material with too much “fanciness.” A tension is set up
between the nubbiness of the material and the neatness of Turco’s technique:
Excerpted fromLewis Turco and His Work: A Celebration, edited by Dr. Steven E. Swerdfeger, Ph.D.,www.StarCloudPress, 2004, ISBN 0965183599, jacketed cloth
only, 243 pages, all rights reserved; $36.95. ORDER FROM AMAZON
and included in La Famiglia / The Family, Memoirs, by Lewis Turco, New York: Bordighera Press, 2009,
ISBN 978-1-59954-006-1, trade paperback, 196 pp., $12.00. ORDER FROM AMAZON.
Martino the Candy Store Lady” appeared first in The Beloit Poetry Journal, x:2, 1960, and reprinted in The Sketches of
Lewis Turco and Livevil: A Mask,
Cleveland, OH: American Weave Press, 1962, included in Pocoangelini: A
Fantography and Other Poems, op.
cit., and collected in Fearful Pleasures: The
Complete Poems of Lewis Turco 1959-2007, www.StarCloudPress.com, 2007, ISBN 978-1-932842-19-5,
jacketed cloth, $49.95; ISBN 978-1-932842-20-3, trade paperback, $32.95, 640
pages. ORDER FROMAMAZON.COM.
The Virginia Quarterly Review "The Mutable Past," a memoir collected in FANTASEERS, A BOOK OF MEMORIES by Lewis Turco of growing up in the 1950s in Meriden, Connecticut, (Scotsdale AZ: Star Cloud Press, 2005).
The Tower Journal Two short stories, "The Demon in the Tree" and "The Substitute Wife," in the spring 2009 issue of Tower Journal.
The Tower Journal Memoir, “Pookah, The Greatest Cat in the History of the World,” Spring-Summer 2010.
The Michigan Quarterly Review This is the first terzanelle ever published, in "The Michigan Quarterly Review" in 1965. It has been gathered in THE COLLECTED LYRICS OF LEWIS TURCO/WESLI COURT, 1953-2004 (www.StarCloudPress.com).
The Gawain Poet An essay on the putative medieval author of "Gawain and the Green Knight" in the summer 2010 issue of Per Contra.