Richard Hugo

In conversation, Richard Hugo left me reeling; a sense that I'd become involved with a lyric libretto. In discussion, his anecdotes - about flying in the War, or strange mountain towns in Italy - formed a circle one hadn't noticed was being made. Elements of the intangible world were things to hold in his hands.

from Death Of The Kapowsin Tavern

A damn shame. Now, when the night chill
of the lake gets in a troller's bones
where can the troller go for bad wine
washed down frantically with beer?
And when wise men are in style again
will one recount the two-mile glide of cranes
from dead pines or the nameless yellow
flowers thriving in the useless logs,
or dots of light all night about the far end
of the lake, the dawn arrival of the idiot
with catfish--most of all, above the lake
the temple and our sanctuary there?