The Fiddler & Poet Contemplates Life
Ken Waldman
What are the main challenges being a working and travelling musician/poet from Alaska?
I moved to Alaska in 1985 to begin an MFA program in Fairbanks, which I graduated from in 1988, a fiction writing emphasis. So, I wasn't born in Alaska. And after graduating in Fairbanks, I moved to Juneau for a year, then to Sitka for a year to take a job as a visiting assistant professor at the University of Alaska Southeast campus there, then moved to Nome to take a tenure track job. I got really sick in Nome, sick in a life-changing way--long story, which is the first chapter of my memoir. Quick version, mysterious illness with debilitating joint pains. I couldn't type, play fiddle, even walk very much. It took about three years to get through it, and on the other side, after stints seeking healers in Seattle, New York City, Arizona, back in Seattle, I was back in Juneau, out of money and out of work. But at least I was functioning. And I started on this path. That was 22 years ago.
In 1998, I moved from Juneau to Anchorage. As you can imagine, it's not so sustainable to be based in Alaska. Summer 2001 I drove out, and in a sense I've been driving around ever since. Though I'm still (barely) an Alaska resident, I'm rarely in state, and for now have a second home near Lafayette, Louisiana. So, while I'm nominally an Alaska resident, I'm not really there, at least for the purposes of your question. Though I talk a fair bit about the state when I perform, and for many years was fully there, I've overcome the challenges by not having to go back and forth.
"Renegade Americana" is what The Denver Post wrote about you. Is that one of the coolest labels that stuck or are there others just as awesome?
I agree that “Renegade Americana” is a pretty good title for what I do. I'm always glad when people pay attention, and write something coherent about what I do.
What inspired your poem Wedding Soup?
I think that's the one and only poem that I wrote after reading some Charles Simic poems, and I thought why not try my version of something that might have come from him.
As an artist, what’s the next step if you “Begin with dark thoughts”?
After "Begin with dark thoughts," well, that's one part of the currency for all of us writing poems. We don't have to start with dark thoughts, but we sure might.
My current project is a sequel to the collection of George W. Bush poems I wrote and had published in 2006. Donald Trump is as dark a figure as they come. Some people I know can't even bear to follow what's going on these past weeks. I'm processing it by writing a collection of Donald Trump sonnets. So, I'm having to "begin with dark thoughts."
Wedding Soup |
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Begin with dark thoughts. Add
bones, curtains, a sliver of spiderleg to taste. Throw in chickens without heads, dolls with belly buttons, toys in boxes. For extra strength, sprinkle a few whispers, several riddles, a sly bit of nowhere. Simmer the mix in factories between butcher shops and schools. When set to eat, assemble the world, and serve with hunger, two spoons, a secret. |
As a fiddler, what are the best events you’ve performed around the country and what has made them special?
I've been going around for a good while now and am blessed I know some highest level musicians. I've been having fun trying to figure how to play bigger theaters, which can be fun (though playing in small spaces for a handful of engaged listeners can be just as fun). For a number of years now I've been successfully putting together roots music variety shows.
There's a line I've heard about writing: no surprise to writer, no surprise to reader. To paraphrase it, a successful writer wants to write in a way that he or she will be surprised at the piece, so the reader will come to it, and be surprised. I like to think I've adapted that to stage. If I bring some great folks and we don't know exactly what we'll do next, that makes it all the more interesting to the audience. They all might play closer attention, since they don't want to miss the next surprise. At least that's the theory. With the bigger shows, some of that's more complicated. Just like I have a lot of favorite pieces I've written, I've had lots of favorite events.
What are the essential qualities of life in Alaska that make your fiddle tunes unique?
I play traditional tunes, the same as many people all over who play. But I've also made up (I guess I should say "composed") more than a hundred. I don't think of Alaska as making the tunes unique.
The strength of my originals is that a lot of them sound traditional in the style I'm comfortable playing, as if they were made up a century earlier.
I've been going around for a good while now and am blessed I know some highest level musicians. I've been having fun trying to figure how to play bigger theaters, which can be fun (though playing in small spaces for a handful of engaged listeners can be just as fun). For a number of years now I've been successfully putting together roots music variety shows.
There's a line I've heard about writing: no surprise to writer, no surprise to reader. To paraphrase it, a successful writer wants to write in a way that he or she will be surprised at the piece, so the reader will come to it, and be surprised. I like to think I've adapted that to stage. If I bring some great folks and we don't know exactly what we'll do next, that makes it all the more interesting to the audience. They all might play closer attention, since they don't want to miss the next surprise. At least that's the theory. With the bigger shows, some of that's more complicated. Just like I have a lot of favorite pieces I've written, I've had lots of favorite events.
What are the essential qualities of life in Alaska that make your fiddle tunes unique?
I play traditional tunes, the same as many people all over who play. But I've also made up (I guess I should say "composed") more than a hundred. I don't think of Alaska as making the tunes unique.
The strength of my originals is that a lot of them sound traditional in the style I'm comfortable playing, as if they were made up a century earlier.
When was the last time you read I Jokes and how was it received?
I Jokes, like Wedding Soup, was written a long time ago. That poem was included in an anthology of villanelles, and I've always liked that one. In certain settings I'll read it, but those settings are few and far between. I don't get to Alaska all that much, and while it might be read successfully in other settings, it takes a bit of a set-up, I think. This past April I was in Bethel AK, a community similar in some ways to Nome, a big rural Alaska place with several thousand people, and the jump-off to much more rural and much smaller places. I was doing some events there, and must have read I Jokes at some point.
In I Jokes, you write, “In Nome we say I jokes/ because even though broken,/ we've survived,… .“ From the poet’s perspective, what else can you say about the resilience of people in Nome?
What can I say about the people there (and elsewhere in rural Alaska)? It's a different culture, but people are good, bad, smart, stupid everywhere.
Nome is a far place, right there on the Bering Sea coast. Long winters, cold and windy. Nome was not primal spot; it was settled because three guys from Sweden found gold in the last decade of the 19th century. Within a few years, there were 10,000 people there. There's never been that many residents since. But the people of Nome--a mix of white and Native--survive despite the challenges.
What was the biggest internal change you experienced After the Plane Crash?
My illness time was actually much worse than the plane crash--and almost from the time of the crash, I've seen the crash as the end of the illness time, and the beginning of another period: concussion, slow recovery, a continuation on this path. I didn't get a lot of money, but received some, enough to move from Juneau to Anchorage.
A friend of mine from Haines, the writer, Dan Henry, has a line about my wreck: "Ken's plane crash? Good career move." He meant, I think, that not only did I get some money--not a lot!--but I'd always have a few stories I can tell from it.
I Jokes, like Wedding Soup, was written a long time ago. That poem was included in an anthology of villanelles, and I've always liked that one. In certain settings I'll read it, but those settings are few and far between. I don't get to Alaska all that much, and while it might be read successfully in other settings, it takes a bit of a set-up, I think. This past April I was in Bethel AK, a community similar in some ways to Nome, a big rural Alaska place with several thousand people, and the jump-off to much more rural and much smaller places. I was doing some events there, and must have read I Jokes at some point.
In I Jokes, you write, “In Nome we say I jokes/ because even though broken,/ we've survived,… .“ From the poet’s perspective, what else can you say about the resilience of people in Nome?
What can I say about the people there (and elsewhere in rural Alaska)? It's a different culture, but people are good, bad, smart, stupid everywhere.
Nome is a far place, right there on the Bering Sea coast. Long winters, cold and windy. Nome was not primal spot; it was settled because three guys from Sweden found gold in the last decade of the 19th century. Within a few years, there were 10,000 people there. There's never been that many residents since. But the people of Nome--a mix of white and Native--survive despite the challenges.
What was the biggest internal change you experienced After the Plane Crash?
My illness time was actually much worse than the plane crash--and almost from the time of the crash, I've seen the crash as the end of the illness time, and the beginning of another period: concussion, slow recovery, a continuation on this path. I didn't get a lot of money, but received some, enough to move from Juneau to Anchorage.
A friend of mine from Haines, the writer, Dan Henry, has a line about my wreck: "Ken's plane crash? Good career move." He meant, I think, that not only did I get some money--not a lot!--but I'd always have a few stories I can tell from it.
The Poet Contemplates Datacide |
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This might be what happens when you die,
a shock so sickening and sad. The whole world now emptied of those you know. It's all gone, all of it, plain done, good-bye good-bye to in-box, sent mail, drafts. You can ask why, but what's the satisfaction of “firewalls breached,” “fried servers,” “freak bugs.” No peace at all-- your back-up, too, vanished in some cloud. Why? Why? Twelve years of work. Twenty thousand names. The record of your days on computer-- the proposals, the stories, the numbers-- all threads now passed to memory, a lame airy vault. You recall a deceased friend's last email, her brave struggle to the end, the specifics now yours to reinvent. Some day, true, you'll be going where she went. For now the long task of making amends: type an address, craft a note, add poem, press Send. |
According to The Times of Acadiana you have been compared to Garrison Keillor “and the comparison fits”. How do you feel about it? Who else has served as a model for your variety shows and even lifestyle choices for that matter?
If being compared to Garrison Keillor helps me pick up a job or two, that's fine. The man has done just great for himself. But I'm certainly not him (and though we have a few mutual friends and acquaintances, the one time I met him, he treated me a bit condescendingly, so, accordingly, I'm not going to be his biggest fan).
I'm occasionally compared to the late John Hartford, fine musician, songwriter, and entertainer. As for the poetry, I'll say I'm of the William Stafford school. Anyone familiar with late 20th century poetry would be familiar with Stafford, who grew up in Kansas, spent most of his life in Oregon.
On January 5th, you presented your variety show in Redhook, Brooklyn, at Jalopy Theatre. Any surprises? Anything related to the fact that it’ll was on the first week of the New Year when people talk about new resolutions, goals, and so on?
I think there will be about 20 musicians total, spread over 8 groups. Actually it's my eighth January in a row putting something like together in conjunction with a big performing arts conference in Manhattan--and the next night we'll all be taking what we're doing to a venue within walking distance from the conference. So our Brooklyn show is a dress rehearsal of sorts. Since it's a one-time only thing--or a two-night only thing with this particular group of people--the whole thing is a bit of a surprise. As it's evolved over the years, I use my opening set as a preview for the rest of the evening, and I get to play with some amazing people. It used to be a single night in Manhattan, but four years ago we added the preceding night, which has been useful. Last year I brought in a videographer to document the show, and we'll be doing that again this year.
Any new material? There are enough moving pieces that I don't need to throw in anything. I'll just play fiddle tunes, recite some poems that are standards (for me), and maybe add a poem or two which will fit the particular evening--but it's no big deal to read something out of a book.
No, I'm not planning on anything special for the New Year. At some point, there may be reason to share some of the very new Donald Trump poems, but that probably won't be the time or the place--though I do like to give away poem postcards at my events, so maybe that's a way to throw one or two of them out there.
If being compared to Garrison Keillor helps me pick up a job or two, that's fine. The man has done just great for himself. But I'm certainly not him (and though we have a few mutual friends and acquaintances, the one time I met him, he treated me a bit condescendingly, so, accordingly, I'm not going to be his biggest fan).
I'm occasionally compared to the late John Hartford, fine musician, songwriter, and entertainer. As for the poetry, I'll say I'm of the William Stafford school. Anyone familiar with late 20th century poetry would be familiar with Stafford, who grew up in Kansas, spent most of his life in Oregon.
On January 5th, you presented your variety show in Redhook, Brooklyn, at Jalopy Theatre. Any surprises? Anything related to the fact that it’ll was on the first week of the New Year when people talk about new resolutions, goals, and so on?
I think there will be about 20 musicians total, spread over 8 groups. Actually it's my eighth January in a row putting something like together in conjunction with a big performing arts conference in Manhattan--and the next night we'll all be taking what we're doing to a venue within walking distance from the conference. So our Brooklyn show is a dress rehearsal of sorts. Since it's a one-time only thing--or a two-night only thing with this particular group of people--the whole thing is a bit of a surprise. As it's evolved over the years, I use my opening set as a preview for the rest of the evening, and I get to play with some amazing people. It used to be a single night in Manhattan, but four years ago we added the preceding night, which has been useful. Last year I brought in a videographer to document the show, and we'll be doing that again this year.
Any new material? There are enough moving pieces that I don't need to throw in anything. I'll just play fiddle tunes, recite some poems that are standards (for me), and maybe add a poem or two which will fit the particular evening--but it's no big deal to read something out of a book.
No, I'm not planning on anything special for the New Year. At some point, there may be reason to share some of the very new Donald Trump poems, but that probably won't be the time or the place--though I do like to give away poem postcards at my events, so maybe that's a way to throw one or two of them out there.