Peter J. Harris leaves a resounding legacy in memories of astounding performances of the poet's work. Every performance offers a constant reminder that Harris is a consummate reader and interpreter of poetry, one of the language's two best male readers.
La Bloga is privileged to have shared Peter J. Harris, the man and his work, witnessed at his September 2023 farewell reading, when Harris and his Altadena Co-Poet Laureate Carla R. Sameth, concluded their two-year service. The event also marked Harris' goodbye to his longtime Southern California home. (Click the link below to read the full account.)
Hail and Farewell forms the heart of an evening's poetry reading with Altadena, California's co-Poets Laureate, Carla R. Sameth and Peter J. Harris (link to biographies). The audience quickly fills every seat and staff bring more chairs, and more people arrive. There's a buzz in the air, electric excitement you feel on rare occasions. Something Significant occurring here.
The news had reached many attendees: Peter Harris is really sick. Peter Harris is hospitalized. Peter Harris might not attend his own reading. Tonight, Peter J. Harris sits at the front of the room. He's using a 4-wheel walker and a cane, looks frail. The Poet takes the lectern. He shares his news: Peter Harris is moving to Florida.
Familia and friends have thronged to be with the poet this important, landmark evening. https://labloga.blogspot.com/2023/09/hail-laureates-atque-vale-peter-j-harris.html
The two poets reading in a local bookstore I'd never set foot in offered a powerful lure. Luis J. Rodríguez and Peter J. Harris need to be experienced in writing and in person and together, and they were reading in Pasadena at Battery Books at the city's least amenable to foot traffic address. Siri knew where it was but damned if I had confidence in where she was leading me. But I have an imperative tonight. It's the night of the day my wife went into Memory Care and just like that, I am living alone.
Tonight, I test my sea legs as an independent entity. I'll deal with the guilt later, at having fun and being out among 'em without her. We hadn't done much going out the past few years as the Alzheimer's progression expressed itself by fatigue and agoraphobia. Gente came to Casa Sedano and that's how we got our poetry read aloud, the Living Room Floricanto.
These guys write kick-ass poetry. These guys write break-your-heart-for-all-sorts-of-reasons poetry. Poetry that breaks your heart for its stories and voices of tragedy, privation, desperation, love. Poetry that breaks your heart for being il miglior fabbro stuff. Rodríguez is the emeritus Poet Laureate of the City of LosAngeles, that kind of quality. I don't know why Harris hasn't been named to a Laureateship, that breaks your heart.
Eulogies to il miglior fabbro
The extraordinary poet, activist, and wonderful human being, Peter J. Harris, has passed. I send my deepest condolences to his family and countless friends and admirers. He was also a dear friend. We met 44 years ago at the University of California, Berkeley where we were part of the 1980 Summer Program for Minority Journalists, an 11-week training program. He was my roommate in the university dorms. The program consisted of young writers of color from all over the United States. Peter and I also had two small children each. Mine were six and four when I entered this program. His were in Washington D.C. Mine in East Los Angeles. Twenty-six years old, I no longer had a wife or a family, although my children were constantly in my heart, and I had to forge a loving relationship with them despite a messy breakup and years of abandonment on my part. Peter and I talked about this: love, children, broken relationships, being imperfect in our responses, and then what we had to do to become the fathers they needed. Too many wrongs can make right, but it takes work, dedication, and love, love, love. I have had a hard time, but I'm now good with my oldest children (and two other sons, five grandkids, and seven great-grandkids). I know Peter has filled this gap as well. More importantly, while we struggled to be journalists of color at a time when we were less than three percent of U.S. newsrooms, we both also became renowned poets. While I lived in Chicago for fifteen years, when I returned to Los Angeles I was glad to know Peter was already here. We renewed our friendship, and took an active part in this city's expansive poetry scene. I was also honored to publish Peter's powerful poetry collection "Bless the Ashes" with Tia Chucha Press (link), my small press (now 35 years old), also part of a larger cultural space and bookstore known as Tia Chucha's Centro Cultural & Bookstore (link). Peter was not only a friend, but one of the most amazing poets. More importantly he was generous of heart, a sweet soul. He fought for happiness in a world that didn't seem to have much. He was about spreading joy; he was joy. I honor Peter J. Harris, griot for the ages.
Link to the Press: http://www.goldenfoothillspress.com/ |
Once, I gave Peter J., a ride to his home, after a poetry reading in East Los Angeles. We were in my convertible BMW. The air was brisk, the sky, an emergence of firefly’s and stars. I was in my dark mode (as usual) existential angst, this uselessness I felt, about writing, about poetry, and the thought of death was so overwhelming. And he was patient as a seasoned doctor, always on call. I, then, reminded him, that all of this was in contrast to the sheer optimism in his writing, the love he had for his community, for all of us-his poetic and precise love for life itself. He responded with Patience. Patience for an old poet, 59, going on 15., “What is important here,” he said, as the night sky breeze chilled our faces, the wind ruffled through his sheep’s pelt hair…“It’s all about, happiness.” He said. And he looked over at me and grinned. It was that look that Vic (my brother) would give me when my observations were off put, that it might be time for me to shut up and listen. Besides, it was foolish of me, to act out my fears, before legendary poet. A man, who had already risen from such nonsense. “Happiness.” This is the word. This is what makes the ink, worthy. And so, on the way, Pasadena is green. Greener than I have ever imagined. Even though, I passed through, many, many, times-this time, the hues were vamped, like someone sloshed on the landscape with a photoshop saturation brush. And the streets are shimmering, tar mirrors from a rain that was less than a mist. And when we stopped at the entrance to his home, he said to me; “Always write, and consider happiness,” as he gathered his books and a few tattered notebooks, crunches them to his chest and opened the door. And in my trek to my own home, I took the 210 Freeway, East, and to my left, the soft outlining of foothills and behind them, the dark blue bold of snow peaked mountains, I felt the permanency of it all, how something’s in life, remain, always remain.
3 comments:
Thank you, Michael Sedano, for taking these varied, individual threads---our heartfelt reflections on how Peter entered our lives---and weaving them into a warm, radiant tapestry suffused with Peter's goodness and profound humanity.
Nice. So honored to submit. Peter J Harris lives!
Peter J...my best little brotha from another mother/poetry partner in the crime of speaking up and out in metaphor and sometimes rhyme...this angel with wings of words in Taurus and DC ceremony, sanctified language with the instruments of spirit and song, and always a choir...good taste in music AND GOOD VEGAN FOOD...I know this is a run-on sentence, but we were SENTENCED TO LIFE in this mug, this literary love he called VOICE MUSIC FOR WHOLE LIVING...it's the reason he is ETERNAL like earth, wind, and fire soundtrack of this existence, HE, DID THE DAMN THING and left evidence to prove it, and we / I am grateful to bear witness and am willing to TESTIFY on his behalf, that he LOVES HIS CHILDREN, HONORED HIS PARENTS, had GOOD HOME TRAINING, and was serious about LOVE being our nationality...now he continues to unfold into the realm of the invisible and INDIVISIBLE, the space of the ancestors, and takes his place among the heroes we will ALWAYS CHERISH and REMEMBER. I loves me some Peter Jonathan Harris.
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