Wow.  That was my first impression upon entering the Kerouac house.  All   those involved in the Kerouac Project of Orlando have created quite a masterpiece with the renovation of the home.  It is very much like walking into a 1950s time capsule.  The furniture, decor, and even the linens are true to the era.  It is quite beautiful and a testament to the dedication of the volunteers.

I am getting used to Florida and honestly, I already love it.  It was unnerving at first to walk across the yard and see tiny lizards scurry out of my path.   I’ve learned, though, that they’re harmless, extremely fast, and eat roaches. My kind of animal.

Anyway, I’d like to share some of the writing I have been able to complete so far.  I may revise it further later on, but it exists as it is right now.   Have a great Labor Day weekend! I hope to do some writing on the beach.

Erin

What I Forget

This is what I forget
     in the crooked ebb of day,
this day that begins flesh-
     white on a metered sky
that ticks
by one quarter at a time.

I watch my body
     float without a line
across my chest.
I stack each hour like blocks
morning on the bottom,
night’s stars on top
as severed triangles.

If I could press time
     through Rodin’s hands,

work now only with the good part,
     the part worth mentioning,

it would be late June again
under a lime tree,
under a sky burning
with heat lightning.

There would be the familiar
smell of smoke off the interstate,
and the hibiscus blooms
searing my legs.

And I’d remember that
this is what I have
to offer you—

a simple muscle
     without wings.

Upon starting my term here as the writer-in-residence, I’ve received many letters and e-mails from people telling me how Jack Kerouac inspired them.  From spontaneous road trips to a newfound sense of patriotism, people all over have felt his influence in one way or another.  One guy even traveled to Lowell, Massachusetts (Kerouac’s hometown) and had dinner with Jack’s priest, Father Spike.  I feel honored to live in the presence of Kerouac here at the home on Clouser Avenue.  There is an energy here, both in the house itself and the Orlando community, that easily makes writing part of everyday functioning.

So I’ve begun to explore the city for inspiration.  On Friday, I went to the Mennello Museum of American Folk Art.  It was hard to believe these artists were not formally trained.  The permanent collection consists of paintings by Earl Cunningham.  They are extraordinary works of art.  Although born in Maine, he eventually settled in St. Augustine, FL.  His work is described as “historical-fantasy”, but I think that title hardly does justice to the beautiful images he created.  He painted over 450 pieces before he died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1977.  I was so interested in his work that I decided to write about it in a poem.  I hope it does some justice to what I found to be a very engaging contrast between the world of his paintings and the world he lived in. This Thursday, I will be attending the Steve Allen & David Amram concert benefitting the Kerouac Project.  I am very excited and am certain to have interesting stories to tell in the next journal entry.

Until then, keep writing!
Erin

As Painted by Earl Cunningham

A sign on your door
read:

NOT FOR SALE,

referring to your paintings,
but maybe
something else,
something in
a shade of blue deeper
than cerulean,
something discernible
in the unevenness
of your waves—

an America deemed
perfect in the detail
of a brush,
a land made beautiful
in the reflections
of schooners and Viking ships,
a place made foreign
in your present tense

and now on the museum walls
that bear the name
of an old man and his sea
parted
by the barrel of a gun
and a mind storming
over the sedated landscapes
of  a time when angels
navigated.

I can’t believe it has taken me a week to complete this journal entry about the Steve Allen and David Amram concert.  I think I’m still in shock.   They are two of the nicest men I’ve ever met.  I really admire their spirits.   They seem to live life to the fullest in the present.

David Amram also asked me to read a section of On the Road. So the concert began with Steve Allen reading and David Amram playing piano.  Then they switched places. After that, it was my turn. I was nervous at first, but when I heard their music in the background, an overwhelming sense of calm came over me and I just read.  Bob Kealing followed with his reading and historian Douglas Brinkley completed the readings.   Following the readings, David and Steve played several tunes, including “Pull My Daisy”.

It was certainly an evening that I’ll never forget

Your stare saturates
me to the point
where my insides
slouch from the weight
of it all.

Muscle and bone become
mucky, sodden,
soggy like day-old
red velvet cake.

You reach in
and grab,
handful by greedy handful,
place the pieces in perfect
form on the taintless
silver platter I’ve filled
for you for years now.

Bits beneath your nails
that got trapped while you made
perforations on my surface

you now scoop out
with your fat tongue
that isn’t strong enough
to utter the language
of swallowed sinew.

Wow! I can’t believe I’m entering my final month here at the Kerouac House. It’s gone by so fast!

I feel very fortunate to have met Steve Allen before his passing last week. Of course there are many who knew him much better than myself, but I would like everyone to know that in the first minute he stepped into the room there was a calming presence. He was a very gentle and truly nice man. I will always remember him looking into my bedroom here at the Kerouac House. The whole time I was thinking STEVE ALLEN IS HERE AND I HOPE MY ROOM IS CLEAN!! Besides being a renowned entertainer and musician, Mr. Allen was an accomplished writer. He is truly missed.

On a lighter note, I’d like to encourage everyone to vote today. Tomorrow morning we’ll know the results of the election. I hope when you find out the results, you will take satisfaction in knowing that you played a part in the decision.

I’d also like to wish Tracey Chappell,my best friend in the entire world, a very happy 23rd birthday!!

I promise to update this more often, especially since I have a very limited amount of time left here at the Kerouac House.

—Erin