Sunday, April 24, 2005

Thomas Brush Responds

Apparently nonplussed by the honor of being Poetry Snark's first "where are they now?" poet of the 70's, Mr. Brush posted the following comment to my previous entry. I thought Mr. Brush deserved the further honor of front page air time, so I am repeating his comment here (if you haven't already seen it, you will want to scroll down and read the previous post first) :

"I, Poetry Snark, am Thomas Brush. And if you think this is humor--posting a dated photo of me along with a rather sentimental snippet of my verse--then you are a comedic milksop. First of all, that was no soft verse of whimsy--that was a poem about my brother, Keith Brush, and his brush with death at the hands of the VC. His face was nearly removed, not by LSD--like mine--but by bloodthirsty vietnamese whores. When one of them demanded more money than they'd bargained for she pulled a razor-blade out of her ear (where she'd been hiding it) and tried to slice the smile from Keith's countenance--forever! If this is to be snarked at-- you're insane! I should command the tigers of my verse to pulp your brains, Poetry Snark!

I only came upon this site because I was googling myself to find out how I did at the greater Oregon taffy festival-- for those of you who are my TRUE friends and admirers, and whom I have lost touch with, I may as well let you know--from the horse's mouth, as it is-- how I am doing and what I spend my days working on: I am a taffier, primarily, and a poet secondarily. Star Horse and I have been married 21 years and Brian is heading off to Oregon State next year to study environmental databasing. I live a quiet life. I carve, I taffy, I canoe and hike and moonlight as an amateur granola alchemist. I keep busy. Star Horse writes her boondoggles. We're getting into back-rubbing. Jogging is out--knees. I relax, I think. Lately Brian teaches me computers. They're fascinating. Brian is great. I'm working on a long poem about my family. I don't know what shape it's gonna take but it's shaping up. I like to think of poetry like a tree made of sugar--or my brain like that sugar tree, melting in the sun, taffying all of Oregon with a pale ribbon of nonchalance and impromptu synergies. If the Poetry Snarkers have a problem with that, too bad for them and I hope they can be happy in life. I really do.

Bon chance everyone,

Thomas Brush

4 Comments:

Blogger steve barron said...

The Keith Brush 'brush with death' was a nice touch.

Now what about a brush for those unruly sideburns?

3:20 PM, April 25, 2005  
Blogger Ginger Pennebaker said...

Computers are fascinating.
I like sugar.
If the Poetry Snarkers are happy
I will melt in the sun.
Relax, I think.
Star Horse, how am I doing?
I rubbed taffy out of your ear.

12:58 PM, April 29, 2005  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hi, Mr. Brush.

You were my high school poetry/creative writing teacher at Kent Meridian High School in 1974-75. Thank you for the gift of the appreciation of Dylan Thomas, Sylvia Plath and Dick Hamby. There were many others of course. I still have my PeeChee from your class and actual ditto sheets! If it wasn't for your class, I would have no positive memory of high school. Do you remember Jaybird sitting on top of the filing cabinet? Lynn Belka was my best friend. Those days were dreamy. You allowed the questioning of whoever that nameless principal was and any other "authority." Thanks!

An I am very sorry about your brother. Some of the strangest people in my life are those who survived war and all that goes with it.

Chris Henderson

5:40 PM, October 07, 2006  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, Chris Henderson...You were my classmate at Kent-Meridian High School, and I think that nameless principal was Doc Stewart, yes?

Kent Schools are the reason I now homeschool my own kids.

--Another class of '77-er

2:58 PM, November 08, 2006  

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