New Rachel Carson Acquisitions

May 16th, 2012 by Catherine Fisher

This month Curator Cathleen Miller purchased five items to add to the small (but growing!) Rachel Carson manuscript collection at the MWWC. Three of the acquisitions originate around the time of the September, 1962, publication of Carson’s Silent Spring, her groundbreaking book that documented in detail for the first time the effects of pesticides and insecticides on the natural world. As 2012 marks the fiftieth anniversary of this work, which is widely credited with giving birth to the environmental movement in this country and around the world, we are particularly excited to make these items available for research here at the collection.

Already in our collection…

In adding to the professional portrait of Carson in our holdings, these new acquisitions lend balance to the more personal items of correspondence from that period that we already have, dating from 1963 to 1964 and contained in the Elizabeth Coatsworth collection. These intimate letters and notes from Carson to Maine poet and novelist Coatsworth and Coatsworth’s husband Henry Beston have given insight into the last months of Carson’s life (she died on April 14, 1964), showing her determination to keep moving despite being treated for the bone cancer that made her joints ache and walking difficult:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then, shortly after Carson’s death her longtime friend Dorothy Freeman wrote to Coatsworth and Beston:

 

 

 

 

 

 

And now, adding the professional to the personal…

It was just about a year before the earliest of these letters that Carson’s Silent Spring had been published and she was caught in an infamous media storm and chemical industry backlash. In June of 1962, before the September release of Silent Spring, Carson delivered the commencement address at Scripps College in Claremont, California. The date coincided with the publication in the New Yorker of the first of three articles excerpted from the forthcoming book and her speech, entitled “Of Man and the Stream of Time,” emphasized many of the same issues and ideas put forth in Silent Spring. Our newly acquired copy of this address, published by the Scripps College Bulletin, is accompanied by a signed note signed from Carson to one of her literary agents, Joan Daves, on Carson’s personal West Southport, Maine, stationery, indicating she was sending it along for copyright registration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the speech, Carson says to the young graduates of that women’s college:

“Man has long talked somewhat arrogantly about the conquest of nature…now he has the power to achieve his boast. It is our misfortune–it may well be our final tragedy–that this power has not been tempered with wisdom, but has been marked by irresponsibility; that there is all too little awareness that man is part of nature, and that the price of conquest may well be the destruction of man himself.”

A page from each the foreword by Frederick Hard, Scripps College President, and the speech itself:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The second item from that period that we have added to the collection is a photographer’s print of the iconic photograph of Carson taken by Erich Hartmann in Southport, Maine, in the spring of 1962. Posing for the jacket portrait that would accompany her serious warning to humankind, Carson leans against a dead tree, wearing binoculars, with her hands in her pockets, looking at the camera with what seems a confident gravity. Together with this photograph we acquired two 17 cent Rachel Carson postage stamps, bearing an illustrated version of the same Hartmann image and issued in 1981 as part of the Great Americans series.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The same Hartmann image shown above also is used on the cover of our third acquisition from that period, a pamphlet for an exhibition that took place at the Patten Free Library in Bath, Maine, the following year, August 19 to September 20, 1963. The inner two pages reprint “The Enduring Sea” from Carson’s The Edge of the Sea (published in 1955), and the rear cover has a full page of biographical notes. Our copy of this pamphlet is especially interesting as it has two handwritten corrections made in ink to Carson’s list of honors, possibly made by Carson herself and passed along to her longtime friend and agent, Joan Daves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But a decade earlier…

As exciting as these new acquisitions from 1962-1963 are, perhaps even more intriguing are the earlier items Cathleen purchased: two pieces of 1950-51 correspondence from Carson to the aforementioned literary agent Joan Daves, who was the professional partner of Carson’s primary agent, Marie Rodell. Exciting on the face of it, these additions turn out to be even more interesting than one might gather at first glance because of the bit of professional drama at which they hint.

In 1950, Carson was working as a marine biologist at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in Woods Hole, MA, getting ready to publish her second book, The Sea Around Us. In her biography entitled, Rachel Carson: The Life of the Author of Silent Spring (available at the Maine Women Writers Collection), Linda Lear describes the story of a project idea hatched by Carson but never brought to fruition. Fascinated by a collection of illustration plates housed in the Fish and Wildlife Service Library created in Mexico by American ornithologist, illustrator and artist Louis Agassiz Fuertes, Carson had the idea to create a catalog of the images and write an extended introduction to the book. Carson described the project to Daves’ professional partner, agent Marie Rodell, who agreed it was a good idea. She then solicited and received support from the Fish and Wildlife Service, but soon discovered that permissions from the Fuertes estate to reproduce the illustrations and payment for the rights were required. Carson contacted Fuertes’ daughter, Mary Fuertes Boynton, and all seemed good at first until, as Linda Lear explains,

“By winter of 1950, Mary Fuertes Boynton, the painter’s daughter and heir, had made it clear she intended to play a larger part in the project than Carson had anticipated. Carson’s efforts to clarify ownership of the paintings and her use of Fuertes’s correspondence to describe the context of each one had apparently alarmed Boynton, who now planned a biography of her father.”

This brings us to the first piece of correspondence from Rachel Carson to Joan Daves that we acquired from this time, a handwritten 1950 Christmas greeting card in which Carson refers to this shift, saying, “It seems there are many difficulties to be straightened out in the Fuertes matter, but perhaps something will come of it, after all.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But hopes for this project were to unravel even further for Carson, as Lear explains:

“At the end of March (1951), Rachel had written Mary Boynton that Harper had agreed to publish the Fuertes bird paintings in the fall of 1952. Boynton unexpectedly replied that she had decided to edit the book herself since she no longer considered Carson the best choice of author or editor because she had not known Fuertes…

“Boynton not only fired Carson from a project she had initiated but had the audacity to write Carson’s boss, Fish and Wildlife Director Dr. Albert Day, informing him of her decision to remove Carson. Boynton gave no other reason for her change of heart except to quote the opinion of one of her father’s ornithologist friends, George Sutton, who had asked, ‘What does Carson know either about Fuertes or about birds?’

“Rachel was furious. On April 3 she responded to Boynton.

‘It is too bad you have waited until now to make your true position known. The choice of an author for any such book is seldom determined by the desires or willingness of prospective writers to undertake it, and in this instance the decision is in the hands of the Fish and Wildlife Service and the publishers. I do not feel that further discussion of this subject between you and me will serve any useful purpose.’

This brings us to our second piece of newly acquired correspondence from Carson to Daves, a typewritten, signed letter dated July 30, 1951. In it Carson describes her early discussion of the plates with Boynton and refers to what has become now an ongoing conflict, saying, “If Mrs. Boynton does publish her book, she will undoubtedly use some illustrations from her father’s work, but that doesn’t seem to be anything to be concerned about.”

In this letter Carson sounds unworried, but the way Lear describes it, as the controversy wore on Carson was loath to let the matter rest:

“…Rachel was stunned by Boynton’s inexplicable change of mind. She despised personal confrontations, but she was angry, too, and stood her ground, refusing to abandon the book…Considering all the pressures on Carson with the imminent publication of The Sea Around Us, her pending leave of absence [for a Guggenheim fellowship], and the need to begin work on the shore guide, it would have been simpler if she had walked away from the Fuertes project. But Boynton’s insinuations insulted Carson’s reputation as a naturalist and a professional writer…The controversy with Boynton and the Fuertes estate dragged on until February 1953, at which point Carson bowed out. The Fish and Wildlife Service continued adjudicating its interest in the paintings, but by then Carson was committed to other more important literary efforts. In the end, the primary reason Rachel dropped the Fuertes book was her personal distaste for any further dealings with Mary Boynton.”

 The references made to the Fuertes project in these two new additions to our Rachel Carson collection hint intriguingly enough at the matter to prompt one to dig a bit for the more complex story behind them. Illumination of this professional conflict sheds important light on the character of Carson at this early stage in her literary and ecology career, showing a strength and determination that would serve her in her personal health battles and see her through conflict on a much larger professional scale, with the eventual publication of Silent Spring.

 

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Poem In Your Pocket Day

April 26th, 2012 by Cathleen Miller

In honor of Poem in Your Pocket Day, we’re offering some poems by Maine women.  I wish I could read each one to you aloud, as that’s the magic of this community-building poetry event.  I’ll be reading poems to anyone who asks.

On the anniversary of the invasion
by Lee Sharkey (2007)

on my side       knees bent      hand resting
lightly on my rib cage
lightly     your knees touch my knees
your breath washes over my face
my breath washes over your face
our breath sifts out the window
and rides the thermals
over earth’s face scarred and shining
brushing distant faces
turned slightly to the touch of the wind

Wanting to See a Moose
by Kate Barnes (2004)

When I am full
of some transporting emotion,
what I see is that ordinary things
are all extraordinary. But
it’s like gathered dew
on a blade of grass, it falls off
or dries up, and I can’t hang on
to the feeling. In no time
I’m back asking the fates
to let me see a moose
as I drive my car through the marsh–and not
attending to the gathering darkness
of evening, the cloudy light
that lingers, the reeds, the ducks,
the black, still water opening
so silently
beyond the causeway.

Nostalgia
by Dawn Potter (2004)

It was darker then, in the nights when the cars
came sliding around the traffic circle, when the headlights
speckled with rain traveled the bedroom walls
and vanished; when the typewriter, the squeaking chair,
the slow voice of the radio stirred the night air like a fan.
Of course, the ones we loved were beautiful–
slim, dark-haired, intent on their books.
The rain came swishing against the lamp-lit windows.
The cat purred in his chair. A clock sang,
and we lay nearly asleep, almost dreaming,
almost alone, nearly gone–the days fly so;
and the nights, like sleep, disappear without memory.

Letter for Emily Dickinson
by Annie Finch (2004)

When I cut words you never may have said
into fresh patterns, pierced in place with pins,
ready to hold them down with my own thread,
they change and twist sometimes, their color spins
loose, and your spider generosity
lends them from language that will never be
free of you after all. My sampler reads,
“called back.” It says, “she scribbled out these screeds.”
It calls, “she left this trace, and now we start”–
in stitched directions that follow the leads
I take from you, as you take me apart.

You wrote some of your lines while baking bread,
propping a sheet of paper by the bins
of salt and flour, so if your kneading led
to words, you’d tether them as if in thin
black loops on paper. When they sang to be free,
you captured those quick birds relentlessly
and kept a slow, sure mercy in your deeds,
leaving them room to peck and hunt their seeds
in the white cages your vast iron art
had made by moving books, and lives, and creeds.
I take from you as you take me apart.

Matin
by Sue McConkey (1970)

Birdling nest in moon-
glow.  Sing,   deep night murmurings,
in morning bird song.

The Spring and the Fall
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1923)

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.
He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach
That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.
I hear them still, in the fall of the year.
He laughed at all I dared to praise,
And broke my heart in little ways.

Year be springing or year be falling,
The bark will drip and the birds be calling.
There’s much that’s fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
‘Tis not love’s going hurts my days,
But that it went in little ways.

June Shower
by Florence Percy/Elizabeth Akers Allen (1856)

.        How this delicious rain
Brings up the flowers!  One might almost say
It rains down blossoms–for where yesterday
.        I sought for them in vain,
They lie by hundreds on the wet green earth,
Rejoicing in the freshness of their birth.

.        With idly folded hands
The farmer sits within his cottage door,
Watching the blessings which the full clouds pour
.        Upon his thirsty lands–
Where written promise by his eye is seen,
In visible characters of living green.

.        Unyoked the oxen stand,
The cool rain plashing on their heaving sides,
And with wide nostrils breathe the fragrant tides
.        Of breezes flowing bland;
Then, as though sated with the odor sweet,
Crop the new grass that springs beneath their feet.

.         Bloom-laden lilac trees,
Their purple glories dripping with the rain,
Shake off the drops in odorous showers again;
.        And the small fragrances
Of cherry blossoms, and of violet blue,
Come balmily the open window through.

.        No harsh or jarring sound
Breaks the refreshing stillness of the hour;
The gentle footfalls of the passing shower
.        Patter along the ground–
The swallows twitter gladly from the eaves,
And the small rain talks softly to the leaves.

.        Sweet is the gushing song
Which the young birds sing in the summer time,
The wind’s soft voice, the river’s wavy chime,
.        Flowing in joy along.
But more than all I love the pleasant tune
Sung by the rain-drops in the month of June!

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A Look Back at our Spring Academic Conference “Identity*Memory*Testimony”

April 19th, 2012 by Cathleen Miller

(posted on behalf of Catherine Fisher and Jennifer Tuttle)

 

On March 30-31, the Maine Women Writers Collection hosted its Spring Academic Conference entitled “Identity*Memory*Testimony,” in conjunction with the Maine Women’s Studies Consortium and the New England Women’s Studies Association.

The central goals of the Maine Women Writers Collection are to honor and celebrate the work of new, established, and historical women writers, as well as to foster archives-based scholarly work in women’s and gender studies.  We are committed to an inclusive definition of what it means to be a Maine woman and to a rich and diverse conception of writing as creative expression and cultural production.

The Conference theme of “Identity – Memory – Testimony” challenges us to rethink categories, evokes the many forms creative and self-expression may take, and explores the importance of our history to our present; it also honors the voices and testimony of those who have been silenced or misrepresented. We were impressed by and grateful for the wonderful work shared by everyone who participated in the conference.

Following a Women’s History Walking Tour on Friday afternoon, the conference’s opening celebration was held in the UNE Art Gallery, which is currently exhibiting the work of Maine book artist Rebecca Goodale in a retrospective show entitled “Lullaby for Maine.” We were proud to be able to showcase Rebecca’s work to conference participants, especially since we have such a large number of her books in the Collection.

The conference kick-off continued with a spectacular evening reading by three indigenous women writers, Abenaki poet Cheryl Savageau from Massachusetts, Maliseet artist and author Mihku Paul from Maine, and Métis Blackfoot/Mohawk/Seneca poet and fiction writer Susan Deer Cloud from the Catskills in New York. The poets shared work with humor and story, but did not shy away from reading poems that illustrate the harsh realities of discrimination and cultural genocide.  As one audience member commented, it “gave needed exposure to indigenous poetry.”

Saturday’s day-long conference was rich and varied in addressing the theme with panel, workshop and roundtable presentations, as well as performances, displays, and a multi-faceted art exhibit. Twelve panels comprised of scholars from around the continent (and one from Israel, even!) explored topics such as “Portaging Maine’s Native History: Toward Truth and Reconciliation,” “Making Sense of the Personal: Auto/Biography,” “Retelling History, Rewriting Memory,” “Lenses on Invisibility: Feminist Political Methods of Memory, Haunting, Representation, and Deconstructing Narratives,” and “Representing the Body: Gender & Sexuality.” Add Verb Production’s Cathy Plourde’s workshop “Out & Allied: Mining Story, Performing Pedagogy, Creating Change” focused on what it means to be an ally for LGBTQ youth. The poetic performance piece “Endome” by Holly Bittner from Moore College of Art and Design in Philadelphia explored the cultural constructions related to women’s illness, and offered testimony of her own experience of living with endometriosis.

“Art That Heals,” an installation by Bessie Smith Moulton, combined artist’s books, images, objects and film to portray her relationship with her mother and her childhood growing up in Machias, Maine. Compelling displays found in the library (still on view now) included one by Maine book artist Robinson McCarthy, as well as three others grouped under the title “More Than Angels of Mercy: Women in Nursing” exploring various aspects of the profession over time by Roberta Gray of the Westbrook College History Collection.

One of the great highlights of the day was the keynote address given by Colby professor Jennifer Finney Boylan, entitled “Stuck in the Middle With You: a discussion of parenthood in three genders.” The author of 13 books, Boylan engaged the audience with candor, humor and thoughtful generosity. Before reading from her work, both previously published and forthcoming, she began her talk by saying, “Your conference topic today of Identity*Memory*Testimony is incredibly moving to me since it speaks to all of the things I care about. I think one of the things we ask in women’s studies, in some ways all of our work, connects to the question of, ‘Who are we? How did we get here?’…For me, as a trans woman, the question of ‘Who am I? How did I get here?’ is fundamental. And I don’t think you have to be trans to wrestle with the question of, ‘What’s the relationship between who I am and who I’ve been?’

…For a lot of people there’s a before and after in your life…For someone like me there’s an obvious difference between before and after…an early life as a man and a later life as a woman. But all of us struggle with that to a certain extent…We go through all of these journeys that change us and we wind up at a certain point trying to figure out, ‘What’s the relationship between who we are now and all of the selves we have experienced over the years?…For a lot of trans people that I know there can be a real struggle, too, to see one’s life as a series of connected moments, to see it as a whole, rather than as a before and an after. There are some people that I know like me who lie about the first half of their life…that never refer to their experiences in the first half of their life, so in a way they’ve traded one secret for another…A lot of my fellow travelers wind up without a past or without a real good connection between who they’ve been and who they are. It can be odd to be a middle-aged woman who had a boyhood. Can you be a woman without having had a girlhood?”

Comments about the keynote included “Spectacular. It was incredibly inspirational!” and “Jenny was hysterical, insightful and a great writer!” and “Jennifer Boylan is a brave soul! And a darn good writer and person!!! Awesome.”  If you missed the conference, you can see the keynote on our website.

Conference attendees also especially enjoyed the presentations given in a panel comprised of three UNE undergraduate students, Caitlin Tetreau, Amber Reitan, and Megan Bagdon. Moderated by UNE Department of History professor Elizabeth DeWolfe, the presentations in one way or another spoke to the panel’s theme of Transgression, Conformity, and Gender Identity. “Helping students stretch their intellectual limits is a great joy of being a professor,” DeWolfe reflects. “For this panel, each student took a previous completed piece of original research — two term papers and one original essay — and revised it to meet the conference theme and time limits. This forced the student authors to get to the heart of their argument concisely and precisely, no easy task when most assignments have them extending arguments to fill 15, 20, 25 pages. Novice conference goers, each learned to face a crowd of academics and share their research with confidence and enthusiasm. Intellectual boundary broken! They handled questions with professionalism, humor and grace — old pros after just an hour, as their proud professor watched.”

Caitlin Tetreau, whose paper was entitled, “’Pecan Pies and Passion’: 1940s Sexuality through the World War II Letters of Ruth Banfield Lowderback,” offers this testimony about her conference experience:

“The thought of presenting at the conference was both daunting and exhilarating to me. I knew that the other people in attendance would be highly intelligent scholars, and the thought of answering their questions in a satisfactory way was scary to me as a first time presenter. I thought doing my presentation would be easy, as I had practiced it many times and was comfortable with my research. When it got to the actual moment, however, I became nervous during my presentation, but the discussion part was very relaxed and I felt confident in answering the questions asked of me. I thought my co-panelists did an excellent job and that our discussions played off of each other very well. Overall, the conference was a great experience and I am honored to have participated in it.”

And Amber Reitan says of giving her paper, “Etiquette and a Nineteenth-Century Woman’s Identity: Passivity, Submissiveness and Conformity”:

“It was a phenomenal experience to present at an academic conference. During the question and answer session, it was a great feeling to see that others cared about your work and were genuinely interested in what you had been talking about.  I thought presenting would be very much out of my comfort zone, especially since I was the very first to speak at the conference, first thing in the morning.  It was a bit unnerving to see so many people in the room.  I expected to see 7 or 8 but we had a turnout of over 20.  Once I got into my paper, it was actually fun.  …  [Professor DeWolfe] was a wonderful support with excellent advice, critique and support.  …  Being part of an academic conference was a wonderful, exciting experience.  I am really glad I not only had the opportunity but also the support and great reception.  Everyone I met was very welcoming and had nothing but great things to say about our panel.  It was an experience I will not forget, take great pride in and it boosted my confidence.”

These offers of testimony both speak to ways in which these young women’s identities were transformed by the experience, from the “before” of being first-time academic conference panelists to the “after” of being confident, skillful presenters. Reitan’s comments add that the memory of this milestone will stay with her and inform her future as a source of pride and inspiration.

On the whole, the conference offered a unique opportunity for artists, performers, and scholars from many different disciplines to weave the threads of this broad theme into a cohesive web and exchange of ideas.  It was great fun to see it all come together after spending the better part of a year planning and coordinating all of the elements of the conference.

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Elisabeth Ogilvie’s notes and drafts

March 7th, 2012 by Cathleen Miller

One of the joys of my job is digging around in collections looking for answers to patrons’ questions.  Not only is it a good feeling to know that I am helping someone with their research, but it affords me the opportunity to get to know a collection in some depth.

When I fantasized about my life as an archivist, I imagined plenty of time spent handling collections.  I thought that I would know what was in all of the boxes, and that when a patron came with a question, I would know pretty well where to look for the answer.  In reality, being a mostly lone-arranger entails much more administrative work, updates to the website, and email.  So, on those days when one of the emails in my box is a question about a collection, I jump at the opportunity to go on a sleuthing adventure through an author’s papers.

The question that came early last month (yes, that is how long I’ve been planning on writing this post!) was about the existence of drafts for a particular book that Elisabeth Ogilvie was working on at the time of her death.  I had the chance to browse through a box and a half worth of notes and drafts, and had a great time searching, but ultimately did not find what the patron was looking for.  The patron found out that the drafts do exist, but are held privately at this time.  I hope that some day I might get to see them.

Maybe it is my own writing practice that makes me so interested in the process of other writers, but looking through the folders of Elisabeth Ogilvie’s papers was fascinating.  I enjoyed reading the notes she wrote to herself about her characters and plot–”why isn’t this working?”, “what about the baby?”, and other self-reflective conversations on paper.  One particularly gripping conversation was with the manuscript for “Fractured Light.”  That is where I got roped in by the papers.

 

Other projects were scattered throughout many folders, and Ogilvie’s notes were written on just about anything she could find.  Some wonderful examples were story notes written on the backs of letters that were sent to her.   (I wondered if she answered the letters first.)  She also used envelopes of all kinds, calendar pages, advertisements, and other ephemera.

 

She also used legal pads, note books, and memo pads, just like many other authors of her day.

I hope that I have an opportunity to spend more time with Elisabeth Ogilvie’s papers, as they offer real insight into her writing process and the nature of her mind.  For me, there is little more satisfying than exploring the amazing, beautiful, and quirky ways that our minds operate.  It’s one of the things I love about processing archival collections.  Each one offers a glimpse into a very different mind, allowing me to connect with the potential of human beings.  No matter whether or not I like the person(s) who created the papers in the end, the view of the magic of thinking is incredible.

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A Visit with Christine Teale Howes

January 25th, 2012 by Catherine Fisher

Last fall Curator Cathleen Miller and I got to thinking that it might be nice to get out and visit with some of the authors whose work makes up the collection, and capture our discussions with them on video to share on the MWWC website featured writers pages. So, in early December we checked out the video equipment from our IT department, had a lesson in how to set it up and make it go and headed to Kennebunk to meet and interview Christine Teale Howes. Howes, now 84, is a poet, former Westbrook College teacher and former columnist for the York Country Coast Star.

Making our way up the walk on that crisp late fall afternoon, we noticed a well-nibbled pumpkin on the grass, obviously a treat kindly set out for the yard’s lucky squirrels and chipmunks. At the door Christine and her husband, Robert Howes, greeted us and invited us into the embrace of a room filled with books and art and made toasty by crackling wood logs in the fireplace. Such hospitality for critters and humans alike…

Once the video camera was expertly arranged we settled in to talk with Howes about her family life, her literary life and her collaborations with visual artists and musicians.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Born in 1927 in Granby, CT, to a minister come from Wales and his American wife, Christine married Robert M. Howes, a Methodist minister whose call to Kennebunkport’s South Congregational Church brought them to Maine. They had six children and, when Bob retired, they moved from Kennebunkport to Kennebunk.

In our interview Howes recalled launching her writing life at the age of 9 and immersing herself in the study of poetry from that young age. She developed her talents while a creative writing major at Syracuse University, and later attended the Breadloaf Writers’ Conference at Middlebury College and took an advanced writing course through Radcliffe College’s continuing education program. “At my first class,” she recalled, “everyone read something, and I have never had a piece of writing so thoroughly torn apart as that one was. It was very therapeutic!”

She taught English composition for a time at University of New England, and has lectured widely, including at Bowdoin and Westbrook colleges. Two of her poems were included in the 1979 SPECTRA I Anthology, published by Westbrook College and The Maine Association of Women in Fine and Performing Arts. In addition to giving many local poetry readings, Howes has also read at the Soiree de Poesie in Quebec and at Mansfield College, Oxford.

Characterized by her adherence to traditional poetic forms, her work is influenced by Edna St. Vincent Millay, D.H. Lawrence, Dylan Thomas, Amy Lowell, and Wallace Stevens. She has experimented with various forms, including those of Japanese verse and the 24 official Welsh meters. “Ambage,” a biographical tribute to her late father, is a series of 24 poems composed to fit those old Welsh structures. She is also very inspired by visual art and has collaborated with a number of artists. One example is Archipelago of Light, a beautifully illustrated book collaboration Howes did with painter Catherine Cabaniss of Birmingham, AL. We asked her if she might read a bit from Archipelago for us, which she gladly did, declaring, “I’d read on a street corner if anyone asked me to!” Stay tuned to see this clip once we complete the editing process.

Howes’ collaborative efforts have also extended to musical projects. She was asked for a poem by the Choral Arts Society of Maine, and her piece entitled “AMH” was set to music by the Society as part of the five-movement collection, Changing Perceptions, and performed in March 1995 at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Portland. The poem was written for her stillborn son, Arthur McCarey Howes, and by the glow of the fire in the late afternoon light, she read this deeply moving piece for us:


Christine’s husband Bob shared with us his experience of living with a poet, explaining that, “In our bedroom we each have a (gooseneck) reading lamp…and there are nights I’m dimly aware that Christine’s light is on. And I know that, in the morning, she’s going to have poems that she wants to read to me, because she’s been writing through the night. She calls it a “white night.” She’s done that many, many times. I have a feeling that the creative welling-up in her mind – it takes over her life and she just simply has to write. It sort of pours out of her at times like that. It’s also an extremely satisfying experience for her. She’s just so happy – she hasn’t had any sleep all night and she’s been writing poems!” Christine smiles and adds, “It makes me easier to live with.” Bob concludes, “Living with Christine has been a wonderful literary adventure.”

We so enjoyed our time with Christine and Bob, and hope to have the fully-edited video piece up on the website soon. I’m learning iMovie bit by bit, frame by frame, and in the process I’m reliving gratefully this special afternoon of poetry and conversation.

 

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