Far away and unconnected with my backdrop
an old complaint and one which follows
me around like my elongated shadow
on any winter forenoon
Thisland, Thatland, settings peopled
with shadows I never bed with, marry
I have only deep connection with you
my fellow skimmers, my loves,
immune to tangled nightmare we slide together
over the mythical landscape,
the self-embracing landscape.
There are others, I've seen them,
who actually plow the lands
and pay taxes on them
and have no complaint
They sow babies from one end of the field
to the other
become tangled in the nightmarish roots
embrace the earth people
all over the non-mythical landscapes
all over the stage set while we, you and I,
watch with relief and wonder
and other mixed feelings
in the wings.
"Far away and unconnected"
from Pubeward Youth, vol. 1
Bruce Wallace spent most of his boyhood in Dedham,
Maine, and lived much of his adult life itinerantly in Europe,
where on Mallorca in the 1960s and '70s he was a close
friend of Robert Graves. He returned to the U.S. in the 1980s
and later retired to a cabin in Cherryfield, Maine, where he
died in May 2012 at the age of 73.
His copious, whimsical and skillful autobiographical and
verse writings were published only in privately produced
pamphlets in the last years of his life. (Covers of two of the
pamphlets are shown above.) “Far away and unconnected”
closes the first volume of his most formally composed
memoir, Pubeward Youth. If interested, you may be able to
get copies; please contact Bruce Wallace's literary executor
Ian Ludders at email@example.com or
To see a video snippet of Bruce holding forth at his
Cherryfield cabin in 2009, go here. Fair warning: bawdy
language. (Video link courtesy of Dr. Rob Gorski.)
Immediately the guests were gone
his daughter insisted I look in on him.
In his crib in the darkened room
I touched his pale shoulder and his arm
and whispered his name.
My friends were out in the sunlight
saying goodbye to the visitor;
I shook my head and told Katherine
this will be our lot one day,
then rushed out to the drive
for a final word and wave.
One of my friends went off apart --
he needed a moment alone;
another shrugged and told of
an earlier meeting in Paris;
one was silent in awe;
another picked up the pieces, grinning --
Beryl tidied up, Roberto slept.
Borges Visits Graves at Canneluny 1982
from Earthly Words, Ghostly Love
on this visit to our planet
I've enjoyed myself a lot;
so much, in fact, that I've a mind
to recommend it when I get back.
Musings on Population Inflation &
Other Related Earthling Matters
CHERRYFIELD, Maine -- Bruce Michael Wallace, 73, died May 21, 2012, at his
home [on Bion Lane]. He was born Nov. 23, 1938, in San Diego, and grew up
in Tucson, Ariz. When he was 8, his mother, Maggie (Mayer) Wallace,
brought Bruce and his sister back to her hometown of Dedham, Maine.
At 16 he left Ellsworth High School to read books and study music, moving
out to Columbus, Ohio, with his teacher, Claude Monteux, son of Pierre. At
18 he joined the Army Security Agency -- the "spies" -- and was stationed
two years in Bad Aibling, Germany.
In 1960 he returned to Maine and married Marie Kelley. They had a son, Tal,
in 1962. The next year he met the painter, Alice Meyer, in Bar Harbor; she
became his second wife. Together with Tal they lived in Deyâ, on the
Spanish island of Mallorca, from 1965 until 1980, when they separated.
In 1983 Bruce moved to New York City and helped start the Manhattan
Brewing Co., Thompson Street; he served as brewer there until 1987, when
he left to live for two years with the saints of northwest Chios, a Greek
He moved back to Maine in 1989, settling eventually in Cherryfield. There
he read the "desert fathers" and conceived and followed a monastic rule of
antagonistic hospitality. He cultivated countless friendships, many of which
began as he accosted passersby from his post at the "liars' bench" in
He is survived by his former wife, Alice Meyer Wallace of Philadelphia and
Paros, Greece; son, Tal and wife, Merie, and their daughter, Cassie, all of
Deyâ, Mallorca; son, Owen Wallace-Servera of Dallas; and sister, Elizabeth
Wallace Jones and son, Bryn Jones, both of California.
He was devoted to his many friends, who in turn loved him to the end.
There will be a memorial service for his friends later. Burial will be at
Benjamin Willey Cemetery, Bion Lane, Cherryfield.
cabin by Ian
Do You Suffer from Angst
from Poemlike Verses
Do you suffer from Angst, she asked
what a silly question, why
it's my friend -- don't I
smoke four packs of them a day
Among other things I'm anxious about
the sale of my book "Sex and the Siesta"
a book devoid of Angst and full of joy
No, not at all, I replied.