The Poet at Nine knew poets to be wrinkled beings with crazy white hair who seemed to possess some power others didn’t have. At nine he did not write poetry, was a weak student, but may have intuited the world is a poem in need of deciphering, that poetry might be the only way to know. He kept busy catching baseballs, climbing trees, gazing into the sky, daydreaming. He could stare into a pond for a long time watching darters flit briefly into view, then vanish as if real even when unseen.
Stuart Bartow lives in the Taconics region of New York state where he chairs the Battenkill Conservancy, an environmental group working along the New York-Vermont border. His most recent collections of poetry are Green Midnight, published by Dos Madres Press, and Invisible Dictionary (haibun), published by Red Moon Press.