New Harmony is located in the southern most part of Indiana on the Wabash River. It is a town that was originated by two utopian societies, the New Harmonists and the Owenists. To be brief, an understatement, the Harmonist was your typical Puritan-like sect, in my mind, who were bought out, perhaps in more ways than one, by secular humanists and suffragists, among others.
Today, the retreat town bears the fruit of both heritages.
The town radiates a kind of justice to the eye in its beauty. Everywhere one looks there is either a piece of sculpture, a beautiful quote to read, a sanctuary garden, a fountain, or a bench to sit on. Not to mention the town's period buildings, such as the Granary; or the Roofless Church, the Labyrinths, the Workmen's Institute and the modern architectural prize, the Antheneum. And yet there is something "Steppherd Wivesy" about the place. There are only 700 or so denizens, who get around in gold carts, and wave and smile like the inhabitants of the village in the 1960s TV series The Prisoner.
Some of the writer's wondered where all the children were. The absence of laughter or the sound of dogs, made it seem as all the boys and girls and pets were secreted away, only allowed out at night. After poking around, I did locate a child friendly street. I walked to the very southernmost block in the town, before the cornrows begin. In a town the size of New Harmony, it isn't hard to do. However, I did notice the gardens in the front yards were not so nearly as meticulous as in the blocks before. Three bikes were tossed carelessly on the ground in front of a trailer house. Furthermore, two middle school boys, one pudgy specimen with a falsetto voice, walked up the street towards me. Obvious nerds, I longed to join in their smart sounding conversation that belied their John Deer hats and wife beater t-shirts (don't blame me for the sobriquet). Continuing up the street, one young girl about 11 in a flurry of pink shorts passed me. As I turned to head back to the Red Geranium for supper with several adults, I spied a blue, plastic, swimming pool with fishes on the side, tucked reassuringly on the lawn of a backyard.
The interesting thing about the workshop--it seemed to be a proving ground for student writers to fawn on established luminaries. Children after all. (Perhaps a misplaced modifier.) Even so, three different young people said to me that I reminded them of their mothers. I remain deeply touched. One lent me three of his own poetry books for three years. I am not kidding about the three's. Inside one of the books was a typed, but personal letter of encouraging words. No one has ever favored me in this way. Again, I felt moved.
Ironically, I left the retreat a day and a half early. My own daughter needed me. And as always there is so much more to tell.
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4 comments:
I can confirm your observations of New Harmony beyond the historic district. I did find evidence of children, of yards cluttered with bicycles and toys. But they were pushed beyond the normal tourist traffic.
I'm sorry you left early. This is what you missed:
On the social front, one event brought together groups of Ropewalkers to fill in a lull on Saturday’s afternoon schedule. We were encouraged to commit random acts of poetry and prose on the local populace at various downtown sites. We would walk in, introduce ourselves, and commence to oralizing our written words. The crowd at Church Street Coffeehouse tolerated us. That encouraged us to try The Yellow Tavern, whose patrons cleared out halfway during our reading. Naturally, we all had to order beers to make up for the lost business.
Because of standing floodwaters in New Harmony, swarms of mosquitoes danced in a frenzy fueled by the blood of alcohol-addled poets and caffeinated novelists. Everywhere, the residents of New Harmony gardened, drove golf carts and waved at visitors. There was a lot of interaction between the residents and Ropewalk participants -- so much so that I got to witness a seamy side of the smiling townsfolk on a Saturday night at the American Legion post. But I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’ll just say it could have involved a local man who wore running shorts and cowboy boots.
Hey, I wanted to share the poem with you that I workshopped at New Harmony. I'll post it. You should send me one of yours.
I forgot to indicate that the first poster was me, JL (not anonymous). Anyway, I'd like to see your poem. I would post my poem, but I had one disqualified for publication because it appeared on a Google search. So ... How about I send you one by e-mail instead?
Sorry I thought you were someone else. Who is this exactly? I was glad to receive the tip about posting poetry on the internet. I would be happy to exchange poems via email. Amy
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