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Susan Freeman: Good evening and welcome to the Poetry Show. The Board of Directors of KUSP and the Pataphysical Broadcasting Foundation meets monthly and the public is invited to attend. This month, the board meets tomorrow evening, beginning at

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6pm at the KUSP Studios, 203 Eighth Avenue in Santa Cruz. Call the station during business hours for more information. Our numbers are 476-2800 or 800-655-5877. You're listening to KUSP broadcasting in HD Radio, 88.9 FM. This is Central

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Coast Public Radio KUSP Santa Cruz and KBDH San Ardo. Learn more about HD radio at KUSP.org. And now, the Poetry Show, Mort Marcus. Morton Marcus: Hello, everybody, this is Mort Marcus. And tonight

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we have a special Poetry Show, sort of a mini celebration with friends and family of Maude Meehan who passed away on August 22nd. And I'm sitting here with Patrice Vecchione, Amber Coverdale Sumrall, and Maude's son, Chris Meehan. And we're

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going to talk about Maude's life. We're going to read some of her poetry and just remember this wonderful human being. First of all, Chris, why don't you tell us a little bit about Maude, where she was born, and how she got to Santa Cruz.

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Chris Meehan: Well, Maude was born in New York City, grew up in Brooklyn. I remembered visiting as a child with my grandparents and at night we would- since it was summer, when we would visit, it was always very hot and humid. We'd sit on

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a window sill and we could look down at- I think it was the Harlem River. I'm not sure, mayb somebody with better New Yor geography could tell, but the e was a river down there and sh - Everything that happened n Maude's life from the time s

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e was fourteen on involved y father. They met at fourteen, nd so when he finished school a d, medical school that is, in ew York, and went to his fi st work, she followed him. Th ir first trek to California as during his time in the servi

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e, he was in the Navy. The war as on. He went to Japan, she was at La Jolla, and it was at t at time that they were introdu ed to California, the environme t. And they told us kids, you kn w, stories of the times that- nd we actually lived in Ohio whe

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I was three, and they would t lk about that time very fond y. They moved back East, my fat er found a job in a very small t wn in western New York. They w re quite delighted that they w re going to raise three childr n, four at the time, in a sm

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ll village in a rural setti Morton Marcus: Do you remember the name of the- Chris Meehan: Yes, it was Springville, New York. Yeah. I left that town when I was seventeen years old. My sister,

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who is six years older than me, had left for Massachusetts with a husband and was raising a family there. When I left, my father and brother and Maude stayed in that town of Springville, New York. My mother came out to visit me on my 18th

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birthday, me and a couple of people that I was living with in Berkeley. She left after my birthday and drove into San Francisco, immediately made friends, found herself living in Sausalito for a week or two at a hotel, made a dozen more

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friends, drove up to Humboldt County. There are people in Santa Cruz County living today who were introduced to Santa Cruz by Maude, visiting her because of that trip through Humboldt County. So, she brought all these people with her, some

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of them were visiting back east. When I came back and visited home, these people were coming through on their way to Israel, on their way to Europe and so forth. And she said, "Enough of this, I'm going back to California, that was just too

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good." And my father followed as soon as he could wind up his business there. Morton Marcus: So from this last visit to you in Berkeley, what year was that?

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Chris Meehan: Yeah, yeah. Morton Marcus: What year? Chris Meehan: What year? It was 1970. The Summer of '70. Morton Marcus: Okay and then two years later, she was out here?

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Chris Meehan: Oh, in less than two years. Morton Marcus: Less than two years. Chris Meehan: Yeah, right away. Morton Marcus: That's the kind of decision to make.

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Chris Meehan: Yeah, she made a decision. She told my father, she said, "I'm going!" Morton Marcus: How did she get to Santa Cruz? She had been- Chris Meehan: Santa Cruz, my father, you know, it was- she

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was in San Francisco when she first moved out to California. She was living with some of the people that she'd met in Sausalito, San Francisco, up north, and various hitchhikers and sundry street folk, and she was living with them. One of

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them had a father who owned a lot of property in Santa Cruz and he had a little house over here off Hiawatha Street by the river mouth and my dead father had come out by that time and they decided to rent that little cottage, that little house on

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that street for a couple of weeks. My brother and myself and our girlfriends drove up from Santa Barbara where we had discovered what it was like to work outdoors, not in the rain every day, and surf. So we were having a great time down there.

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We came up and visited them in that little house on Hiawatha. And none of us left, to the end the story, none of us left. Morton Marcus: She was an amazing woman and all of these friendships that she could make, and just her natural

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gregariousness. But it wasn't just being gregarious, there was a warmth in her, you know? Just a real sense of being interested in other people. What had she done with that? I mean, she wasn't just a housewife, but what are the other things she

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had done with her life before she even got to Santa Cruz? Chris Meehan: When Maude was living in that little village, Springville, New York, she wa driving over an hour into th city of Buffalo. This is when was in, this is the early 60s

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mid 60s, I was in grade school junior high, early high schoo and she had started a preschool the first and only preschool preschools didn't exist in tha in that time and place. Sh started a school, a little have for kids in Buffalo's ghettos

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and we had Irish ghettos. We ha Irish ghettos, Italian ghettos she worked in the black ghetto And the city was war-torn, i looked like Dresden at tha time. It was- it was very ugl , it was police against everybod , quite literally and it was

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a nasty city. And she was going in there, and I'm not exaggerat ng when I say at great peril, but she was going in almost d ily during the week and running his little school and trying to ive any group of kids she could get her hands on, just you know,

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for lack of a better word, a leg up, a head st Morton Marcus: And she was in her early 40s at this time? Chris Meehan: Yeah, yeah. Morton Marcus: She was also an activist on a larger scale

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though. Chris Meehan: Yeah, well, at that time- by the time the Vietnam War was really rolling along, people were protesting the war. My father was- he actually went to Vietnam as a

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civilian doctor, just out of his curiosity to see what was going on there. When he got home, he didn't like what he had seen, and he began getting young men out of the draft by- myself included- by phonying up x-rays, and showing- If you give someone

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a glass of barium and roll them around on the table and shoot x-rays, and you have a secretary that's willing to go along with writing up a history of that patient, you can give some ulcers and all kinds of terrible gastrointestinal problems. So,

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while he was doing that, my mother was running people across the peace bridge to Canada, that's over to Toronto from Buffalo, New York to Toronto. And that's an interesting story and she didn't tell us about this, and he didn't tell us

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about this until a little later, when it wasn't quite as dangerous for us to know. And she would meet someone, she did it quite a few times, she would meet someone and she would be given directions, you meet someone at this place, so she

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would pick up a girl seventeen, eighteen years old, they would exchange nothing except the girl would say an address. They'd go to that next address. She'd give her directions, they would pick up a young man. The young man would say nothing. They would

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cross over. The guards at the peace bridge, the Canadian guards because you're crossing their country, would say, it was always the same thing, whether we were going over to a movie or whatever, they said, "What are you? Who are you and what

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purpose are you going over for?" They just- it was mother, daughter, boyfriend, or mother, son, and girlfriend, they would say they were and they were going shopping, or to Niagara Falls, you know, as tourists and so forth. They would go over.

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The boy would then speak and tell them where to take him and just directions, simple directions. They drop them off and she in the girl would drive back silently, nobody talking for safety. And that's what she would do sometimes and come

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home. And as she says in one poem that she wrote about it, she said- make some comment about watching the television that night seeing the box score of dead and subtracting one. And so, that's what she was doing then. She also would take part

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in any activities or protests that were going on regarding a nuclear plant that was being built very close to our home. Amber Sumrall: And belonged to the ACLU? Chris Meehan: She did. She- my brother and I didn't even think

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about things like that at that time. You know, we just sort of figured that that was what she did and who she was, and we didn't pay much attention to it. We expected that. Yeah. Morton Marcus: Great. And then she does get out of here in

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Santa Cruz, and up to this point, she had not written at all. And we're going to go into how that started from a statement from Ellen Bass that I have here. But before then, would you like to read a poem or two of hers that are your

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favorites? Chris Meehan: Are my favorite? Morton Marcus: Yes. Chris Meehan: Oh, let's see. You know, there's one.

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Morton Marcus: I think there was, "Fusion," was one and, "Harbinger." Chris Meehan: Yeah and I know that because I have a CD that we're making that has that on. Can you see where, "Harbinger,"

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is? Everybody get their glasses n. Here, it is page 68. I'll do Morton Marcus: For those people who just tuned in, we are my be talking about Maude Meehan, a great Santa Cruz spirit, poet,

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activist, who brought so many people together and who passed away on August 22nd of this year. Chris Meehan: HARBINGER Death's visits are untimely, more frequent. He seeks out my

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loved ones, burrows into their luggage, crawls into their pockets and purses as they pack for journeys. Lately he is visible. It is a secret that passes between us. I glimpse him in depots, airports, fingering their tickets, his hand waves

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next to their hands as they leave. I wave back as my smile [unidentified] us of terror as they disappear. When they are distant, he thrusts stained garments into my dreaming. I ran them(?), buying(?) their past sweetness in my hair, tangled

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and matted, snarled in dark ribbons I awaken, burn joss sticks, refuse messages. I like this one a lot. SUMMER

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Apricots ripen, plump monks sunning in saffron robes. Morton Marcus: Beautiful. Chris, thanks a lot. You have more to say? Chris Meehan: Perhaps later.

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Morton Marcus: Good, good. Okay. I'm gonna go on now. So we have Maude who has come out to Santa Cruz, and in 1974, and a year and a half after she arrived here, this is what happened and this is some words written by Ellen Bass, the wonderful Santa

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Cruz poet who is unfortunately not being able to be with us tonight because she is doing a workshop down at Esalen. So, this is what she wrote: "In 1974. I moved to Boulder Creek and began teaching writing

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workshops in my home. Maude drove a friend of hers up from Santa Cruz to attend the workshop one afternoon and not having anything to do while she waited, she asked if she could stay while we had class. We were all sitting out on my deck under

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the redwoods and Maude kept inching closer and closer. By the end of the afternoon, she was part of the group and thus, she began to write poetry." Now, at that time, Maude was 54 years old. So if you- don't

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think it's too late to become a poet or a bricklayer, or whatever, there you go. So Maude starts writing and age of 54. And then Ellen goes on. "That group of women bonded deeply, and when the workshop

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was over, they continued on their own, becoming the Moon Juice Collective, and publishing a book of their work every year. Maude continued to write poetry, taught poetry workshops, and published several books. She was an inspiration to our community.

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She combined a dedication to changing the world with great joie de vivre. She had real integrity and also a delicious irreverence. Her humor, her big heart, and her deep intelligence are gifts that none of us will forget. I'm so grateful to be

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able to join in this tribute to Maude. I hope you'll read one of my favorite poems, "To Acer For All The Years From Chipping Bone." That is signed, Ellen Bass. Well, we have several poets here, as I said, one of them is

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Amber Coverdale Sumrall, and she is going to pick up on that story of the first workshop. Amber Coverdale Sumrall: Well, I started attending Maude's first workshops in Boulder Creek, and I have this- It was a little

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house on a little road off of Highway 9. And she started teaching there and I walked into the house and just felt her warmth just reach out, she just embraced and enveloped all of us that were there. And I remember the very first poem that I wrote

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was about the acacias, because it was January. And of course, the poem has gone into the trash can, it went into the trash can years ago, but Maude was so encouraging. And she said to me, "You are in love with words." And she said, "Now, what you

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need to do is to learn to pare them down because" she said, "what poetry is is the distillation of experience and feeling." And Maude would- and I took a couple of workshops, more than a couple with her and then she became part of the writing

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group I was in. So I've known her for thirty years as mentor and friend but she, you know, she wanted poetry that was real, from the gut, accessible, and just really honed down. If a poem went on more than a page, she started fidgeting,

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twitching. Morton Marcus: She was great. So many of them, the women's groups here in Santa Cruz and elsewhere, there half support groups, if not three quarters, or 80% support groups.

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Amber Coverdale Sumrall: And lots of good food, I would add, lots of really great food. Morton Marcus: Maude, though she was so warm and so supporting, was a ruthless critic of poetry.

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Amber Coverdale Sumrall: Absolutely. Morton Marcus: I mean, it was a tough going when she did that. Now, how would I know? Well, one day, one day, I was over at her house and I think you were even there as a younger man. And

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either she saw a poem of mine or I told her I was working on something that's giving me trouble. And she said, "Well what's giving you trouble?" And I said, "Well, there's one word " Or she had seen this poem in some journal. And she said t

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at "I really took exception i this one word because it wa very imprecise. I hope you don' mind me saying that." And said, "Well, no." And she said, "And this is the word," and I ven forget the poem now. And said, "Oh, okay." "Would you

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ike me to say more about that po m?" So, like a very polite fool I said, "Yes, ma'am." I said, "Sure." Well, I thin I was left with around thirt en words of that thing. And I aid, "Wow, you're pretty toug

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, aren't you?" And she said "Yes, I am, because poetry ha to be distillation, which yo know. Amber Coverdale Sumrall: Yes, ma'am. Yeah, I mean, you know, Maude, she could have been a great Haiku artist, you know, at

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least the way she would ask all of us to pare our work down. But you know, I also know that Maude was great friends with Grace Paley who died last Wednesday of breast cancer at 84. And I met Maude and Grace, I mean, I met Grace when she was out here for

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a lunch and I believe both Maude and Grace were being honored by wilt. And it was in the early 80s and, you know, I just I know that Maude had one of Grace's poems in her house posted for everyone to read for years and I'd like to read it.

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Amber Coverdale Sumrall: I do, it's called RESPONSIBILITY. It is the responsibility of society to let the poet be a poet. It is the responsibility of the poet to be a woman. It is the responsibility of the poet to stand on street corners,

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giving out poems and beautifully written leaflets. Also leaflets you can hardly bear to look at because of the screaming rhetoric. It is the responsibility of the poet to be lazy, to hang out in prophesy. It is the responsibility of the

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poet not to pay war taxes. It is the responsibility of the poet to go in and out of ivory towers, and two room apartments on Avenue C, and buckwheat fields and army camps. It is the responsibility of the male poet to be a woman. It is the

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responsibility of the female poet to be a woman. It is the poet's responsibility to speak truth to power, as the Quakers say. It is the poet's responsibility to learn the truth from the powerless. It is the responsibility of the poet

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to say many times, "There is no freedom without justice." And this means economic justice and love justice. It is the responsibility of the poet to sing this and all the original and traditional tunes, of singing and telling poems. It is

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the responsibility of the poet to listen to gossip and pass it on in the way storytellers decant the story of life. There is no freedom without fear and bravery. There is no freedom unless earth and air and water continue, and children also

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continue. It is the responsibility of the poet to be a woman, to keep an eye on this world, and cry out like Kassandra but be listened to this time. Morton Marcus: And with those words, why don't we take a

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musical break with some of Maude's favorite music. [Music by Pete Seeger] And that of course, was the great Pete Seeger, whose message of peace and love I certainly remember from the 50s. He had

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been around long before that. I remember he sang a song called, "The Bells of Rhymney," which still echo in my head over and over, and the honor of spending an evening with him once out in Iowa and an amazing human being. We are talking about- and that

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was a song from the collection of Maude Meehan, the wonderful poet, inspirer of writers and just plain human beings here in Santa Cruz, and as you heard from the East Coast as well. Maude moved out here in 1972, and would spend the next

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thirty-three years and the last thirty-three years of her life here, most of them with her husband, Don Meehan, who was also called Ace, and who passed away in 1992. Another poet who is with us here tonight is Patrice Vecchione, who you may

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remember as my co-host on the show, and is a wonderful poet. Tell us some of your memories of Maude, Patrice. Patrice Vecchione: You know- you knew that Maude was older than you. And I knew Maude was older than me. But she had such a

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girlish spirit about her that I felt like we were contemporaries. And she was, she could get this laugh about something that was, you know, like you felt like you were conspiring in something kind of, you know Amber what I mean?

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You're nodding your head, this sort of like, you had a secret on the world. And it was a way in which I felt embraced by Maude. So, whether we were out to lunch, or you know, we were sitting her in her apartment, I always felt like she was a

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girlfriend, but the girlfriend I was lucky to have, and who was older and wiser, but never flaunted that. You know, it was, you knew you were with the diva and yet she was a kid in pigtails at the same time, and that was my sense of her.

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Morton Marcus: That's- that's great, because there is that sense that you knew that she was older and, I will say this, you know why I say this, wiser. Patrice Vecchione: Oh, absolutely!

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Morton Marcus: You know, I don't want to put words in your mouth, but you never got that impression- there was always tha everything was leveled as far a human contact was concerned. An those stories that Chris tol about, picking up, you know

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hitchhikers, and just meetin people, that was her secret. I Patrice Vecchione: And it's hard to believe that Maude didn't there was one other person knew who matched that, it wa Tillie Olsen, who had the- When I told Tillie, first time I m

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t her in San Francisco, and s e gave me her name and my j w dropped and hit the floor with a loud whack. And I said that, ou know, my wife and I had re d, "Tell Me A Riddle," out loud to each other, she was so shoc ed and embarrassed that anyone e

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en knew her work. Now, this as back in the 60s, back in '66 nd I was very surprised, but Til ie, as famous as she became a ter that and as the icon he became, she was always j st Tillie. And yet you knew th re was such wisdom there and

00:29:09.210 - 00:29:26.580

ou knew that there was such feel ng but that is one of the only ther person that I can say that bout really, who had that same ense of warmth and what I will all heart, which was the word hat Maude used, was Maude.

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begin writing poetry until she was in her 50s. I just turned fifty and I think how long I've been laboring to get as good as I am, which ain't great, but it's as good as I am. And to think that Maude began in her 50s and she was this such a

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technician of the language and I'd like to read a poem thinking of that, of Maude being fifty. It's called WOMAN TREE. I have lived over half a century, the rings of my growth

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have been recorded. Record this also, the embrace of my roots is fierce. The earth yields to them, yields to my growing. My taproot reaches down through Dark Ages. I am nourished by ancient springs. My leaves' twig knows the strength of my

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branches. My fruit is bittersweet. I bloom again and again with my own rhythms, I defy the seasons. Morton Marcus: Great. We are actually going to take a break now and we're going to hear a little more music. And we'll

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come back, make some PSA announcements and continue with this program, which if you just tuned in, is a salute to the activist, inspirer, and poet from Santa Cruz, Maude Meehan. [Music]

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Hello again this is Mort Marcus and we're talking about the woman who made us feel so young and that of course is Maude Meehan, who the show is dedicated to. We are here with one of Maude's sons, Chris, Amber Coverdale Sumrall, and

00:33:57.990 - 00:34:15.810

Patrice Vecchione. We're going to read some of Maude's poems now and continue to talk about her. But before that we do have some announcements. Sunday night at nine right after the Poetry Show is "From the Bookshelf" hosted by Gary Shapiro. Each

00:34:15.810 - 00:34:34.650

week Gary presents a spoken word program with stories, authors, and special guests. Join us this evening at nine following the Poetry Show on Central Coast Public Radio KUSP and that is the only PSA I have except that on Tuesday night, there is going

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to be a celebration of Maude Meehan's life. And Chris, will you tell us a little bit about that? Chris Meehan: We are going to meet at the Chapel, the- What is the name?

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Morton Marcus: Benito and Azzaro? Chris Meehan: Yes. Morton Marcus: Pacific Garden on Cayuga Street. Chris Meehan: And six o'clock. Both Patrice and Amber and you

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will be speaking. Julie Edwards will be singing a couple of songs that Maude loved to hear her sing, and one or two other people will be speaking, and we'll have a bit of music and enjoy each other's company and that just about does it.

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Morton Marcus: Okay, well, if you are a friend of Maude's, if she inspired you, or if you just want to hear more about this wonderful woman, do come to the celebration at 6pm this Tuesday at the Pacific Gardens Chapel on Cayuga Street. Okay, I thought

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we would start to read some poems and also reminisce. Amber, why don't you pick it up? Amber Coverdale Sumrall: One of Maude's poems that I absolutely love- and as Maude got older, she would start, I would hear

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her say often when she would start getting one ailment after another and just go on about how aging is really, it's really not for sissies, that old axiom is quite true. But she would call it the curse of the carcass and I just love that, and she would

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just say, "The curse of the carcass, you know?" And I just found myself imagining some really strange things with that expression. But this poem is called, ON MY OWN, and she wrote it in her

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80s. Lonely old man follow me in the supermarket, think I look like a good cook, well-padded, white-haired, safe. Say things like, "Excuse me, can you tell me how long do I boil eggplant,"

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or "Are these greens okay to microwave?" Sometimes, my heart wants to take them home, set their frail, stooped shoulders, soft little punches, skinny tired legs right down in the kitchen. Let them watch as I stir the gravy, sift and slice,

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fetch out the leftover pie, add the ice cream, ask, "Would you like me to iron that shirt for you? Wouldn't take but a minute." See their rheumy eyes light up. If I knew they'd go right on home, never darken my door again, I might even do

00:37:29.370 - 00:37:52.890

that. But let's be honest, there's no pie in my old fridge. Even the ironing board has forgotten the stroke of my hand. Morton Marcus: There are a lot of activist poems that she wrote. Here's one with a totally different tone. And it's called,

00:37:52.890 - 00:38:11.800

IS THERE LIFE AFTER FEMINISM, or how to wear boots and still be politically incorrect. I like to wear boots. I like the noise they make. I walk real uppity-em boots. I walk strong. If pressed, I can land a punch

00:38:11.800 - 00:38:32.080

or kick, demolish a rapist and if I want to, I can go to bed in boots. I cook without tofu or eggplant and I hate alfalfa sprouts. Call it heresy. I hug my husband, my sons, and send my daughter radical feminist literature. I hug her too. I hug

00:38:32.080 - 00:38:49.390

my gay friends and I don't apologize for being straight. I hug my friends of color and won't apologize for being white. How can we stand up together if we're putting each other down? I am a senior citizen. There are advantages. I get 10% off on

00:38:49.390 - 00:39:08.920

pancakes at Golden West and $1 off at the Nickelodeon. Sometimes I wear lipstick, mascara, and I don't ask anyone's pardon. I wear a dress when I visit my mother, she's 96, I'm 65. Spare me her arguments. Where is it written

00:39:08.920 - 00:39:26.020

that any one of us has all the right answers for anyone else? I am a good citizen. There are disadvantages. I write to presidents and politicians and they do what they want anyway. I go to marches, to meetings, to jail, and I have a file in

00:39:26.020 - 00:39:46.900

Washington in my very own name, which I refuse to send for. I know who I am. Even when I do dishes, mind kids, wear high heels, I know who I am. But what I like about wearing boots is, there's no confusion. Everyone knows who I am. Watch out.

00:39:48.430 - 00:39:59.560

Patrice Vecchione: You know that poem and the one Amber read "On My Own" show the humor that Maude displayed in her writing. It's just to just get a line in there that make you can't help but smile.

00:40:00.910 - 00:40:17.470

Morton Marcus: Yeah, it's a very good spirit. It also reminds me of another very good friend of hers while she was out here, and that was the Lucille Clifton, you know, another strong, earthy woman, not afraid to say what she had to say and not afraid to

00:40:17.470 - 00:40:31.060

laugh, you know, a wonderful, wonderful person. I see Amber leaning towards the mic so- Amber Coverdale Sumrall: And also, I mean, Lucille epitomized the art of the short poem. And so Maude, in addition to being

00:40:31.060 - 00:40:45.520

great friends with Lucille, for many years, had tremendous respect for her sensibilities when it came to poetry. Morton Marcus: It was really too bad when Lucille left and went back East. Maude was very downcast. They were two kindred

00:40:45.520 - 00:40:53.230

spirits. Amber Coverdale Sumrall: And Lucille said when she heard about Maude's death, she said, "I've never known a world without Maude in it."

00:40:53.840 - 00:41:09.080

Morton Marcus: It's beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Patrice Vecchione: Here's a short one, speaking of short poms. It's called CHOICE. Blindfolded, I would know the touch, the taste, the smell of

00:41:09.080 - 00:41:27.680

you, among a thousand others, and knowing, choose you. Morton Marcus: Chris? Chris Meehan: I have a cousin, Douglas, who lived here for many years. He was the chef at my brother's restaurant, he lived

00:41:27.740 - 00:41:46.130

over at the end at the apartment over my parent's garage when they were on Portola Drive and got married there and began to raise a family very quickly afterwards and then left and went back to New York State. When we were reconnected with

00:41:46.130 - 00:42:11.240

him, my brother and I hadn't seen him since we were little boys. I got in touch with him to invite them to come out to my wedding in 1987. At the time, my father and I went to pick him up at the airport, we didn't really know what we were looking for.

00:42:11.870 - 00:42:26.720

And we kept seeing people come off the plane and "Is that him? Is that him? That might be him over there," this sort of thing. When we saw him, the family resemblance was so striking that we were bowled over with laughter. We just laughed at

00:42:26.720 - 00:42:45.110

him, pointed at him. This was my mother's version of that. It's called, NO STRANGER AT THE WEDDING. We have not seen you since you were a child, son of our brother who died far too young. Now you have flown through twenty years,

00:42:45.110 - 00:43:02.450

three thousand miles to join the gathered clan who miss his light. Waiting for you, we reminisce. We call his wit as pointed as a dancer's toe, speak of his grace of spirit, then grow quiet and are longing for what fades from memory. But you

00:43:02.450 - 00:43:20.420

arrive, wearing his high domed lozenge of a face, speak with the sweet deep timbre of his voice, greet us with a remembered smile, and bring your double gift to this reunion. Susan Freeman: Great. Tonight there is also a fifth person who

00:43:20.420 - 00:43:35.360

of all things is doing the engineering but is a poet herself, and that is Susan Freeman. And Susan, I wonder if you would say some words about Maude and read a poem of I'd love to, thank you. Well, there's a poem that- that I'

00:43:35.360 - 00:43:50.210

like to read that kind of speak to the political side of Maude One of the things that Maude an I had in common was that both o us were helping young GIs an draft resistors get to Canada Maude's.

00:43:50.600 - 00:44:03.920

She was working the circuit u to Toronto at the same time, was taking folks up the New Yor Thruway to Montreal and we neve met each other at that time, b t it was something that we shar d and told stories about with ea h othe

00:44:03.000 - 00:44:25.860

And so this is a poem called DEJA VU WINTER, 2003, that speaks to Maude's feelings about war and whether that was the war in the 60s or now. Shots ring out in classrooms. Suffer the little children, guns

00:44:25.860 - 00:44:51.330

in their hands. Vets hunker in doorways enbalmed by their past, blood in their dreams. Innocent and guilty, bodies sprawl on the streets of Iraq, Kabul, Palestine, Israel. Who will be next? Syria, Korea, Iran? The world wakes, who will survive

00:44:51.600 - 00:45:11.040

the carnage. When the children ask how it happens, why? What shall we answer? Morton Marcus: Do you have any remembrances of Maude that you'd like to share with us?

00:45:12.380 - 00:45:30.290

Susan Freeman: Well, there's one that goes with the photograph that I was passing around. And the photograph was taken on the Fourth of July, oh, maybe seven, eight years ago. And we were gathered at a friend's house for Fourth of July picnic dinner.

00:45:30.920 - 00:45:50.720

And Julie Edwards, who we had talked about a little while ago, was there. And Tillie Olsen was there as well, along with Marge France, and a few other people, good people. And it was an evening of storytelling. And finally, towards the end of the

00:45:50.720 - 00:46:07.790

evening, it had gotten dark and the stars were coming out until we decided we needed to have a real celebration of the Fourth of July. And Mary Warshaw, who was kind of one of the hostesses that evening, brought out sparklers and handed out

00:46:07.790 - 00:46:26.840

sparklers to each of us. And I remember that it was Tillie and Maude, who particularly got into the sparklers.And Tillie sat there in the dark with a candle in one hand, and a copy of the Declaration of Independence in the other. And all of us

00:46:26.840 - 00:46:42.800

gathered around her with the sparklers flashing and Tillie reading from the Declaration of Independence. And I think that's one of the most wonderful images that I have of Maude along with all the conversations that we would have, but that somehow

00:46:42.800 - 00:46:56.810

summed up her spirit and her commitment to an independent life. Morton Marcus: Great, terrific. Amber? Amber Coverdale Sumrall: I have a poem Maude titled AT A TEA.

00:46:57.860 - 00:47:16.130

This morning, I tuned out the news, unplugged the phone, opened the back door, inhaled delicious, fresh spring air and wondered who could ask for more. I couldn't help delighting in the pecky sound of birds out on the deck, plucking at mounds of

00:47:16.130 - 00:47:35.840

lint I'd saved all year from my old dryer. I always set them out on the first sunny day, imagining nestlings, cozy and fluff from fuzzies saved all year. Why, only yesterday I had fun finding Easter cards and baskets for my grand- and

00:47:35.840 - 00:47:55.880

great-grandchildren. Oh, and I treated myself to a CD by Santana that sent blood coursing madly through my varicosities. And furthermore, last night I had a dream no nice, old, white-haired, witty woman is supposed to have. What's more, I

00:47:55.880 - 00:48:15.140

thoroughly enjoyed it. So though my wild and wooly days are passed, don't for a moment think that you have heard the last from this old lady. And did I mention, by the way, that when I heal and throw away this cane I have on layaway a big, red

00:48:15.230 - 00:48:27.980

Harley? Morton Marcus: Great. We're going to take another very short musical break and these are again favorite pieces of music by Maude.

00:51:27.530 - 00:51:40.730

Chris, you were just saying, you remember a time when your mother really danced to the tune in the music shop. Why don't you tell us about that. Chris Meehan: Oh, my mother and father both reacted very

00:51:40.730 - 00:51:52.910

strongly to the music of the 60s and 70s. I wouldn't know about the 50s, I was too young. Morton Marcus: It's a great era. Let me tell you it's a great era, don't believe what anyone says, it was a great era.

00:51:52.900 - 00:52:09.640

Chris Meehan: My sister could tell you what their response to that music was and I know it was great because as I mentioned to Patrice today, if we could use 45s, I could bring you original, I could bring you "Heartbreak Hotel," and other 45s that are

00:52:09.640 - 00:52:32.410

in great condition, except for having been played too much. Anyway, this one time that I saw Maude absolutely react, almost overreact to music in a public place, was, we had walked into a music store in a little village called Hamburg, New York, and we

00:52:32.410 - 00:52:51.730

were looking at record albums, 45s and so forth. And all of a sudden, this voice came over that we recognized, but it's saying "Summertime," in a way we had never heard it before. And Maude was just barely clinging to the walls to keep from going

00:52:51.730 - 00:53:13.480

to her knees. She could not believe what she was hearing, it was Janis Joplin and I think between hearing Grace Slick sing, "Somebody to Love," and Janis singing just about anything, or Aretha Franklin. That was about as good as Maude

00:53:13.480 - 00:53:26.000

could feel. Morton Marcus: But at the same time, she also felt the dark side. And it was the dark side of the blues singers and she wrote a poem about that, which is called NO MORE LOW-DOWN

00:53:26.030 - 00:53:48.290

BLUES. And so I will read that to sort of turn Chris' words. Who can forget the way they whispered, wailed, and sung. Those women hung on meat hooks in men's minds. Who can forget the names of Marylin and Janis, Lady Day, how they fulfilled all

00:53:48.290 - 00:54:14.930

fantasies all expectations but their own. Too vulnerable, too frail, their masks of toughness membrane-thin. They sat strung out, worn out, alone. Stared into late night, early morning mirrors, saw booze and needles, bruised, tired, tits and ass,

00:54:15.740 - 00:54:40.850

soar into hope and chosen empty dreams. Now we must sing for all our sleeping sisters, used, tired women everywhere. Not lullabies, or low-down blues, we have new women dreams to share. Amber Coverdale Sumrall: And I'll read a poem called LIMBO

00:54:40.880 - 00:55:01.280

AGAIN from Maude's book, "Before the Snow." Amber Sumrall: Alone in this strange seaport, this strange bed, sleep comes slowly, heavy and fitfull, dreams scattered as friends and family. I sink into a mirror of remembered faces,

00:55:01.580 - 00:55:24.530

yearn for the soft cloth of their known voices, cool against the fever of a nameless fear. Hear only my heartbeat clocking the distance between us. Turning from the reflection where change visits my face, I sense the time when I will no longer be here to

00:55:24.530 - 00:55:47.750

see my children, my children's children in the fullness of their years. Cracks open in the dense shell that holds me, quiet, a stillness sometimes longed for now terrifies as it engulfs, rising, I unlock the casement, torn by desire against

00:55:47.750 - 00:56:06.280

desire, lean out with an old longing, drawn to the sea's covetous lapping. Morton Marcus: And as we wind down this evening, I want to read a poem that Ellen Bass- this is Ellen Bass' favorite

00:56:06.280 - 00:56:20.470

poem. And it's interesting because it's really about someone who Chris has mentioned, but we haven't. And that's Ace, her husband, Chris' dad. And in- I believe this was for "Chipping Bones," her first book, there's a whole little section for Ace.

00:56:20.470 - 00:56:41.500

She will write about him in later years. But this is a love poem for Ace and it's, FOR ACER IN ALL THE YEARS, and this is what Ellen Bass wanted to have read as her choice. White of snow, white of torn ribbons, white of the starburst

00:56:41.500 - 00:57:01.750

in our bed. Who can remember our pale young faces as we ran toward the dark space unafraid? Bold, then, or foolish when rent was a thing to worry, threadbare, and the meat reserved for the child. Who else will remember the cribs we

00:57:01.750 - 00:57:23.410

leaned into, our hands lifting another, another and another child and the crying ceased. Magic we were, and the magic in hands heating the damp of hidden places, the coming together of bodies. White of the starburst in our bed. Our terror in

00:57:23.410 - 00:57:42.430

parting in times of war, or the deaths tearing our lives, the bearing up of our fear, like a chalice cupping the wine, the unholy dreams drenched as they came to being. The white petals of snow wilting on new-turned earth and a mockery of roses

00:57:42.430 - 00:58:04.420

dropping with a soft thought of footsteps on a small white box, the helpless gestures of hands. And who will remember the loss of innocence, trailing torn white ribbons of light, knotting the spaces between us. Who then but you and I? Our mouths

00:58:04.420 - 00:58:27.320

swollen with love, or pain, our hands outstretched as we turn again to each other. The chalice brimming, the dark space looming, the starburst warming our bed. And we have been reading the poems and talking about Maude

00:58:27.320 - 00:58:47.180

Meehan. There will be a celebration of her life at the Pacific Gardens Chapel on Cayuga Street, Tuesday, that is this coming Tuesday, two days away, at 6pm at night, please come and join us in celebrating this wonderful woman. And I

00:58:47.180 - 00:59:03.730

understand that you, Patrice, are actually organizing a birthday event for Maude on the day of her birthday in November. Patrice Vecchione: The 18th of November, location hasn't yet been determined. A number of poets will come get together and

00:59:03.730 - 00:59:16.030

read her poems that day. Morton Marcus: Great and will you therefore give us the last word by reading a final poem by Maude? Patrice Vecchione: And this is the last poem in her last book

00:59:16.060 - 00:59:33.350

called, "As If the World Made Sense." The poem is called FIRST MYSTERY. Was I five, six, seven? No way to remember exactly. Leaning on the windowsill on a humid, stifling day too hot to go

00:59:33.350 - 00:59:57.050

outdoors, I saw a group of several naked young boys diving from a makeshift dock into the Harlem River. They were too far to see clearly or hear, but I watched with envy their carefree leap and splash. Then, as if in slow-motion, the boys climbed

00:59:57.050 - 01:00:16.310

from the water and gathered staring down into the murk. Within minutes, grownups appeared and then police. Stunned, I watched as a small body was lifted from the water, laid motionless on the planks, and covered. For the first time

01:00:16.340 - 01:00:38.120

death, its abrupt, irrevocable banality held real meaning. And for the first of countless times, I questioned how one could be laughing, playing as that boy was so joyously, buoyantly alive, yet, in an instant, become only a silent

01:00:38.120 - 01:00:59.870

shell, suddenly, absolutely still. And at eighty-three, I still question is there instant peace, that blessed nothingness that death implies, or will an amazing adventure await? In either case, I'm ready.

01:01:27.740 - 01:02:44.000

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