{"id":2111,"date":"2018-08-19T22:43:21","date_gmt":"2018-08-19T22:43:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/?page_id=2111"},"modified":"2018-08-22T18:54:45","modified_gmt":"2018-08-22T18:54:45","slug":"anderson","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/anderson\/","title":{"rendered":"Anderson"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\tan online poetry journal\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h2>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\tMan's West Once\t\t\t\t\t<\/h5>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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by Susan Kay Anderson<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies, gone down the American river!”<\/span><\/p>\n

–Allen Ginsberg, “Howl”<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

I.\n

Fed by the Coloradans, I studied their ways, their trees,<\/span><\/p>\n

and what was written on them, what was left. Names, dates.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

They took me in, gave me Nescafe<\/span><\/p>\n

instead of an Americano to-go,<\/span><\/p>\n

Ramona’s hands arthritic<\/span><\/p>\n

would not straighten. Roy’s<\/span><\/p>\n

gigantic mitts<\/span><\/p>\n

which knew<\/span><\/p>\n

irrigation and barbed wire.<\/span><\/p>\n

milk-marinated elk steak<\/span><\/p>\n

instead of Nancy’s Yogurt.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

That summer, I was 22 and fresh<\/span><\/p>\n

out of college. I was given One Man’s West<\/em>, <\/span><\/p>\n

                                                                                    <\/span><\/p>\n

by David Lavender. A present from Ramona.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ramona was a summer babysitter for Little David.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Ramona’s favorite book! She was mentioned,<\/span><\/p>\n

only under another name. She was<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

David Lavender’s biggest fan—handed everyone<\/span><\/p>\n

copies of One Man’s West<\/em> and told about Cy Orr, <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

the cowboy with one eye, featured in the book,<\/span><\/p>\n

who heard her recite “Panhandle Cob” <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

when she was in the second grade. After the program<\/span><\/p>\n

Old Cy said he knew Panhandle Cob<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

and from then on they were friends<\/span><\/p>\n

and she took his photo at the Boar’s Nest—<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

with a borrowed camera,<\/span><\/p>\n

he was on Old West treasure!<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

She left her May Day basket <\/span><\/p>\n

on his porch after knocking.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

His shack perched on some rocks<\/span><\/p>\n

near the Bedrock Store, half alive<\/span><\/p>\n

and all alone, while maggots<\/span><\/p>\n

busily cleaned his empty socket.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

She was so small when she was born,<\/span><\/p>\n

they did not name her, <\/span><\/p>\n

the youngest of eleven.<\/span><\/p>\n

She fit in a shoe box, <\/span><\/p>\n

set on the door of the oven,<\/span><\/p>\n

oiled and wrapped in cotton.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her father moved the family around<\/span><\/p>\n

in a covered wagon.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her father had a violin.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

I loved Roy. I loved Ramona. Loved <\/span><\/p>\n

                                                                                                their<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

photo album. <\/span><\/p>\n

The cougars,<\/span><\/p>\n

dead, <\/span><\/p>\n

“Sweet Georgia Brown” <\/span><\/p>\n

on the player piano,<\/span><\/p>\n

played by Ramona—<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Their kitchen smelled of aspic and linoleum,<\/span><\/p>\n

failed cakes, bacon and eggs, and Delta’s cottonwood air<\/span><\/p>\n

of the old Council Tree<\/span><\/p>\n

and of the dinosaurs’ search for water—<\/span><\/p>\n

dry, dry, as Captain John Smith’s Rock House<\/span><\/p>\n

we drove to see—Ramona’s favorite place—<\/span><\/p>\n

and her emerald eyes were startling.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

From the second floor window of the old homestead<\/span><\/p>\n

now in town, Grand Mesa’s outline loomed from across<\/span><\/p>\n

Delta’s moonscape of sage and islands of alfalfa.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Roy wanted to see The Natural<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

at the Delta Drive-In.  He fell asleep<\/span><\/p>\n

just as it got interesting.  But he sure knew<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

beautiful bodies<\/span><\/p>\n

all in a row at the feet of the hunters<\/span><\/p>\n

who tracked them on horseback<\/span><\/p>\n

ball games. He was a great pitcher<\/span><\/p>\n

and two-stepper. He was the one<\/span><\/p>\n

you wanted on the dance floor! They hated Reagan<\/span><\/p>\n

and I was surprised. I was “the nice girl from Germany”<\/span><\/p>\n

even though I said that was my mom, not me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Roy was their guide<\/span><\/p>\n

in the West Elk Mountains.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Their dog, Babe, an ancient lab<\/span><\/p>\n

with weeping eyes. Ramona loved The Rubiyat<\/em>   <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

with dogs—<\/span><\/p>\n

visitors from Chicago<\/span><\/p>\n

in the 60s and 70s<\/span><\/p>\n

when there were still <\/span><\/p>\n

so many.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

by Omar Khayam, “the moving finger writes<\/span><\/p>\n

and having writ, moves on...”<\/span><\/p>\n

Packing them in <\/span><\/p>\n

and out<\/span><\/p>\n

of the wilderness.<\/span><\/p>\n

That was Roy,<\/span><\/p>\n

his extra income!<\/span><\/p>\n

Being a plumber, <\/span><\/p>\n

times were rough.<\/span><\/p>\n

Six mouths to feed.<\/span><\/p>\n

I thought:<\/span><\/p>\n

this is the West<\/span><\/p>\n

I have escaped<\/span><\/p>\n

to somewhere else.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

There was no argument <\/span><\/p>\n

no protest, with One Man’s West<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

in my possession<\/span><\/p>\n

up at Lone Cone. I wanted <\/span><\/p>\n

answers<\/span><\/p>\n

to my questions,<\/span><\/p>\n

who traps whom?<\/span><\/p>\n

Would I be forever left<\/span><\/p>\n

wading through the doghair aspens<\/span><\/p>\n

growing back so thick<\/span><\/p>\n

after a clear cut<\/span><\/p>\n

sticking to my jeans<\/span><\/p>\n

holding me back<\/span><\/p>\n

impossible to pass.<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Who is able to hear<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                     a cloud floating?<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Hank wrote a Dear John letter<\/span><\/p>\n

only saying:<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Whenever he appeared <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    with his trusty band,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    terror reined among <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    the cattle, and wrath<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and despair among <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    their owners.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                                                                                Dear Susan, <\/span><\/p>\n

I am happy <\/span><\/p>\n

with someone else.  <\/span><\/p>\n

She does her nails, <\/span><\/p>\n

they are painted<\/span><\/p>\n

fancy,<\/span><\/p>\n

sharp.  <\/span><\/p>\n

We sleep together <\/span><\/p>\n

on a mattress on the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

There is no home <\/span><\/p>\n

for you <\/span><\/p>\n

to come home to.<\/span><\/p>\n

Stay in Colorado.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Old Lobo was a giant among wolves,<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    and was cunning and strong in proportion<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    to his size.  His voice at night was well-known<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and easily distinguished from his fellows.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Ramona said:<\/span><\/p>\n

“Tell him to have at it.”<\/span><\/p>\n

when I asked for advice<\/span><\/p>\n

about Hank.<\/span><\/p>\n

            <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Wild animals <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    become scapegoats for our own fears<\/span><\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

What did I have to fear?<\/span><\/p>\n

The light stayed the same.  <\/span><\/p>\n

The city pool glistened.<\/span><\/p>\n

Work went well <\/span><\/p>\n

and it was <\/span><\/p>\n

past.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was past<\/span><\/p>\n

time to go.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    An ordinary wolf might howl<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    half the night about the herdsman’s<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    bivouac without attracting more<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    than a passing notice, but when <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    the deep roar of the old king came booming<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    down the canyon, the watcher bestirred himself<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and prepared to learn in the morning<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that fresh and serious inroads<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    had been made among the herds.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 I was afraid<\/span><\/p>\n

of the wolf<\/span><\/p>\n

at the door<\/span><\/p>\n

suddenly appearing<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    It will be seen, then that these wolves<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    were thoroughly well-known to the cowboys<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and shepherds.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

my future<\/span><\/p>\n

wanting in<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    How many of us have ever got to know<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    a wild animal?  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

begging me to feed it<\/span><\/p>\n

more<\/span><\/p>\n

or it would take what<\/span><\/p>\n

it wanted<\/span><\/p>\n

all along.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

Our malamute was not a toy<\/span><\/p>\n

but looked like one<\/span><\/p>\n

when he was little<\/span><\/p>\n

up in Nome.<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    I do not mean merely to meet with one once<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    or twice, or to have one in a cage, but to really<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    know it for a long time while it is wild,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and get insight into its life and history.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

I remember him running across<\/span><\/p>\n

the tundra<\/span><\/p>\n

hitched to a saucer<\/span><\/p>\n

pulling Suzanne Chung <\/span><\/p>\n

into the nowhere<\/span><\/p>\n

of Anvil Mountain<\/span><\/p>\n

from Chicken Hill.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    The trouble usually is to know one creature<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    from his fellow. One fox or crow is so much<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    like another that we cannot be sure that it really<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    is the same next time we meet.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

How did he get back?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    But once in awhile there arises an animal who is stronger<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    or wiser than his fellow, who becomes a great leader, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    who is, as we would say, a genius, and if he is bigger<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    or has some mark by which men can know him,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    he soon becomes famous in his country, and <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    shows us that the life of a wild animal may be far<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    more interesting and exciting than that of many human<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

How smart was she<\/span><\/p>\n

to fall off, letting go<\/span><\/p>\n

of the plastic handles!         <\/span><\/p>\n

                        <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    beings<\/em>.  <\/span><\/p>\n

One hundred and fifty years ago<\/span><\/p>\n

the Great Plains was the richest place on Earth<\/span><\/p>\n

teeming with fauna<\/span><\/p>\n

quickly silenced.<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Of this class were Courtrand, the bob-tailed<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    wolf that terrorized the whole city of Paris<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    for about ten years in the beginning of the<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    fourteenth century;<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

I was never afraid <\/span><\/p>\n

of tornadoes. I trained myself<\/span><\/p>\n

by lying in ditches in Missouri<\/span><\/p>\n

just in case one would come—<\/span><\/p>\n

and in Nome, practicing closing my mouth<\/span><\/p>\n

and only breathing through <\/span><\/p>\n

my nose<\/span><\/p>\n

my babysitter said our lungs <\/span><\/p>\n

could freeze, otherwise<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Clubfoot; the lame grizzly bear that in two years<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    ruined all the hog-raisers, and drove half the farmers<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    out of business in the upper Sacramento Valley;<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

snuggling inside <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Lobo, the king-wolf of New Mexico, <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    that killed a cow<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    every day for five years, and the <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

my wolverine ruff<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Soehnee panther that in less than two years killed nearly<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    three hundred human beings—and such also was Silverspot.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

on the hood<\/span><\/p>\n

of my parka.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    They are successful hunters not farmers.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

II.<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    It was a very peculiar sensation of discomfort, or frustration;<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    my whole body moved and stretched with unusual lightness<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and strength. My arms and legs itched. My shoulders seemed<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    to swell; the muscles in my back and neck made me feel like pushing,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    or rubbing, against trees. I felt I could demolish a wall by ramming it.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Shumagin, our husky, <\/span><\/p>\n

could not stand it for long—the wait in the car <\/span><\/p>\n

made him snappy.<\/span><\/p>\n

Where is my West?<\/span><\/p>\n

How do I find it?<\/span><\/p>\n

Once, we got to the beach,<\/span><\/p>\n

and let him loose,<\/span><\/p>\n

he got into a fight<\/span><\/p>\n

with another dog <\/span><\/p>\n

at the party.<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    I was there by myself.  <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

                                    If something harmful <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    was going to happen to me,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    there was no one there to help me.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I wanted to run away.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

I saw how the other dog, Muchuck,<\/span><\/p>\n

had Shumagin’s eye<\/span><\/p>\n

in his mouth<\/span><\/p>\n

and seemed to be pulling,<\/span><\/p>\n

pulling.  I saw the optic nerve,<\/span><\/p>\n

and some adults pouring beer<\/span><\/p>\n

over them to stop their fighting.  It dripped,<\/span><\/p>\n

sliding to the gravel bar<\/span><\/p>\n

in full view of the gold dredge.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ribs from an abandoned<\/span><\/p>\n

Quonset hut, frowning. It will be<\/span><\/p>\n

wildly cold.  <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

So many times <\/span><\/p>\n

I imagined my other life.<\/span><\/p>\n

A life of glass surfaces.<\/span><\/p>\n

Easy to polish,<\/span><\/p>\n

 a cinch to wipe clean.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I had an alarming sensation<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                     of indecision,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                     of not knowing what to do.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    A flood of thoughts <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    rushed into my mind,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                     flashing <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    with extraordinary speed.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I noticed <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    they were rather strange thoughts;<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that is, they were<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    strange in the sense <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that they seemed to come <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    in a different way<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    than ordinary thoughts.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

I read about an animal<\/span><\/p>\n

quite unlike any other.<\/span><\/p>\n

The information is startling<\/span><\/p>\n

so familiar.<\/span><\/p>\n

Who is<\/span><\/p>\n

 this strange animal?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    I am familiar <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    with the way I think.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    My thoughts <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    have a definite order<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that is my own, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and any deviation <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    is noticeable.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

In Nevada, <\/span><\/p>\n

our beautiful malamute<\/span><\/p>\n

was shot<\/span><\/p>\n

by a neighbor.<\/span><\/p>\n

“He was such a nuisance,”<\/span><\/p>\n

they said, “never tied up,<\/span><\/p>\n

always roaming.”<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    One of the alien thoughts <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    was about a statement <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    made by an author.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    It was, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I vaguely remember, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    more like a voice, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    or something said<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    somewhere <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    in the background.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    It happened so fast <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that it startled me.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

The wolf is imaginary.<\/span><\/p>\n

The real one howls <\/span><\/p>\n

for home<\/span><\/p>\n

for a river<\/span><\/p>\n

An American river.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I suddenly remembered <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    it was Alfred Kroeber.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Our world<\/span><\/p>\n

known only in photo albums?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

                                    Then another alien thought <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    popped up and “said” <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    that it was not Kroeber, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    but Georg Simmel,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    who had made the statement. <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

How <\/span><\/p>\n

to win<\/span><\/p>\n

an argument<\/span><\/p>\n

against a gun?<\/span><\/p>\n

                                    I insisted it was Kroeber, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    and the next<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    thing I knew <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Are they howling<\/span><\/p>\n

or do they<\/span><\/p>\n

yelp?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    I was in the midst <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    of an argument <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    with myself.  <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    And had<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    forgotten about my feeling <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

                                    of being doomed.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

III.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

We were taught to love everybody.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

All the girls               who have flower-names                  dance along together,<\/span><\/p>\n

and those who have not                                          go together also.  <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Our fathers<\/span><\/p>\n

and mothers and grandfathers and grandmothers<\/span><\/p>\n

make a place for us <\/span><\/p>\n

where we can dance.                        Each one<\/span><\/p>\n

gathers the flower she was named for, <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

and then<\/span><\/p>\n

all weave them into wreaths and crowns and scarfs<\/span><\/p>\n

and dress up in them.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Some girls are named for rocks                 and are called rock-girls,<\/span><\/p>\n

and they find some pretty rocks which they carry; each one<\/span><\/p>\n

such a rock as she is named for,                or whatever she is named for.<\/span><\/p>\n

If she cannot,                        she can take a branch of sage-brush,<\/span><\/p>\n

or a bunch of rye-grass,                  <\/span><\/p>\n

which have no flower.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

            They all go marching along,                                   <\/span><\/p>\n

each girl in turn singing of herself;<\/span><\/p>\n

but she is not a girl anymore--she is a flower singing. <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Notes:<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

This title comes from a play on words from the book, One Man’s West<\/em>, by David Lavender, 1943, 1956, 2007. University of Nebraska, Lincoln.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Ideas in italics in Part I are found in Barry Lopez’s, Of Wolves And Men<\/em>, 1978, Scribner & Sons, New York. The italics also contain material found in Ernest Seton Thomas’ Animals I Have Known<\/em>, 1898, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

The italics in Part II are found in Carlos Casteneda’s The Teachings of Don Juan, A Yaqui Way of Knowledge<\/em>, 1968.  University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles, California.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n

Part III is found in Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins’:  Life Among The Piutes:  Their Wrongs And Claims<\/em>, 1883, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York; 1969, Chalfant Press, Inc., Sierra Media, Inc., Bishop, California.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/li>\n\n\t<\/ul>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

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Poet's Statement: This poem was written for Justin Hocking\u2019s Wilderness Writing course at Eastern Oregon University in 2016 when I was studying for my M.F.A. in Poetry. I got a chance to revisit strong influences in my life and memories of growing up in Nome, Alaska, Schurz, Nevada, and working in Delta, Colorado as an archeological technician one summer for the Forest Service. These are themes I write about all the time, yet Hocking elicited a unique way of untangling and addressing complex issues in the West and wanted us to take a look at the state of wolves in the West. Our readings led me back to the wild territory of my youth. Speaking with writer and teacher, Megan Kruse, about another job I had in Maupin, Oregon, for the Bureau of Land Management also led me to write \"Man's West Once.\" Kruse made me realize my love for small places was also her own because she listened so intently to my stories and knew my feelings of isolation and wonderment. Her attitude encouraged me to go forward with this particular collage. \"Man's West Once\" is dedicated to the memory of Tom Clark.<\/p>\n<\/span>\n

Bio: Susan Kay Anderson, 2010 National Poetry Series Finalist, has an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Eastern Oregon University. Anderson was the poetry editor of Big Talk<\/em>, a free publication in the early 1980s featuring Pacific Northwest punk bands. Her poems, essays, stories, and interviews can be found in Beat Scene, BlazeVOX Journal Spring 2016, Concis, Caliban Online, Guernica, Honolulu Civil Beat, Oregon East, Prairie Schooner,<\/em> and Tom Clark Beyond The Pale<\/em>. She lives in Eugene, Oregon. <\/p>\n<\/span>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

4X2 an online poetry journal Man’s West Once by Susan Kay Anderson “Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies, gone down the American river!” –Allen Ginsberg, “Howl”   I. Fed by the Coloradans, I studied their ways, their trees, and what was written on them, what was left. Names, dates.   They took me in, gave me…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"full-width-page.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2111","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2111","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2111"}],"version-history":[{"count":59,"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2111\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2189,"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2111\/revisions\/2189"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/barrowstreet.org\/press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2111"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}