Rick Kearns

Last month, Mayor Eric Papenfuse named Harrisburg native Rick Kearns as the city’s new poet laureate, the first Latino to be so honored. Amidst his busy schedule, Kearns, a professor and tutor at HACC, made some time to tell us about his craft, his culture and his new position.

TheBurg: How did you get involved in writing poetry and where did you initially find success doing it?

Kearns: I was drawn to poetry when I was still very young. I was a kid, maybe 8, 9 years old. I enjoyed what I heard because of the music in the language. That was the first thing that attracted me. The second thing was the ideas. But the format attracted me, and I was always attracted to music. I’ve been a part-time jammer since I was a little kid. So, that was where it began, and I was writing off and on from maybe age 12 to forever from that point on.

As I grew older and came to know a bit more about the Puerto Rican side of my family and the situation of Puerto Ricans here, it sort of politicized me. I began to see poetry as a way of telling that story. For instance, when I was, remember now, I’m 56, so in the late ‘60s, early ‘70s, as I was coming of age, the only Puerto Ricans I saw on movies or TV or anything, they were either criminals or just foolish, negative characters. And I wasn’t seeing any of the people I was relating to on the screen. That’s how I got to know about racism in general, and I got to know about racism against other people of color because a bunch of my friends were African American. So, I was sort of politicized, and I was using poetry to express myself in that direction.

For instance, my mother was a professor. She spoke six languages. My grandfather was a hardware salesman who loved his job so much that we had to fight with him to get him to stop working when he was in his mid-70s. I didn’t see that reflected in the media, and I rarely see it today. It’s not as bad as it was, but it was pretty bad.

So, that was part of what drew me in. But, as I got to know the art form more, I began to study it more, and I was influenced by all of the great U.S. poets as well as some of the English poets. When I started to study Spanish, I began learning about the Spanish poets and Puerto Rican poets and then poets of color in this country, meaning African American, Native American and Puerto Rican and Latino. So, all of that stuff together was influencing me, and I think it’s been reflected in my work.

TheBurg: What language do you primarily write in?

Kearns: I write in English. I was raised in English in an English-speaking household, but I grew up knowing Spanish. But I didn’t have to write it, and I didn’t have to speak it that often. So, when I got to college, I decided to study it so that I could read about, for instance, Puerto Rican history, Puerto Rican literature, in Spanish, because the only place you could find any information was in texts in Spanish. So, it was through studying Spanish that I got to know that world better. I became fluent enough that I’ve been able to do some basic translating and interpreting. And, along the way, I learned some French and Italian, and I’m married to a Brazilian, so I’ve learned some Portuguese.

So, I love language, and I really have enjoyed learning these other languages. And I’ve also found that it’s given me a better appreciation of the relationship between language and meaning and feeling, in that I can tell you that I’ve read certain poems in Spanish, then seen translations of them, and I know the translations are missing something—and vice versa. I’ve read, for instance, American poets translated into Spanish, and I can see some things missing there. So, that was another thing that emphasized to me that power of language. And it’s been fun; I’ve really enjoyed it. And I’ve also found that the poetry that I’ve been writing has been somewhat educational to various folks who’ve heard my work. So, I’ve read my poems in rural settings, where nobody has seen hardly any people of color. Or I’ve read in some suburban settings, too, where the folks haven’t been exposed to or know about Puerto Rican writers, for instance. And, like I said before, things are a bit better now, but, in other ways, we’re having similar battles right now. There are a whole lot of Latino kids going to school in Harrisburg High School. There’s little or nothing in their literature courses talking about writers of Puerto Rican or Dominican or Mexican heritage writing in this country or writing from their countries. So, the battle isn’t over. These are some of the things that I’ve been engaged with, aside from just trying to be a better writer, trying to develop my craft and pay attention to that.

TheBurg: What do you find yourself writing about frequently?

Kearns: If I were to generalize, I would say it’s just people’s stories, stories of the lives of not-so-famous people. I found myself, aside from writing about famous situations or people, writing a number of stories about people who are on the margins, or who just aren’t famous, just so-called regular folks. I think, if I was to generalize, that’s what I’d say. I write about everybody, and I’m drawn to stories, personal stories. And, every once in awhile, I go off on these little themes. In the last three years, I’ve written maybe 10 or 11 poems that all involve crows. So, I’ve written about crows, also using crows as a symbol of other things. I’ve also written pieces that are sort of dedicated to certain people. I wrote a poem to my mom, which was really a very emotional thing. She was an amazing person. It was about nine or 10 years ago when I wrote it. It was around the time that these friends of hers had put together a little testimonial dinner for her. So, I wrote a poem for her. But, before that, I already had written a poem for my grandfather. I had written a poem to certain famous people, where I just sort of addressed them and tried to ask them questions. For instance, this guy, who was fairly famous in Puerto Rico a long time ago was a guy named Pedro (something) Campos. I wrote a poem to him that got published in a few places. The poem that the mayor read was a poem that I wrote to Dr. Martin Luther King. I was addressing him, in a sense. So, some of the poems I write are sort of dedicated or directed. So, those are some of the different themes.

TheBurg: How did it come about that you were named poet laureate of Harrisburg by Mayor Papenfuse?

Kearns: I got to know Joyce Davis [Papenfuse’s communications director] a few years ago. I met Joyce, and she was telling me about her organization—the World Affairs Council. Eventually, she told me that the upcoming Martin Luther King Day celebration involved the winners of a poetry contest, and would I like to read a poem there? And that was last year, in 2013. And I said, “You know what, Joyce, I’ve been meaning to write a poem to Dr. King, so yeah, I’m going to do that.”

So I wrote a poem for that event, and I came and I read that poem, and I read the mom poem. I read the poem for my mom. At that point, she was very ill, and it was this past year that she passed. I was also grieving at the time. So, I read those poems. They were very well-received by Joyce and those folks. And then it was a couple months ago, maybe a month or so ago, that Joyce wrote to me and was telling me about the inaugural and that there would be a poet laureate and that she wanted to nominate me. And I said, “Well, thanks, Joyce.” I had no idea what my chances were or anything like that. And, honestly, I really didn’t think it was going to happen. But she said, “OK, send me your information and send me a poem.” So, I sent her this thing that’s like a poet’s CV, it’s called a literary bio. I sent her my bio, and I sent her the King poem. And, a few weeks after that, I got an email from her saying, “OK, tomorrow, I’m sending you the letter signed by Mayor Papenfuse, saying you’re going to be announced.” Apparently, he really liked that poem. And I had no idea—I mean no idea—that he would want to read it. At the event, as he’s about to introduce me, he looks and says, “Rick, by the way, could I read this poem?” I said, “Of course.” You know what, he did a really good job. He did a fine job. So, it was a very nice surprise. I didn’t expect the honor, and I especially did not expect that the mayor would like the poem enough that he was going to read it. So, yeah, it was very nice, and I got a lot of reaction from a variety of friends, people in school and other writer-friends of mine in various parts of the country.

TheBurg: So, what types of responsibilities come with that title?

Kearns: Well, I was kind of hoping for a cape, but there’s no cape [laughs].

No, it’s very vague. I was told that I would be asked to represent the city at some literary events. And sometime in the future, at some arts-related events, I will probably be asked to participate. But, at that ceremony where the mayor handed me the proclamation and so forth, I did say that I would like to help develop creative writing or poetry workshops in the barrio and in city neighborhoods. So, one of the things I’m hoping to do with this new platform is to promote the idea of creative writing and other arts programming for kids in this city. And I have done some of that in the past, but unfortunately keeping arts programming going almost anywhere is tricky, especially in poor neighborhoods. Funding and everything else is very iffy. But I taught at least four writing workshops in the Latino neighborhood and one or two others in other parts of the city in the early ‘90s. And, as a result of those experiences, I know that they can have a really good effect, a long-term effect, on the kids who participate and, to a certain degree, their families. And I’ve also taught creative writing at the college level. I’ve taught at HACC. I taught many years ago at the Pennsylvania School of Art and Design in Lancaster. And I taught a really neat seminar course at Rutgers, back in the mid-‘90s. And it’s a wonderful job when you can get it, to teach creative writing. But, right now, a lot of people are looking at this time in the city as a time where, OK, let’s start over, let’s try something new. And I think, in that environment, it’s going to be easier, in a sense, to get people’s attention, at least, to the idea of this arts-focused programming. So, I’m hoping that, aside from maybe reading at events in the next four years, I can get one or two of these workshops going. That’s what I really would want to do.

TheBurg: What do think of the state of the writing arts in Harrisburg? What do you think we might need?

Kearns: Starting in the early ‘90s, and up until today, there have been reading series and poetry in the city almost continuously. And, right now, there are one or two others right on the West Shore. So, I’d say that the state of poetry in the city, in that sense, is healthy. It’s very healthy. There’s a nice scene here, and there has been a nice scene. Some talented folks have come and gone, and some are staying. So, that part of it is really good.

But the problem is that the art of poetry, in general, has not been supported financially. This is the old story of the arts, that very talented people can go throughout a whole career without getting compensated or recognized. And that problem still exists. It’s getting funding for arts; it’s getting funding for poetry, for music, for dance. On the one hand, there is a vibrant scene, but it’s still very tenuous because of getting funding to develop a series to pay writers, to perform, to cultivate their art. That’s what’s missing. There a saying we used to have back in the day, which I still throw around a lot, which is $2 and a great poem will buy you a small order of fries. It’s basically still true, but, I think, with myself promoting the arts when I can, and more folks hearing about these reading series and about these local poets, I have some hope that that will result in encouraging political leaders to reinvest in the arts because, without going into too much detail, this has always been a problem in this country, especially around poetry. But, starting with the mid-to-late ‘80s, there was an attack on arts funding at the federal level. Federal funding took a huge hit. It was replaced in part in the 1990s, but then it got chewed away again. I think, for instance, the NEA budget was something like $80 or $90 million. The city of Paris spends $1 billion. The city of Paris spends $1 billion on the arts. The United States total has a federal allotment of $90 million. The city of Munich spends close to $1 billion. And they know the results. The arts bring in tourists. It generates income. It helps other businesses. And it’s healthy for the culture. It’s healthy for the intellectual life of the country. And I guess I’m hoping that that message gets through, that the arts are good in and of themselves, but that they have these other benefits. If we can get enough people to understand that, things will improve, at least a little bit.

The Moon Rides a Black Horse  (for Lorca)

The moon is

riding along

the shore

thinking violins

and howling wolves,

the moon is

riding a black horse,

looking for a widow

who sings

the deep song

llanto of

the unforgiving sea,

buleria of

smokestacks and

isotopes.

The moon

wants a good

red wine

and a woman

who can dance.

Crow Dish TV

Crow is speaking to me

but I can’t understand what he’s saying.

Crow sits on top of

chain-link fence of

my back yard he’s

flown down from

neighbor’s roof where

he and 10 more large

pitch black crows sit on and

around Mr. Moody’s

6-foot diameter TV dish.

Hitchcock would love this

but it’s making me nervous.

Crow is screeching now, louder

and I’m getting the idea that

he’s found a way to

intercept TV waves he’s

pissed off at what we’ve done

to, well, everything and so

he and his family are

addling us through the eyes

lucky for them, doesn’t take much

to make us stupid

but Crow

is still pissed off

he wants more of a challenge

this is too damn easy

is what I think

he’s saying now

or maybe he’s telling me

something else that will

re-appear in one of my

animal dreams

again

I ask him to please

do something other than

Reality TV and he screeches

And flies off, back to the

gang by the dish, they

commence to caw in a

raucous fashion

I’m guessing they’re

laughing at me

again.

I go inside

turn on the box.

Nothing has changed.

I say out loud

to no one in particular

‘Damn, we’re screwed.’

Crow’s Midtown Battalion

They swoop in from the south.

Targeting the cars of

state workers and

apartment dwellers

on a side street

near the capitol.

Multi-colored splatter.

Crow has a new hobby

He and his

Midtown Battalion

align themselves on the

telephone wire that runs

just above the unlucky vehicles.

At the same time of day

just before dusk and

maybe there’s another pattern.

It does happen in sequence

probably follows a melody.

No one interested in

transcribing this one.

Crow has a new hobby

He’s tired of banking.

People in Small Rooms

 “5. Something that you feel will find its own form”  J. Kerouac

I knew it was there

Connection

Kid wearing tie and fancy shirt

normally dressed in jeans

I asked,

“Court date?”

He looked at me blankly.

You smiled and said

“Wow, haven’t heard that one

  for a long, long time.”

We were

the only ones laughing at this

and became friends

allies from a place

where ties used to mean

Police

DA’s

Bikers in court

people in tight places

and small rooms.

Missing You, As Usual, In the Wintertime

Hidden in the trunk of the Ausubo

floating through the house in Las Lomas

riding the blood blossoms of

the flamboyan inside the

guitar

Boricua

Puerto Rican

Latino

Hisss-panic

All these words

don’t catch the smell

or spark or the

goose bump charge volt

rumbling up my spine

and through my head

when I think of you

Borinquen,

Puerto Rico

and I think of you

Puerto Rico

As I sit in front of

this computer screen

wrestling articles out

of actions, statistics

subtle assaults and the

sulfurous vapor coming

out of politicians’ mouths,

I dream of you

my beautiful

brilliant

deranged country.

I make do

trying to

help my young

cousins deal with

the language of

industrial consonants

the language of

Shakespeare, Updike

and of Espada and Soto,

of Martin Luther King

and of

English-only paranoia

the language of lynching.

I remember sea breezes

when I shop the bodega

for cafe puro, bacalao

candles with San Lazaro

and enormous plastic dolls

wrapped in clear sheets

enormous Indian chief

figures designed as if

there were still Tainos in

Puerto Rico

and the secret is,

there are.

There in Vega’s

“Spanish American Grocery”

There in my

mother’s house

There on the

street in front of

the church on Market St.

Inside the yautia

in the air above the

cinammon colored girls

laughing in the doorway,

in the roar of the

engines gunning down

Derry Street,

I see you

Borinquen.

I cry for you

and my blood that

has returned to

your earth Puerto Rico

I cry for Abuelo

my Mom

for Tio Raul

for the people

and the things not

here not now not

within

reach

Puerto Rico

I’ll be looking for you

again

tonight.