Most Hustle & Desire

If you don’t like solitude, don’t be a writer. But even if you like solitude, you should like people because they’re people and you need something to write about. Plenty of people stop to see the museum in the house, shop in the barn, or walk the newly restored poetry trail. They’ll be sure to sit on your front porch describing the mountains in adjectives even you wouldn’t use: beautiful, stunning, marvelous, gorgeous, majestic, something else. And they’ll say how inspiring it must be to write here. Then, a woman will read the sign out front, making a general announcement to all within earshot: “1 to 5 p.m. (except Tuesdays). At other times, if you walk the grounds, please respect the concentration of the resident poet living and working in this house.” And a man will answer: “There’s a what?” Woman: “A poet.” Man: “A poet?” Woman: (Raising the volume of her voice) “It says here, ‘please respect the concentration of the resident poet living and working in this ho...

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  Busting through a 30 below wind-chill, they stretch the distance, hooves throwing snow, nostrils flaring, manes shaking loose. Until at the abandoned road, they brake: fences nowhere. The poem above is from my book Poor Manners , which made it to the desk of Jim Harrison . He wrote back October 29, 2009, “Dear Adam Halbur, After six months of drafting a novel I sorted the piles of mumble-jumble on my desk and uncovered your wonderful book of poems which at first intrigued me of my Swede immigrant relatives who farmed in Mecosta County. The poems are on the money as they say. I go to drown in often unpleasant memories. I note that you are in Japan? Always wondered why they are frightened of garlic? –Yrs. Jim”