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The Journey Thus Far: Selected Poems 2014-2021
The Journey Thus Far: Selected Poems 2014-2021
The Journey Thus Far: Selected Poems 2014-2021
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The Journey Thus Far: Selected Poems 2014-2021

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The Journey Thus Far is Mr. Brown's second book and the first of his poetic work. The subject matter varying in time as well as in space reflects his life experience; his education, BA in geography; and his pure imagination. The early work is of recollections and experiences dating back to the 1960s. Even though written at a later date, all the poems in the book are composed between the years 2014 and 2021.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 26, 2023
ISBN9781684981502
The Journey Thus Far: Selected Poems 2014-2021
Author

Alan Brown

Alan Brown is a freelance artist who started out as a storyboard artist for a London agency before going back to his roots in the North East to pursue a career in graphic design. As much as he loved working in design for large blue chip clients, Alan’s love has always been illustration. Alan has be fortunate to work on a variety of jobs including Ben 10 Omniverse graphic novels for Viz Media, as well as children’s book illustrations for the likes of HarperCollins and Watts. He has a keen interest in the comic book world and is at home working on bold graphic pieces and strip work. Alan works from an attic studio along with his trusty side kick, Ollie the miniature schnauzer (miniature in size, giant in personality and appetite), and his two sons Wilf and Teddy.

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    Book preview

    The Journey Thus Far - Alan Brown

    The Journey Thus Far

    Selected Poems

    2014–2021

    ALAN BROWN

    Copyright © 2022 Alan Brown

    All rights reserved

    First Edition

    NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

    320 Broad Street

    Red Bank, NJ 07701

    First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

    ISBN 978-1-68498-149-6 (Paperback)

    ISBN 978-1-68498-150-2 (Digital)

    Printed in the United States of America

    For May Murai Brown whose generosity made this possible

    Contents

    Self-Assessment

    Part I: Early Poems 2014–2017

    The North Coast

    Simple Stream

    Lake at the End of the World

    Glacial Till, Esker, and Moraine

    Late Fall Day

    Just Right Poem

    Big Sur

    Pate Valley

    Night Life

    Curriculum Vitae

    Quiet Musings

    Somewhere Near Esalen

    Pilgrimage

    Hot Plate Hotels

    City Lights

    Back in the City

    On Being a Poor Poet

    Hotel Deluxe

    Bus Station

    Portland

    France (2017)

    It

    Bisous

    Chill Day in Paris

    The Invisible Man

    Of Baking Bread and Cinnamon

    Are We There Yet

    The Invitation

    Les Jardins des Mortes

    Autumn in Paris

    Winter

    Dog Owners of Tangier

    Changing Seasons

    Part II: Poems 2018–2019

    Bakersfield

    Do Writers Drink

    Cat Named Arman

    Old Tursolini

    Player Plano

    Mu

    Matterhorn Peak

    Winter

    Smelling of Snow

    Pas de Deux

    Fog

    Clouds

    Light

    The Ginger Farmer or Why I Write

    Scenes From a Dark Armchair

    Revolutions of 1848

    A Little Thing I Like to Call Night Train and Bum Wine

    Through the Dream Wall

    Millennium

    Travel Time

    The Passage

    Old Home Cordilleras

    Surfing

    Locomotive Trochanter

    Playing Doctor

    Gerry Mulligan (Night Lights)

    Analog Man

    Part III: Poems 2020–2021

    Slow-Motion Tricycle

    By the Light of Dawn

    Saturnalia of Milan

    Blackened Grosses

    In a Darkened Café

    Lady of the Dark Hours

    Puliklah

    X-ray Specs

    Ashoka Farewell #1 and #2

    Our Daily Bread

    Southern Gothic

    The Gates of Amduat

    Blessed Are the Meek

    The Dangerous Road

    Birds Last Flight

    Love Pussy

    First Verse

    Cut Up-Crack Up

    Time Passes

    Keeps

    For You to Decide

    The Poet

    Border City

    Burma Shave

    In Some Other Lifetime

    Tanka

    Flop on Main Street

    Buk

    Landscapes

    How I Love

    Unfinished and Haiku

    A Young Indian Woman

    One Day

    The Lost Poet

    Le Petit Mort

    The Past

    He Just Died

    Waking to Nightmare

    Lines Sans Lines

    Some Nights

    Déjà vu

    The Lock of Karma

    The Sea of Cythera

    Typewriter

    Self-Assessment

    So hell, I sez to myself; spent time on the road, up, down, back and forth, the length and breadth of California; hiked miles upon miles in the range of light; been to the Isles of Sandwich; and visited Japan and Korea, where I discovered the dharma. Became a bum and went to France and still considered myself to be poorly travelled. Read lots and lots of books and still feel as though I’m poorly read. Did stoop labor ’long side migrant Mexican workers, band packing strawberries in Watsonville and daffodils for .14 a bunch in the frozen fields of Arcata Bottoms, worked in a lumber mill alongside crackers from Arkansas, self-proclaimed mill oakies and proud of the fact, and with Hupas straight offa the res. Somewhere along the line, I even managed to finish college and spend a few semesters in grad school. Been unemployed at various times and places, mostly by choice, and underemployed most of the rest. Neither proud nor ashamed of the fact. Like what a high school teacher told me long ago that if I did not change my ways and apply myself (that was the term that they used), and he was right. I did end up working for people not as intelligent as myself but far more ambitious. Oh, well. Never made much more than twenty-five thousand any one year and was never accused of being a go-getter or an overachiever. Got a book in print, a couple more in the incubator, and a whole slew of poetry and short stories and essays. Women and small animals seem to like me well enough, and I get along with most though I have trouble abiding the willfully ignorant and bigots of any stripe. Worlds gotten too small and crowded an’ life too short for that kind of shit.

    PART I

    Early Poems 2014–2017

    The North Coast

    The north coast

    called by some the lost coast

    Where Cape Mendocino thrusts its craggy eminences

    into the chill waters of the North Pacific Sea

    Long a beacon for mariners

    since the days of the Manila galleons

    laden with plunder

    bound for the coffers of Isabella

    Graveyard of ships that felt its’ rocks in the gloaming

    or foggy day

    or blown by storms

    Their wooden bones littering the bottom

    along with the souls of those who sailed them

    The ocean surrounding open to every kind of maelstrom

    and tempest conjured in the realm of the sea

    Home to many large and hungry things

    that swim in the dim-dark waters

    What lies below

    gold or the restless spirits of the drowned

    And what lurks in the fastness of the surrounding heights

    of the Kings Range and surrounding drainages

    Thrust from the sea by tectonic cataclysms

    eons ago

    There on that long unbroken beach north of Shelter Cove

    what of the semisecret, semi-mysto surf spot

    nestled in the lee of the cape

    where the winds blow offshore

    and waves break beneath towering cliffs

    amid broken headlands of jagged rocks

    where sea otters lounge in the offshore kelp

    a

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