I’ve always wanted the two Bedlam Farms to be a creative outlet and hang out for talented younger people. I found few people are looking for that, but our friend Ian McRae, who I have come to love like a son, is one of those people. He dropped by to share some of his new poems and say hello.
I can hardly believe how much Ian has changed since I first challenged him to keep on with his poetry several years ago. For some reason, he thought of me. He is our sheep shearer and came for help in coming to believe in his poetry.
We feel like blood from the same family. We just get one another.
He came over to say hello and show us two new poems.
Maria is wonderful at understanding them and encouraging Ian.
They are unique; he has the gift.
It took him years to get to an open Mic poetry night or meeting, now he goes regularly to one in Cambridge, faithfully to the poetry night at the Cafe Lena every month, and he is exploring the virtual poetry readings month at the Phoenix Books store in Rutland, near where he grew up.
He is so different than before. And he still wants to shear our sheep.
We joke easily and speak honestly, and there is genuine love between us. He thanked me again for “riding my ass” and staying with him. Like me, he has a wicked stubborn streak.
I know how important it is for at least one person you trust to offer encouragement and goodwill.
Ian is a joy to know and a bright spot in my life and Maria’s. He is always welcome here, and I am overjoyed to see him working so hard and creatively on his poetry and coming out to share it with the world.
He is the real deal. His creative spark is lit.
His latest poem, Broken Down Blues, is below:
BROKEN DOWN BLUES
hot head boiled blood-wrenched nut too tight
said, savior –
stop smoking, I said –
Who’s going to pay to fix us?
too cold for motors
unfrozen lake is matted
by unmoving fog-
this wet asphalt is unknown to the lake
as is my car unknown
the breadth of it cannot cross to the distant light
on its far shore, lonely
traffic flicks their lights –
salt trickles down their windsields=
the lake doesn’t know them
and neither do I –“
- Ian McRae
Awesome!
What talent.
Happy New Year! By the way, Jon, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think your writing has improved lately. Maybe pairing writing and photography can do that?
Thanks, a writer should be improving all the time, writing ripens with age…
“Lake doesn’t know them / and neither do I.”
Ian’s struck it again. Those two lines alone sound like the refrain of a really good country song.
He’s a voice drawing on voices drawing on generations of the backbone of New England, and now he’s telling it. Goodness…
I never can see the narrative spine of a poem till several days pass but this poem shows someone who has drilled down for strong images, and metaphors, and exciting, powerful language as “blood-wrenched nut too tight” — we can recall a moment when we were a nut bloody nut, wrenched too tight, “matted by unmoving fog-“. Days and nights:drag on, when fog just hangs there, endless.
Not a journalist’s style.
Hope to see a collection soon.
If you want a creative outlet and hang out for talented younger people, you probably should serve strong coffee.