Sonoma County Sunday afternoons spent out at Beauty Ranch, Jack London State Park as we know and love it today are restorative — not just for writerly types, but for all who set foot on the hidden, woodsy trails through this unspoiled haven in rustic Glen Ellen.
An opportunity to take a writing class in and around Jack and Charmian's storybook cottage and recreated writing room, her House of Happy Walls that was built after she was widowed and a ramble through the redwoods to the haunting ruins of Wolf House, was, in itself, a call of the wild. A chance to step away from the desk at home.
Writer friend Alice Chan signed up to attend the class with me, several months prior. We were both somewhat startled upon arrival to discover the afternoon's distinct nudge towards spontaneous poetry.
Neither of us could recall the last time we'd taken the time to pen a poem.
Writing instructor, west country poet, author (and college professor) Iris Jamahl Dunkle is currently co-authoring an historic memoir of Charmian London, following the release of Charmian's compelling personal papers and dairies to the Huntington Library by family members. Jack wasn't the only writer on the ranch. The couple were dedicated writing companions, she wrote as prolifically as he. I can't wait to read Iris' book when it's published next year.
Iris encouraged that we take in and note each and every item of interest as we walked through the London's cottage, their private sanctuary on the ranch that has been fully restored as a museum, today.
Seated outside under the oaks, one of the afternoon's assignments was to craft a poem or a short piece of work about a single item in the London's home.
No question. I'd immediately honed in on the two Remington Noiseless typewriters in the writing room. I started my career as a reporter on a typewriter.
photos: Frances Rivetti — follow along on Instagram
Here's my humble offering of a 10 minute poem:
ODE TO THE REMINGTON NOISELESS
Black Beauty
champion of the writers room
sits sentry
in a primary pose
centered on an old and modestly sized wooden desk
the Remington Noiseless
almost, but not quite silently
ferries letters, words, sentences
across the page
three sets of carbon copies
buffer this stealthy steed
softly threading the story's journey
into physical being
ink. Blue or black
I want to sit
on the writer's chair
side across creaky wooden floor boards
dock at desk
dance digits on keys
as Jack did.
Museum-like
preserved for me to sense the essence
of the great
a room at rest
awaits a sly return of the Remington carriage
a flicker of cigarette ash
squeak of the rolling chair
music to my ears.
Inside its shiny metal carcass
a network of steel
simplest of engineering
unlike complex
mad making mechanics
of the modern writing machine.
When all of the electricity is gone
you will have your day
once again
all powerful
ever present
ink casting keeper of
the world's words
~
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