GEOFF PETERSON AND THE SILENT BEATNIK BOOMER

Geoff Peterson

Gray, gray Monday in Vancouver Washington. No news is good news from DAW Publishing, Iowa Review or Pittsburg Press. For a couple of weeks nothing creative has entered my thoughts, but my three kids and their loved ones came for Thanksgiving, and we played Golf card game or Splendor and talked up storms. My newly-married youngest son is in love. He and she were often absent while remaining in the room, whispering and giggling together. I loved the vision of their love, even though I distinctly felt their absence from the room from time to time. At times, the rest of us disappeared for them also, I think.

I've just finished a brief memoir about arriving in 1975 to Cheney, Washington. Friend and poet Geoff Peterson plans to include the essay at the end of his newest book Archipelago which arises from the poetry he wrote during that time when we both attended Eastern Washington University to earn MFA's in Poetry. Today, as usual, inspired by a final read through of his Archipelago, I've roughed out two lushis. His work almost always triggers my own imagination, even though our styles are distinctly different. You can find most all his books on Amazon. Click on his name under the photo, read one. You can't go wrong.