Right hand scrunched tight
into a claw, thumb out
like you need a lift,
knock the far first wire
with the right forefinger’s nail,
and knock again, brushing
strings, your meaty stub
of a thumb following to pick
that short near high G.
Bum-titty, Bum-titty,
the tick-tocka, tick-tocka
of an old pocket watch
going loco. Pulling off
a fret with your left
ring finger, hammering on,
your blood like rye whiskey
bubbling in a still,
you sit yourself outside
on the front porch to twang
this strung long-necked drum
you’ll one day frail fast
as fishtails in wild drunk time
for cross-tuned and wrecked
old-time Alaska fiddlers.
— “Learning Banjo”
These poems reflect the variety of Waldman’s experiences from his travels in Alaska in the 1990s to his reflection on September 11, 2001.
Most of his Alaskan poems center around his home city of Fairbanks, though his itinerant lifestyle figures in such poems as “A Week in Eek” and the range of his travels counts in “Hitchhiking, on Solstice, in the Yukon.
In this book Waldman also confronts the political problems of Alaska and challenges its complacency.
“His songs catch the rhythms of back country dance halls, frozen streets, plane wrecks, and love letters. Whether funny, sardonic, or outraged by political corruption, they seem to contain everything… Most importantly, they’re made from a heart that loves the earth, loves people, and loves life.”
— Frank Stewart
For the last sixteen years, Ken Waldman has lived in Alaska. He has traveled across the state and through the lower 48, reading and performing in schools, coffeehouses, bookstores, and bars.
He is also an accomplished fiddler. Often spending his time in cabin spaces, he has given his fiddling a distinctive sound, archaic and traditional, melding with the poetry and storytelling that constitute his performances.
