James Humphrey, 1975, Cambridge, Massachusetts

James Humphrey’s birthday is today. Had he lived, he would have been 75 years old.


The Wonder of This Moment

Canada bluegrass, Chinese

whitegrass, brookgrass, wise

centipede, early dragonfly,

milkweed, sunflower nubs.

Season’s first popsicle.

The real air with reality,

shivers

James Humphrey 

from Ice, © Poets Alive Press, 1989

Sacramento Poet Laureate Bob Stanley penned this poem dedicated to James in 2011. Stanley has a new book Miracle Shine and he will be the guest of honor at a book signing on May 27th (7:30pm) at the Sacramento Poetry Center.

Ten Gallon Hat / Giving the World

a man rides out across

the landscape of his soul

into the emptiness of his worlds

and cries

jim

I never knew you

but your words cry out

in a language we all understand

the language of the kid

beaten back

the story we hear as myth

evil stepmother evil stepfather

except it’s not myth

and the kid

fights back

in ways he can

you were a star

a ballplayer who could hit

with the best of them

a writer who worked the edges of the scene

and fought for every game,

every reading

every moment

you fought back to find the peace

that your youth denied you

and songs came

and gave you life

the words

that you wrote for the woman

the words

you wrote for the boy

the words

gave you a life that lasted

longer than the one

you got in your

finally broken body

the old man steps up to the plate

and all the ballplayers snicker

but that over the hill dude

hits one into the seats,

then another

then another

line drives soaring across

the sky

meteors in the day

moving fast

your drive

sails on

and we’re watching today

we’re hearing your words

thanks Jim

for giving the ball a ride

giving the world what you did


Bob Stanley, 2011

In celebration if Jim’s birthday (he would have been 74 today), here’s an early unpublished poem from the archive. You can also hear Jim reading the poem (recorded in 1968 in Marshalltown, Iowa). Listen.


A Letter to One of My Poetry Students

Sure
poetry is 
bigger than 
you

Simply 
so 
is life

But go after it

try for more

Who put you in charge 
anyway?

Grab a hold
Let it 
come; let
it come

It’s there
Open 
your eyes

Look out

blink once or 
twice

concentrate

touch
yourself

Feel 
something different
for a change

Surprise yourself
Work at a 
solution

Plant something and 
help it 
grow

Can you hear 
me in 
there?

I'll love you, if
you'll love 
me

Jump aboard
It’s 
great from
here

Let’s swim in 
cold, clear 
water

Build a fire
Eat clams 
drink
wine

Let the ghosts go
this time 
out

And leave the rainbows
where they 
belong

Laugh a little —
blossom

Thinking 
before sleep —
warm 
in each other’s 
arms

How the whole 
world could 
love like 
this

But for God’s 
sake, 
quit crying about 
how rotten it 
is 
for 
you

You’ve too much 
to lose this 
way

And so little to 
gain —

even

if 

you 

never

write 

another

poem

for

as

long 

as 

you 

live

James Humphrey
Marshalltown, Iowa, 1968

©James Humphrey Trust

Each time I venture into the world of creative endeavor to share my husband's legacy, I feel elated and renewed.  This time I would be sharing several appropriate poems I chose from Naked, and three of Jim's earlier works (In Pursuit of Honour, Paying the Price and The Athlete) with young adults from the Sacramento County Youth Detention Facility.  I brought 21 copies of each of the titles to be added to a cheery new library space both male and female juveniles could borrow from on a weekly basis.  Eleven young women came single-file into the setting of plastic chairs, while I faced them in a padded swivel chair, a bare table beside me with Jim's books selectively displayed offering me comfort and likewise offering kindness and friendship to my audience.  During the 40 minutes of talking serious biography and reading what I sensed the most moving, life-sustaining poems from Jim's imagination, I heard not a pin drop.  Afterward, there were sensitive questions and even signs of personal caring.  An hour later, twelve young men from maximum security were ushered into the same area for a 40-minute session and again I shared Jim's life and poetry with these sensitive incarcerated human beings.  When the final boy was strip-searched on exiting, I felt weak all over, but gratified that only God knows how, if, or when any minuscule piece of life or love I imparted will make a positive difference in those precious teenage lives.  

Third reading from Late Peaches (Sacramento Poets Anthology, 2012) will be November 8th, 4 -5 pm at CSUS Library, Galleria.  See you there.

Late Peaches

New Poetry Anthology, Late Peaches, Sacramento Poetry Center, 2012 will have a second reading, Saturday, October 20 at the Antiquite Maison Privee, 6:30-9:30.  My poem, Cause of Death: Child Abuse, for James Humphrey (1939-2008) written 5 months after Jim's death, was accepted by the judges to be included along with 115 other poets from the Sacramento area. 


Cause of Death: Child Abuse

No safe-haven
when baby
infant
or
teen

Cause of death: child abuse
camouflaged  by
cardiopulmonary arrest

Didn't believe in suicide

Did believe a miraculous pain remedy out there
able to take lifelong suffering away
preventing accomplishment to become
acclaimed brain surgeon
renowned scientist
award-winning pianist
or
to finish stint with St. Louis Cardinals

Wanted to
live
life
to
fullest!

Fulfill destiny:
be greatest slugger of all time &
build a ranch for abused children life self

Gave as naturally
& easily
from
healthy
broken
heart

Pain into Performance

My qualifications for writing this blog is that I lived with the "greatest writer of his time," and as William Saroyan once told Jim  (50 years a writer), "Be of your time and if possible a little ahead of your time."  I invite you to see for yourself if what you read on Jim's site isn't that--timely and could have been written today.  Secondly, I am of the wise.  Hopefully I can express some of that wisdom.

It's baseball season's end and as a career in baseball was Jim's ultimate dream, I want to share his never ending dream.  While he was in indescribable pain up until his death, he wisely used his triumph from when he was a "champ", a "natural", a record-winning hitter, right fielder and clean-up batter during his youth, he never stopped getting into shape, making comebacks, and believing he could still play the game at age 62.  He transferred his pain into performance.  The principal of a major high school where Jim taught creative writing in the "Poets in the Schools" program (National Foundation for the Arts) asked him once while working out with their baseball and track team, "the record you hold for being the fastest quarter-miler was that fast because you felt your abusive step-father was chasing you, right?"  No, Mr. Kelly, my time would have been even better had I not been beaten because I would have had the proper shoes and the freedom and that love for running that sportsmen have.  Always, it was a life of sacrifice, giving up his dream and writing about his dream coupled with breaking the cycle of child abuse.  He could not watch a modern day baseball game as he knew "the score"--how overpaid the major league players were and how they didn't seem to earn those dollars on the field.  He was from a different time, a different place, a different script.  "Come babe!"