in a distinct minor key
SEAscapes
By Dennis Sheehy
May 2007
Marc Swan has just published a book of poems called in a distinct minor key.
Marc, member of SEA, lives on the Hill, in a top-floor condo he purchased
with his wife, Dianne Holcomb. It is a beautiful space, which they call the
“Crow’s Nest” and it has a sweeping view of Casco Bay.
Dianne is an artist, with her work displayed throughout their apartment,
and she listens to Marc from a distance as he discusses his work. Near the end
of the interview, she sits down to join in on a lively discussion of artists and
why they do what they do. Marc and Dianne are warm, welcoming, and
quick to engage, with an energetic blend of intellect and emotion.
The cover of Marc’s book has the title (in a distinct minor key) in lower case,
black type. His name is in red, along with the word “poetry.” There is a
slightly modified picture of a painting by Dianne, showing a red chair, across
which is draped a lavender bra. Behind it hangs a red umbrella. The picture
is playful, teasing. It is an interesting counterpoint to the title, which is suggestive
of a sad, solemn, perhaps ominous tone.
Marc was born in Binghamton, N.Y., and earned his BA in Psychology
from the University of Tampa in 1968. He holds an MS in Rehabilitation
Counseling from the University of California and has done that type of
work through much of his professional career. For a period of time, Marc made
his living as a free-lance writer. It is clear in his work and his writing that
Marc cares deeply about other people and pours a great deal of energy into
nudging the human condition towards healing, towards rehabilitation.
It is also clear that he sees the side of human behavior that is cruel, insensitive,
exploitative and unthinking. He has witnessed it, has read of it, and has
written about it. Some of his favorite writers include Haruki Murakami,
William Gibson, Charles Bukowski, and Raymond Carver. Carver died
in 1988 and in 1994, Marc sent his widow, Tess Gallagher (a poet, essayist,
novelist and playwright) a copy of his first book. She was generous in
her response, but asked the question, “Where’s the redemption?”
It seems a fair question after reading several of the poems in Marc’s current
book. But is it a relevant question? Does a writer have to go from darkness
to being a Pollyanna in order to justify his writing? Can it be enough to
simply point out aspects of the human condition, hoping it will incite a few decent people to work for positive
change? Or perhaps it is enough to convey to people who have suffered:
I see. I witness your suffering and suffer in the witnessing.
One of his poems is called “Of Dogs & Men” and is quoted in its entirety:
Finally, you are home,
after a few months away,
to your apartment in a small village
with a hard sounding name
in a hardscrabble land
of dried corn, unscythed wheat,
dead cows and dogs
tongues slit and torn
from gaping mouths
In the center of the room
ripped law books, tattered clothes,
broken lamps, a slashed
couch, and human excrement
Behind a closed cupboard door
a tin of metal shavings
and nails wired, set to explode
at the slightest pull
Beside a haystack, in a yard
a few meters away,
your mother steps on the extended
hand of her brother-in-law
a last grasp
before a mound of hay
settled over his cleaved
and broken face
By his side, an elderly couple
curled like old friends,
caked round holes
directly between their eyes
The family dog
left just the way I described.
This is certainly a message to the people in that war-torn land that their plight
has not gone unnoticed. Where is the redemption? Is it offstage? Is it even
in the theater, this theater of unending human cruelty and suffering?
It is hard to say where redemption will be found in the story that has been
told. This leads to a question about the author’s motivations. He wants to
touch people, he says, “wants them to feel it.” And he does hope it will lead
to positive change. But what if the poem had never been
published, nor ever read by anyone? What if there was nobody out there
ever to read any of the author’s work? Would he still write? It is a question
that arises out of any consideration of
the creativity of individuals. Marc thinks about it for a moment and
says “Yes, I would still write.” Why? he is asked. “It is the way I process
feelings,” he says. And therein lies the answer to the question of redemption.
The author has been a witness to horror and absolutely must find a way
to process the feelings that have been evoked. At the very least, it is his own
redemption that is at stake. He smiles and says that the last poem
in his book is redemptive. It is called “Inside 28 Atlantic Street”:
when you have been bad you sit
on the small aluminum chair inside
the closet with the low green
Balinese frog by your side to hold
a glass of wine
if you haven’t been that bad or maybe
it’s when you are good that
the chair beckons
the frog, the glass of wine
all the same
city lights twinkle on the bay
quixotic
like a gaggle
of stars in a Broadway play
it’s a clear night after a week
of rain and I think
of tomorrow and what
the sun might bring.
Footnote: While this article has been about Marc’s poetry, he also
creates “envel-art.” You can see his work, and Dianne’s paintings, on the SEA members website.
Comments, suggestions or questions about SEAscapes can be directed to
Dennis Sheehy at gnomes@maine. rr.com.
To order a copy of Marc’s book please visit the website:
http://www.tall-lighthouse.co.uk/publications.html#distinct_minor_key