ON
THE MESA : AN ANTHOLOGY OF BOLINAS WRITING
Edited by Ben Estes and Joel Weishaus
The Song Cave. 244 pages. $20. ISBN 978-1-7340351-7-9
Reviewed by Jim Burns
It isn’t clear how many of the 36 or so poets in the new collection
were there at the same time, if they ever were. I suspect not. And
the fifty year gap between the old and new anthologies surely
suggests that there have been deaths and departures, and perhaps
some of the people concerned were only short-term visitors. I’m
reminded of those coastal art colonies, so prevalent in the late-19th
century and up to the outbreak of the First World War. They often
had a hard-core of permanent or semi-permanent artists in residence,
but others came in on a short-term basis, especially during the
summer months.
So, even if we said that there were 20 to 25 poets in Bolinas at any
one time, they would only make up a small proportion of the
inhabitants of the town. I’m not sure just how many people live
there now. A glance at the Internet brings up figures that rise as
high as 1,600. Were there that many in 1971? A passing reference by
Lytle Shaw mentions 500. As for the place itself, it’s an hour or so
by car north of San Francisco and situated on the coast in beautiful
surroundings. The locals don’t encourage tourists, even to the
extent that they have been said to destroy road signs pointing to
Bolinas. There doesn’t appear to be any indication about how they
reacted in 1971 to an anthology which might have encouraged would-be
poets to head for the town. Nor whether the new edition is likely to
have any effect. A glance at entries on the internet for Bolinas
doesn’t bring up any mention of it now having a thriving community
of poets as part of its appeal.
How relevant were the poets in terms of participating in the
day-to-day activities and functioning of Bolinas? At some point in
the future someone – a sociologist, a literary scholar – might well
take on the job of investigating just what the poets did beyond
writing poetry. Lytle Shaw says he was drawn to researching Bolinas
“not just as an alternative community but as the only instance I
could think of where a town was essentially governed by poets”. And
elsewhere, he says: “poets in Bolinas sought to create an
ecologically sustainable town where anyone could be an agent of
news-making”.
It is slightly frustrating not to have detailed information about
how long the experiments in a kind of “collective” living where
“poetry was the organising feature of daily life in the town”
continued, and if it still does in any constructive way. Ben Estes
refers to Bolinas as “this very specific place in time (which)
stands for a refuge for San Francisco Renaissance and Beat poets and
prominent poets of the New York School and Black Mountain College
all living and working together, in one place, for a brief period of
time”. Again, we need an in-depth social analysis to help us
determine exactly what happened and for how long. I ought to add at
this point that Kevin Opstedal’s
Dreaming as One, which
can easily be found on the Internet, does provide a lengthy account
of activity in Bolinas between 1967 and 1980. And
Beat Scene 51 (Coventry,
2006) devoted most of its pages to an account by Opstedal and
reminiscences by some of those who had lived there.
On the Mesa
wasn’t meant to offer an account of the social side of what the
poets got up to in Bolinas, other than when it was reflected in the
poems. And it was, which may be, when reading them now, both an
advantage and a disadvantage. If you weren’t there, but wish you had
been, you might find them attractive. On the other hand, if you tend
to the view that poets ought to be out and about in the wider
community, then you may not express much of a response to poems
which rely on an awareness of individuals mentioned, or experiences
shared by a few friends, to make them meaningful. I too often had
the impression that some of the poets had little or no interest in
writing for anyone beyond their immediate circle. Bobbie Louise
Hawkins in her poem, “Depths and Heights and Sweet Red Melons”,
records that “The bottom fell out of the market/over all the plains
where melons/weren’t worth the pickings”, but has nothing to say
about the situation
other than that “Donald-Gene and me in overalls/got sick day after
day walking/the rows eating watermelon hearts”.
As with any anthology it’s necessary to move around to find the best
bits, those that have survived the passing of the years that
inevitably take the edge off most poems. Sometimes it’s the prose
that has retained its vigour. The excerpts from Joe Brainard’s
journals are entertaining. They are admittedly as full of
in-references as some of the poems, but seem able to carry them
better, possibly because what we expect of a journal differs from
what we want from a poem. I accept that some poems aren’t meant to
do more than entertain, but others frequently claim to achieve
something beyond that and when they fail to do so, it’s more
noticeable than in jottings from a journal.
Am I being too critical? One commentator is quoted as claiming that
the book contains “lost masterpieces” and specifically mentions Anne
Waldman’s “Spin Off”, but I can find little in the poem that
justifies such extravagant praise.
It seems fragmentary and with little cohesion (not unlike
other Bolinas poems), though I accept that without quoting it in
full it’s difficult to give substance to my criticism. And it has
those little naming of names – Philip Whalen, Don Allen – that the
knowing will recognise.
It may have some attributes I can’t see, but it isn’t memorable. And
a good poem ought to be, in one way or another.
What is also noticeable about the poems is that few of them show any
regard for the world outside the immediate boundaries of the poets’
lives. Yes, they observe certain concerns regarding the environment,
but it’s as if the small world they have created for themselves and
their immediate families and friends suffices. Does this indicate
that they had given up on the wider society, and they see little
purpose in commenting on it? Some of the poets may well have had
involvements with social and political matters, and determined not
to let them creep into their poetry, but it’s hard to believe that’s
the case. The biographical details I obtained about Bill Brown do
indicate that¸ in his younger days, he had experiences as a sailor
and a soldier in the Second World War. They’re not in the poems and
prose used in On the Mesa.
He obviously preferred to write about the here and now as it was in
his days in Bolinas, and slip in the names of friends in the
community. But, to be fair, he had published a book about his war
experiences, The Way to the
Uncle Sam Hotel.
John Thorpe’s “September”, a prose piece, is interesting, both as a
record of aspects of life in Bolinas past and present. It isn’t
great literature, but it is useful. Another prose piece, Max
Crosley’s “Epic Today”, would probably be of value to a sociologist
looking into the life of the community. Both Thorpe and Crosley
mention problems dealing with Social Services, which might raise a
question in some people’s minds – the contradiction in dropping out
of a supposedly corrupt society but depending on it for financial
assistance.
Aram Saroyan’s poem “Love” has charm, and Jim Carroll’s “The
Distances” is worth reading. Older readers may smile nostalgically
when they read Diane di
Prima’s “Revolutionary Letters” and Richard Brautigan’s oddball
little musings. Fifty or so years can’t help but make them seem
forever located in a time and place (60s San Francisco), but there
are still moments of relevance in what di Prima says, and a kind of
winsome charm in Brautigan’s contributions.
I suppose the same can be said for some of the other poems in
the anthology, and there is a noticeable absence of the doom and
gloom that other poets, not in the Bolinas community, seemed to rely
on. It can lay one open to criticism if there is an intense
concentration on the local, the immediate, and the personal, but
there is no law that requires poets to engage with the wider world
and its difficulties.
It was inevitable that the Bolinas group, commune, colony, call it
what you will, would eventually splinter. Poets move on in search of
new ideas. They also usually need to work at something or other
outside poetry to earn a living. I doubt that many of them, in any
case, intended to make Bolinas their permanent home.
It’s instructive to read the
Kevin Opstedal account of the Bolinas adventure,
Dreaming as One, and find
out that drugs, sex and other problems contributed to the collapse
of the dream. A history of utopian colonies will show that very few
of them survived for any length of time.
Not only poets came to Bolinas. There were musicians, artists, and
the inevitable hangers-on and drifters intrinsic to any bohemian
scene. Alcohol and drugs played a part in the day-to-day life of
many in the community. Clashes of personality, affairs, the
unwillingness of some people to do more than follow their own
interests, and economic pressures (grants and welfare payments were
becoming harder to obtain), all played their part in thinning out
the ranks of the Bolinas poets. In the end people had to move back
into the mainstream in order to survive.
Had anything worthwhile been achieved in literary terms during the
Bolinas years? Opinions will
vary, and I don’t think there was ever a particular method of
writing that might be
related to the area (poets arrived from San Francisco, New York, and
elsewhere), but as well as the anthology there is a reasonably
substantial bibliography of work by Bolinas writers attached to
Kevin Opstedal’s survey.
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