A Colorful Rainbow of Colors

Polish Fingers
In an Interview with Edmund Callipeaux
27 February 2016
(Thanks to Jeremy S. and Grant W. for help with this post.)

The Introduction

When I was asked to interview Edmund Callipeaux about his life as a poet, I thought to myself: I didn’t know Edmund wrote poetry! However, as I was soon to learn, Edmund has had a long and storied career as a writer of poetry, winning a number of national and international awards (including several Pulitzer and Nobel Prizes for Poetry). In 1999 he began a charitable foundation for the advancement of poetry in K-12 education, and evidently, since he was a child, he has been secretly working as a wordsmith.

With all his success and notoriety, Edmund has eluded identification by writing under the alias of Edward Charbonneau. A quick Google search of Charbonneau reveals a litany of accomplishments and publications in the world of poetry, including many books of collected poems that I as an avid reader have in my personal collection! So, after much surprise and shock, I was able to sit down with the famed Ed Charbonneau, or rather, Edmund Callipeaux for an in-depth interview, and, as it would happen, it was on the eve of the publication of his much-anticipated slim volume of poems, A Colorful Rainbow of Colors.

The Interview

So Edmund…or should I call you Edward?

Ed is fine as usual. Thanks.

Thank you. So, Ed, I’m still a little shocked that I’ve known you for more than 20 years and I’ve never guessed that you were writing poetry all this time. That’s an accomplishment in and of itself; I’ve been reading the work of Ed Charbonneau for years and years, and I’ve never imagined that Charbonneau was your alias!

Well, Polish Fingers, I guess it never came up. For me, I’ve just been doing what I was born to do, and self-promotion never seemed that important. So, it’s not that I kept it a secrete, as I just never told anyone about my poems. Ed Charbonneau was a name, or alter ego, that I invented as child, and so it just happened that way. 

Interesting. Is that where it all began…when you were a child?

Yes, I think so. While all the other children were going to Boy Scouts or playing Little League baseball, I was drawing and writing poems with my friends. It started like that… always drawing and writing; creating new worlds with our imaginations.

You’ve been called the “Michelangelo” of the poetry world. How did that comparison come about?

Well, Polish, Michelangelo would talk about how as a sculptor he would “free” the image that was within the block of marble. Giorgio Vasari wrote about it in a Renaissance-era book called, the “Lives of the Artists”. Michelangelo would take the biggest, most gigantic block of marble, eye it up and down, side to side, and begin with his hammer and chisel to chip away, bit by bit, until all the excess stone was removed and the statue was the only thing that remained standing.

So it was as if the statue was trapped in the block and he would free it from its prison?

Yes, exactly. People would walk by his studio day and night and they’d hear, “chip, chip, chip, tap, tap, tap, chip, chip, chip….” He’d be in there at 3 o’clock in the morning, chipping away, trying his best to remove the marble without damaging the sculpture within. One chip too many and a priceless masterpiece would be ruined forever!

Wow.

Can you imagine? Chip, chip, tap, tap… he would work on these things for years. He spent 2 years on the David statue. Chip, chip, chip, tap, tap, tap. Once he was done with his chisels, he would use finer tools like a small stone or rasps to finely shave the marble away. Shave, shave, scratch, scratch, scratch. As he worked day and night, he would use even finer tools like straps of leather to take away the last little bits of stone and to polish the marble smooth and to a highly reflective surface.

Incredible. I can’t imagine spending that many hours, days, months and years working on one masterpiece.

I can. That’s why they call me the Michelangelo of Poetry. The process is very important to ensure perfection. Michelangelo’s neighbors probably thought he was crazy when he told them that he was going to spend months polishing the David statue with finer and fine grades of small stones, leather, and then even chamois cloth. I wouldn’t have thought him mad though, I would have probably offered to help, but I know that he would have refused; our work is a solitary craft. 

And so as a poet, how are you like Michelangelo the sculptor?

Well, I work much in the same way as the Maestro, only I do it in words and not stone.

You take a block of words and chip away at them to reveal the poem within?

Yes, in a way that is exactly what I do. Where Michelangelo had the stone, I have the language. I chip away with my chisel to reveal the poem within.

Only your block is more of a metaphorical block of the language.

No, it’s not metaphorical at all, it’s a dictionary; it’s actually quite literally a block of words.

No! You mean to tell me that you write by taking a dictionary and you remove words until you’re left with only words of the poem?

Yes, rather than Michelangelo and his chisel going tap, tap, tap; I have an Exact-O knife and a lot of erasers.

So you cut away each word, one by one?

Yes, one by one, day in and day out, month by month, year by year. I chisel away at dictionaries, removing all the unnecessary words to reveal the poems within. Depending on the size of the dictionary, this process takes between 1 and 3 years for each poem. This new book took me 23 years to write.

Wow. That is something! So, speaking of the new book, “A Colorful Rainbow of Colors”, I have an advanced copy here with me…. Would you mind sharing some of the poems with our readers today?

No, I am glad to share the poems. We can share some of them and then talk more about the process if you’d like. It feels good to talk about the book as it was an arduous endeavor, and it really drained me mentally and emotionally. 

And I see that the text includes all the editors notes?

Yes, I believe that the process of writing and editing must be as fluid as possible, so we leave in all the notations so that the poem reads in its shear, raw form.
 
Okay, wow, here we go, this first one is titled, Black.

***FOR IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION****

In the absence of light,
There is black.
Nothing is black.
And as light cannot pierce my skin,
My heart is black.
Absorbing light and without light,
Now/here is black.


Wow, powerful. Can we see one or two more and then I’ll have some more questions?

Sure…. These are White and Grey:

***IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION***

Without white,
there are no words.
And so in white's absence
I use no words
Accept these words
Words of loss
Words to be archived
Words of white.


Attn: EDITOR IN CHIEF, re: Presidential Medal for Love Poems

In the language of color,
The word for love is grey.
Soaring like an golden eagle,
The silver moon knows
Only one word:
Grey.
And so the vengeful moon knows love.
Therefore,
Never turn your back on the moon.

Yes, that was Grey. That poem took me 28 months to discover with my Exact-O knives and erasers. It’s the only actual love poem in the collection.

So tell me more about the dictionaries and the process. Does it matter what dictionary you use?

Yes and no. Yes in terms that the larger dictionaries take many more months and years of work to reveal the poem. But no in terms of the content of the poem that is revealed due to the edition of dictionary. Take for example the dictionary used for the poem called “Yellow”, I began with an Italian language dictionary. I had a strong feeling that “Yellow” was within the text, and I needed to trust that feeling as that is all I have. 

You begin with a feeling?

Yes, feelings are all I have, and so I must begin with a feeling. It is no surprise to me that feelings are what I write about. People say to write about what you know, and I know my feelings; it’s all I have, really.
 
So what happened when you worked with the Italian dictionary?

“Yellow” is what happened. I don’t speak a word of Italian apart from Ciao and Arrivederci. So I was as surprised as anyone when the words I revealed were translated into English as the poem that fit into the book. I was surprised, but then again, not surprised; like Michelangelo, I trust the process. Here’s the original text in Italian:

Quando ulularo, è giallo.
Quando parlo piano, è giallo.
Cosí, non parlo en forma differente.
Non ci sono altre cose gialle (pero, la parole "azurro", è una parole tanto giallo).
Cosí la mia voce è piano, perché non ricordo come parlo piano o ulularo.

And here is the text translated into the English language:

When I yell, it is yellow.
When I whisper, it is yellow.
So I speak in no other way,
For none other is yellow (accept the word blue, which is very yellow).
So my voice goes unheard, for I forgot how to whisper and yell.


Wow, that is remarkable. So the poem IS within the text…the dictionary. Amazing.

I am merely the conduit.

So the book we have here today evolved into a collection of poems with color as the central theme?

Yes, I excavated poems from a total of 19 dictionaries. It was exhausting, but I am pleased with the results.
 
Let’s take a look at a few more….

****STOP THE PRESSES!****

I knew you,
And your name was Indigo;
Soft as steel and
quiet as a thunderstorm,
Though deafening, you went unheard through the vacuum 
of your absence.

ATTN: EDITOR, re: Poem for H. Clinton's Inaugural Address

Orange is the engine of the continual present.
It is the absence of blue,
And so it remains here, never there;
Always somewhere,
But never blue.

****AN EPIC POEM*****

Red, the most treacherous of colors;
More swift than Hermes,
More deadly than the snake of his caduceus staff.
Never seek red out,
Red will find you, at last;
And with your last breath, you'll never
Be able to say you have never seen red
Before now. 
 

****NOBEL PRIZES X 2****

Away with you, good sir!
For I am Violet,
And your retinas shall never know the pain of my absence;
But, for now, you must leave,
Look at me,
And never look upon me again.


ATTN: EDITOR, re: Pulitzer Prize, 2016 & 2017

There are no greens without the hue of green;
And so my eyes exist in this dim world, day to day,
Unable to wet thy beak in the pleasures of the gods;
Nothing has prepared me for this,
And so there is no beginning,
Without green.


*****QUICK*****

To blew blue,
and again blow
(and again one more time after that),
Gently good sir,
The wind and sky
never new thy name. 

Wow, these are incredible. I’m going to have to spend some time with these poems to take them in. Such sadness…such sorrow. And so you say that your pulling these out of the language, scrapping bit by bit out of each dictionary, until the poem within is revealed? Incredible.

Thank you, it is quite a process and I need to trust in the process, as I’ve said before. Working in my way of removing words, cutting them one at a time, day by day as Michelangelo chip, chipped at his marble block. Sometimes I need to remove actual letters, or parts of letters to reveal a word. In the third line of the poem below, the word “not” read as “hot” for the better part of a year before I removed the top of the “h” making it “n”, so it went from “hot just blue” to “not just blue”.


Fwd: EDITOR, ***need to sit before reading****

No one can guess the hardship
I've endured to bring you these words.
Cerulean is not just blue,
But it is the depths of sorrow and wanting.
A wanting that makes us want more, and more sorrow.
And more.
And so there we are, as we find ourselves,
Without hope, but with Cerulean,
There could be a reason to continue
Looking.


Wow, that is amazing and it’s incredible to learn about the process. I imagine that once you get into the finer editing and removing of just bits and portions of letters it can get real interesting.

Yes, in my world, sometimes up is down and you just have to go with it. A semicolon can turn into a colon, a coma becomes a full stop, each with the mere erasure of a little part of a tail marking; something that can change the entire meaning of a phrase or sentence in an instant!

********
FWD: EDITOR :Please advise that fainting couch is nearby when reading:

It is untrue that love is the source of happiness.
Happiness springs forth, fully formed and ready for battle,
(Like Athena),
From chartreuse.
Emboldened by its mandate,
Chartreuse brings light to our world.
And to be in its terrible presence is to know the true meaning of fear;
And so you must go
Unblinking into the light,
And know that you are safe;
Chartreuse will protect you
From all.


Fwd: EDITOR ***NOBEL POETRY PRIZE SHOE-IN x 3+++***

Maroon.
Never before in the history of sight has there existed a more devastating color.
To be marooned is to be left
Alone,
Without hope;
Without love.
But fear not,
Good traveler.
Maroon may have abandoned you,
But there is another
Who will reveal themselves
Long after your
Departure from this world.

**************
ATTN: EDITOR re: Unlimited NEA Grants FOR LIFE

Fly as high as you will,
Sweet pink.
Icarus was only a myth; untrue stories from a bygone age.
Pink will soar as high as it will,
And it will deal out merciless justice as swift as an
Eagle.
A more true a tale has never been told to
You.
So dream if you will;
Pink will never look in kindness upon
You or me. 

*****A MORE EPIC POEM******

You paid the ferryman, Charon, and
You discovered it hidden deep within the frozen lake
Of the ninth circle.
You never wavered from your quest to free
Purple from the inferno below,
And for this kindness, good sir,
Purple will reward you
Greatly;
By destroying the world
In your honor. 

****ATTN: EDITOR, re: poem to read to St. Peter (when we meet)*****

I find myself
in the gap of irrelevance;
Fuchsia and I
Stare up at Orion's Belt,
Wondering.
And where fuchsia sees all colors in the stars,
I see only white light. 
Ten thousand nights,
I sat by your side
And I never imagined the colors
Fuchsia described,
That night,
To me.
But you will see them
Someday,
With me. 


****STOP THE PRESSES ONCE AGAIN****

If the Good Lord hadn't taken rest on the 7th day,
He may well have worked with Azure.
Worked into canvas,
Worked into cloth,
Worked into light.
Azure was formed from pure love;
As were you.
So imagine if you will
how all color shone on the 8th day,
And
When you see,
Find a reason to share it with me.

ATTN: EDITOR, re: MacArthur Genius Award x20*******
 
You clipped Magenta's wings,
Placed it in a cage,
Embedded in paint;
All for yourself
To make the world's most
Beautiful painting.
You've taken something
That was free, and
The price you will pay
Is unimaginable. 

Well, this has been incredible! I can’t believe that we’ve been able to share all this amazing work with our readers. I want to thank you for sharing so much with us about your process and inspiration. It’s really amazing and I can’t believe how much I love these poems…even though their so bleak and sorrowful. Sad and beautiful...like life, I suppose?

It’s life for me, boss.

Thank you, Edmund, or Edward…I suppose that you’re alias identity has been blown here. Sorry for that.

No worries, Polish. Nothing can be kept a secrete for long. Thanks for supporting my poetry… it means a lot to me.

ATTN: EDITOR ****Re: 2017 Academy Award for Best Poem used in a Major Motion Picture.****


Brown,
the most chivalrous and benevolent of all colors.
Brown means round;
Brown means whole.
Brown has abandoned me,
hence, my soul has abandoned me.
And as it fled my being, it reached out and stole my heart to it.
Forever
My heart and soul are with Arthur and sword and stone. 
And I am left hallow; adrift in a sea of hue without brown,
For all eternity,
Once and future,
And in a little while. 

The Birth of the Dewtini!

LeTigre – 16 October 2009, 7:00 a.m. (Eddie’s 40th Birthday!)

The Birth of the Dewtini!

I must be insane.

Why else would anyone on Earth follow the lead of Edmund Callipeaux?

Why would anyone ever find herself saying aloud, 'Hey Eddie, that’s a great idea!’

Hopefully, anyone in their right mind would know instinctually that any idea, or suggestion, that has been floated by Edmund Callipeaux is likely to be based on a twisted logic that makes sense to no one.

Heck, referring to an online dictionary for the word, specious (as in Specious Reasoning, the title of this blog), I find it to mean: deceptively attractive.

Therefore, considering Lady PodTron’s initial take on Edmund as elfish (deceptive) and my observation that he looks like Johnny Depp (attractive), I can only say that his sense of reasoning beguiles me to no end.

As I write these words, I am reminded of one of the early entries to this blog. Within the text of part 2 [of the Accounts of the Life of Edmund Callipeaux] Kidpowertool tells the tale of Eddie’s purchase of 96 hotdogs for the grand price of 99¢ - - just over a penny per gruesome dog….

Talk about deceptively attractive…yikes!

In the story, Kidpowertool writes about how Eddie had found these cellophane-packaged bricks of 48 wieners at a Florida grocery store for the sale price of 99¢ - - by one, get one free. I immediately knew that there would be no stopping Eddie from getting 2 bricks of these dogs, but I put my foot down on his doubling of his investment.

Kidpowertool writes:

Ed had seen his menu laid out for him for the next few months at the price of pennies and his wife had seen otherwise. (This is why, to this day, if Ed is perceived to have the most reasonable plan of action amongst all the people present in a group, I know that there’s something wrong and we need to keep brainstorming.)

Kidpowertool’s parenthetical aside illustrates my point - - if Eddie’s reasoning seems to be the most reasonable, then there is SOMETHING wrong with the whole scenario - - and hence the title of this blog…. Specious Reasoning.

So, I must be insane.

A normal person would see Edmund’s logic for what it is, abnormal.

Take, for example, our honeymoon in Chicago. Edmund and I have both loved the city of Chicago for a long time. And so we decided that The Windy City would be the perfect destination for our honeymoon (and it was - - only some crazy stuff happened).

We booked a hotel and decided to take the AMTAK from St. Paul to Chicago’s Union Station. The train ride was long and scenic; about 10 hours across Wisconsin and down into Illinois. It was winter and everything was covered in snow and beautiful-looking. I remember that we ate in the dining room car of the train, and due to the compacted space, we had to share a table with a mother and her teenage daughter. They quizzed us about our lives and got overly excited that we were on our honeymoon.

Arriving at Chicago’s Union Station, we decided to walk to the hotel rather than to hail a cab. Actually, we thought it was a relatively short distance to the hotel, and so we didn’t consider catching a cab or a bus ride. Being in a big city like Chicago is fun and exciting, and for a while, we enjoyed the walk. However, shortly after embarking on this journey, it started to get dark, cold, and snowy. And as we walked through the mounting blizzard, we eventually lost the sidewalk somewhere near Lincoln Park on Clark Street. Somewhere about a half-mile from the hotel, we looked at each other, and as the snow blew around us in the darkness, we were blinded by the on-coming headlights of cars.

I remember thinking, “It looked like such a short distance on the map!”

I think that I also remember a single tear running down Edmund’s check.

“Toughen up, Edmund!” I said against the darkness, as well as the blowing wind, and the cold.

We maintained our pace through the snow and the cold, eventually arriving at the hotel. As the building came into view, it was a towering high rise silhouetted by blue- and red-flashing lights. And as we continued to walk, we noticed that the lights were emanating from several squad cars and ambulances that were parked outside the hotel entrance. I’d say the ratio was about 1:3 for ambulances to cop cars...all lights flashing, lighting up the night like the 4th of July.

Crossing the street, we walked between two squad cars, across the sidewalk, past a bunch of people, through the building’s front doors, and into the hotel lobby.

At which point Edmund and I said, “Oh.”

For within the lobby stood a crowd of people. (Or perhaps it was a party of people.) It was a mass of folks all talking and filling the lobby in front of the check-in counter. We weren’t sure who was there for the cop cars and whom for the ambulances. As we had just arrived, we stood in the lobby, assuming that the mass of people formed some sort of line leading to the check-in counter. However, after several minutes Eddie said, “I don’t think any of these people are standing in line.”

I looked around.

And I realized that it was a party!

It was not a line of folks waiting to talk to the hotel manager, it was a crush of people standing around, having a good old time; having a party! And they took no notice of us as we pushed our way to the front counter, and positioned ourselves in front of a clerk.

“May I help you,” the clerk behind the counter said.

He then checked us into the hotel and gave us keys to our room. As we were going over the details with the man, Edmund inquired as to all the people filling the lobby to the gills, and also to the cop cars and ambulances out front.

“Oh, that’s nothing to be concerned with; we’re currently experiencing an overflow of guests that have been displaced from the Chicago Housing Authority,” said the clerk.

“What do you mean,” replied Edmund.

“Well, sir, the snowstorm and cold temperatures that we’ve been experiencing in Chicago over the past 24-hours have forced people from their public housing and our hotel has been commandeered by the city to make accommodations,” said the man behind the desk.

“What do you mean,” replied Edmund.

With a calm look on his face, the man continued to explain, “This past summer, the City began to relocate the tenants of its various high-rise housing-projects. Throughout the fall, and into the winter, there have been many tenants who have refused to leave their apartments. However, as the City has cut off all power and heat to the premises, the tenants have now been forced to abandon their homes due to the on-going cold temperatures and weather.”

“My God!” replied Edmund.

“Your room number is 735, Sir.”

Making our way through the throng of people, we found the elevator, and took it to the 7th floor. Finding room 735, we turned the key and walked in with our bags. Immediately, I was struck with how small the room was. Throwing our bags onto the bed, Edmund said, “This will work just fine.” However, plopping himself down alongside our bags, the bed-frame gave out, and the mattress slumped down on one side.

Standing up, Edmund crouched down on his knees and looked under the bed. He reached his hand toward one of the posts holding up the foot of the bed and said, “This is broken. Someone just jimmied it to hold the bed up.”

The slight headache that began during our tumultuous walk from Union Station spiked as he stood up and threw back the sheets and covers from the bed. Eddie said, “Well…the bed is broken, and the sheets are filthy.”

Looking at the sheets, I could only imagine that that the Charlie Brown character, Pigpen had slept in our bed the night before. The sheets were covered with dirt and grime!

“Maybe some coalminer stayed here last night after a hard day in the Chicago coalmines,” replied Eddie as we took in the bed situation.

"Are those footprints?" I said as I pointed at a dozen or so size 10 shoe-prints on the white cloth.

Luckily, Edmund called the front desk and they moved us to another room. Coincidentally or not, the new room was directly above the original room…and it was exactly the same shape and size (however, it had a clean bed). And by shape and size, I mean to say that it was about 7 by 7 feet - - just a little bit bigger than a double bed, and it wasn’t square either - - it had 6 walls. Who knows who designed this crazy place?

“Well, the new room looks good,” said Eddie. “Room #835 - -all prime numbers…that’s a good sign.”

At any rate, the room was fine and we settled into the space with our bags. Turning on the TV, Eddie asked me if I’d like to have a refreshing beverage.

“Refreshing beverage? What do you mean by that, Edmund?” I asked.

“You just wait,” replied Edmund. And with that, he ran out the door and down the hall.

What I did know was that Edmund had brought a small bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin with us on the train from St. Paul. What I did not know was that he was on his way to the hotel vending machine to purchase a can of Mountain Dew, as well as a can of Sunny Delight. Returning to the room, he said, “Man, there’s a lot of kids running around out there.”

Laying out his mixers and his gin on the bedside table, he said, “I think this is going to work just fine!”

I said, “Edmund, what are you doing there?”

“Don’t you worry, my beautiful wife,” replied Edmund.

At which point I watched him fill a tall glass with:

1/3 Bombay Sapphire Gin
1/3 Mountain Dew
1/3 Sunny Delight

“I think this is going to be just fine,” he repeated.

He then added a few ice cubes to the glass and handed the concoction to me. I eyed the greenish-orangish liquid with suspicion as he proceeded to mix up another for himself. “They didn’t have much else to choose from at the vending machine. So I had to improvise…I think that you’ll find this beverage to be deceptively attractive….

"I call it a Dewtini,” exclaimed Edmund.

“Do you expect me to drink this?” I replied.

“Cheers,” said Edmund as he extended his glass toward mine. “We’re married and we’re on our honeymoon!”

“Cheers,” I confirmed as I tilted the glass to my mouth.

Minutes later, my headache was replaced by a general blindness due to Eddie’s Dewtini mixture. He was already on his second as a void began to close in around me. “Edmund, what is wrong with you?” I whispered as I grasped at the air in a vain attempt to try to find his neck in order to strangle him.

Dewtini….I must be insane. As darkness washed over me, I heard Edmund’s distant voice say, “It’s the best of gin, Mountain Dew, and Sunny D…what more could you want, baby?”

The following morning, I was awakened to the noisy laughter of children. I looked up at the ceiling and then around the room. The makings for Eddie’s Dewtinis were at the bedside table. The sun was out and its light was pouring in through the window. Beautiful, I thought, and then I saw Edmund’s Dewtini mixers again and I thought about how I had lost my vision, and also how I had wanted to strangle him the night before. But then I thought about his elflike appearance, and for some reason, my anger began to dissipate.

Then there was bump at the door and Edmund woke up. Opening the door, we ascertained that all the kids staying at the hotel were using the hallways as their playground. “This place is crazy,” said Edmund, “It’s 7:30 a.m. and this place is already rocking at full speed. I wonder how many cop cars and ambulances will be out there tonight? We should get out of here, and besides, they’re out of Sunny Delight in the vending machine.”

I said, “This place is madness.”

To which Eddie replied, “But our love for each other will endure throughout the ages.”

“Yes, Edmund, that is true…God help me, but that is most assuredly true.” – LC