26 Boxes and That Much More Space

Twenty-Six Boxes of Geof Huth's Personal Papers Almost Ready for DonationI spent the entire day today, from mid-morning until a few minutes before midnight, completing the organization of my personal papers, which I'll be donating to the University at Albany tomorrow. I live under the illusion that my papers are in much better shape than they really are, and then I'm surprised into huge amounts of work in a short period of time. Yesterday, for instance, I found a reasonably large vein of correspondence running through a box that should have had no such thing inside itself. Even today, I would run across vagrant pieces of my papers that had never made it into a box, let alone a folder.

But all is well now. I'm got my papers almost perfectly in order, and a little bit of work tomorrow will complete the job. It's been a little over four years since my last donation, which wasn't in quite as good order as this one is, and it was time to make more space in the house. Looking back on the past few years through the lens that these boxes offers, I'm surprised by how many chapbooks, magazines, and other small publications pass before my eyes during that time, by how much correspondence I receive, and by how much writing I do. And these boxes don't contain any of my purely digital writing, such as this blog. They do contain some writing I do as part of my job, and I was surprised today to note that my weekly notes out to staff accumulate into the size of a small novel each year. Most of these boxes of records, however, are not evidence of my productivity, but evidence of the work of others.

Bob Dahlquist, "Canada Goose" (ca 2006)And it's often hard to give away, particularly, the works of others. But the need for space and some sense of order demands it. Right now, my third-floor office suite is almost pristine because I've removed all my papers from that floor, thrown out unnecessary papers along the way, and organized the space a little better. (It's still a mess, I'd say, but the mess is confined to the periphery of the rooms.)

But I have wonderful publications and gifts from people, most of which are leaving me tomorrow. Almost at random, I chose this piece by Bob Dahlquist to remember. Bob is a designer who makes his living designing a typographic style to identify businesses. But he is a poet as well, a poet with type, and also with words, and he puts together large-scale poetic works on blueprint. This one above is a remarkable piece, but you need to get close to it to appreciate it. Up close, you can see the Canada geese (actually, a flock of birds each represented by the term "Canada Goose") flying above and among the giant letters on this page. And up close, you can see the hawk, much smaller, flying much lower across this typoscape. But these boxes are filled with beautiful visual poetry (the complete works of Márton Koppány, for instance, and great selections of work from Jonathan Jones, Nico Vassilakis, and Carol Stetser, to name a few), truly remarkable mailart (by Roy Arenella, Angela Behrendt, and frips, among many others), and some great poetry. Also boring stuff, I admit, because these boxes represent a certain fraction of the poetry world.


Geof Huth's 26 Boxes of Records Preparing to Leave Home from Geof Huth on Vimeo.
Geof Huth talks about transferring 26 boxes of his personal papers to the University at Albany on the day before his donation.

I talk a little bit about these records in the video above. It was my attempt not to write too much tonight, but that didn't work. Still, it's best to say more than less about the work in these papers and how they have enriched my life.

And that's why I have to give them away. These are a record that others need to see. I need to make them available to others so they can live their lives fully. So I'll give these pieces of my life away sadly, but I'll be happy that the people who made them can be remembered and appreciated in the future because of this act. I'll be glad that our world will be remembered and documented for others to see. And I thank everyone, all of you, living and dead (I noticed the deceased especially today) for what you've made and how you've extended people's lives because of it.

A good poem is a reason to live.

ecr. l'inf.