The Crevice in the Forest

By Janusz Czubakowski

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796035681

Janusz Czubakowski

Janusz Czubakowski was born in Brooklyn, N.Y., in 1935, the second son of Polish immigrants. At 10, Longfellow’s ``The Skeleton in Armor” awoke his love of poetry. He has worked as a counter of holes in IBM punch cards, a technician for the University of Chicago library’s photo-duplication laboratory (drilling holes in concrete, among other duties) and as a copy boy on the New York Daily News. He once was obliged to subsist solely on 3 pounds of bananas a day for 11 days (they cost 6 cents a pound). He enlisted in the Army in 1955 and worked on the TB and men’s closed psychiatric wards at the hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. Eventually, he became copy desk chief for Electronic News. He is married, with one son and two grandsons, both with English accents. He lives in Maine with his wife of 50 years, Alexine.

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Copyright © 2019 by Janusz Czubakowski.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Rev. date: 05/31/2019

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Contents

An Introduction in Seven Letters

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

The Cavern In The Forest

Grandfather

Creature

The Void

Decision

Film

Composer

4:32 a.m.

Forty-five Seconds Before

Portrait III

Past Selves

People Remain

Windows

Afternoon

Improvisations

By the Tracks

Scandals

The "Wise Man’’ of the Village

Marvels

Moments

Escape

You Do Not Understand

In the Ante-Chamber

Document

Ghosts I

Master, Look

The Others

Ghosts II

Epilogue I

Epilogue II

The Dramatist

So Young

Furniture

Beyond the Weeds

Honor

The Battle

Why did they wait for him,

Fragments From a Lost Diary

Hero

A Common Tale

In Celebration

Gifts

Harvest Is Done

Schwartzschule. 1956

Twilight

After the Fatal Draught

Old Prince III

A Confusion of Images

A History

A Life?

A Life II

A Life

A Minor Note

A Moment, of an Evening

A Party of One

A Prayer

A Second-Hand Life

Creatures

Results

A Life

Agnostic

Connection

Designs, Discoveries, Decisions

Forty-five Seconds Before

Found

Fragments

Fragments IV

Fragments From a Diary

Fragments II

Fragments of a Memory

Glass I

Glass II

Harvest Is Done

I.C.U.

Interior

Narrative

News

Near

Night

The Drunk Explains

The Guardians

The Idiot’s Stone

Neighbor

Lines From Another

Three a.m.

Wonder

Preludes

1939. Aged 4

1948

1951

1958

Remembrance III

For my son, Gregg Alexis

An Introduction in Seven Letters

I

Some years ago, Ezra Pound wrote to the founder of Poetry about her reluctance to publish his work. Eventually, Pound won out but, tragically, both he and his kind of verse went mad.

It is my contention that much of present-day poetry is, as Cynthia Ozick once described it (I quote from memory), "postcard messages, brief descriptive sketches of a moment.’’ To which I would add: often written in obscure, awkward, and/or self-referential prose.

Often, the claim of such work is its difficulty.’’ I submit that the most memorable work is the clearest, whether For all the history of grief/An empty doorway and a maple leaf’’ or "I cannot but remember such things were/And were most dear to me.’’

I believe that it is time for a change; I mean a return to the traditional values of metrics, alliteration, assonance, clear and compelling imagery, and lines that end rather than slip into another like an old farceur on a banana peel.

In short, I offer these metrical, (I hope it will be apparent) layered poems for your scrutiny in the hope of stirring another Poetry revolution.

I even include a pair of monologues in the Browning style.

II

Firstly, as to form: I believe anything called poetry should have a discernible pattern of rhythm, thought, image, and any work of art should display a mastery of its medium. "Just running down the road,’’ as Robert Frost put it, is not enough.

Secondly, as to the arrangement of pieces: these poems are examples of my life’s work (I am now 83). Most have been revised many times, at different points of my experience – so there is no chronology of composition, except perhaps that of the initial thrust, which, h owever, in many cases has been transformed. Therefore, the arrangement offered here is based on variety, offering different points of view, emotional response, and length.

Thirdly, as to size: I include a cross-section of my work but would bow to your exclusions if there are simply too many pieces for any readers but the very muscular – or if there are too few, I have more to offer. (Two of my poems, not included here, were published by NYQ.)

Lastly, my life: Born in Brooklyn of Polish immigrants, I have proof-read IBM computer cards, worked as a day laborer (for all of 3 days), lived on 3 pounds of bananas each day for 11 days (I no longer indulge in that nutritious fruit), spent 3 years in the U.S. Army during a long outbreak of relative peace, and more than 30 years at Fairchild Publications as a copy editor.

At the age of 10 or 11 I encountered Longfellow’s "The Skeleton in Armor’’ and the rest, I hope, is literary history.

III

I write metrical lines of differing length because I try to make each line a rhythmic, pictorial, emotional and grammatical unit – except when it