[New-Poetry] Outsider K.

[Skip Fox]

I know some outsiders. All in their late 50s to mid 60s. Real ones.

One poet/writer is a janitor at a museum, built a house on a ridge (without
running water and a precarious drive, and lives in the words of working his
world, throwing an apple to a vixen out his and window writing a paragraph
almost every night before sending it out via e-mail to whoever is on his
list of recipients (which anyone can join). That's his idea of
publication.(Tom Bridwell)

Another built his own house as well and has a letterpress on which he has
published books for over 25 years. A fine writer whose words can swallow up
small villages. Teaches at a community college. (Brian Richards)

Another is a carpenter and one of the best poets I know. Following a
sentence might mean having to let go of one's most certain
preconceptions.(Stephen Ellis)

Another is a painter and poet. I don't know that he does anything else (in
terms of employment) besides living far beyond the standards of a university
professor.  I meant him when he was a high-school runaway at 17 in 1967.
He'd already read The Cantos. His work seems as lovely as Blake's.(Stephen
Petroff).

These are all dear friends, but I could name dozens more, some on this list,
who I don't know as well but who are just as dedicated, who also live
relatively marginalized in terms of popularity, money, and/or themes/genres,
etc. Of course, there may be even more marginalized poets, Emily Dickinsons,
who are so outside none of us know about them. (Even lurkers to this list.)

If any of K. tried to claim outsider status around of the friends I listed,
I'm guessing they'd just walk away. Who would seriously argue the case with
someone like that?

(An outsider doesn't have the need to claim such status, . . . just like a
hermit might as well keep it to himself, as they say.)