POWER OF POETRY

The Hocking Hills Festival of Poetry

   

Mel Bucholtz was saved from the Bronx by Walt Whitman.
First poems were published in 1963 in Roses are Red, a college anthology.
He published in the Red Cedar Review, from Michigan State University,
Lillabulero, Fire Exit, and Sumac. His book Night Animals was
published by Toad Press in 1968. His poem, The Body is The Landscape
of the Mind, appeared in The Sacred Landscape in 1986.

Mel has been on a publishing sabbatical since 1986, teaching and
practicing clinical counseling in Cambridge, MA and Europe. He has
taught poetics and personal growth at teaching hospitals in Boston
and several personal growth centers in this country.

He is returning to the public stage in the Spring of 2005, in New
England. He is Director of the Center for Optimal Learning, a
division of the Gestalt International Study Center in Wellfleet, MA.

Recent favorite book: Madras, (Oregon) Yellow Pages.
Mel is preparing an archeological team for descent into the brain
cavities of the current U.S. administration. Distant signals are
faint

                                       

 

 The Body Is the Landscape of the Mind

 

The body is the landscape of the mind;

Where the dramas of our early life

Are still happening

Or have become a kind of

Rich prepatory engendering compost -

The vastnesses remembered

As the fruitful fields, valleys, marshes,

And deserts of wisdom

Standing behind us as we are here now

Present in this way

In the moment of our lives.

 

It is a land

Where the placid and awesome features

 of the yet undiscovered wilderness

Are wildly flowering within themselves

For our unexpected future explorations.

 

And as we grow

Out of our more infantile and fearful selves

We wander into these unknown landscapes,

Transformed into those sleek, feathered, scaly and wooly animals

We really are,

The ones we are both able and needed to be

To live in those wilder, more ancient,

Unknown future parts of that farther

Uncharted dancing, tingling, glowing,

Purple thunderous, gentle

And softly rivered terrain of ourselves.

 

As told by buffalo; Moab, Utah; 1985

 

                                                          

 

 

 

 

 

"Poetry doesn't belong to those who write it, but to those who need it."
- Mario Ruoppola (Il Postino)