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About The daily Astorian. (Astoria, Or.) 1961-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 23, 2020)
Continued from Page 4 Of course, we are talking about a noted author. Though his writing and outreach covers much of the country, he is not nearly as visible as a Tom Wolfe or Tom Robbins or any one of a dozen other noted American writers whose books sell to movie producers. Bob’s Walt Whitman persona edges him into poet laureate status but doesn’t offer a rich and famous profi le. Let it be noted that “Sky Time in Gray’s River” is Pyle’s brilliant testimonial to a Walden Pond life-style and rural notoriety. Stand aside, Mr. Thoreau, Robert Michael Pyle is writing. The art of writing Art never comes easily. Long hours haunt a writer. That’s not a bad thing; it’s simply reality. Not so distant in our Anglo-Saxon past, four monks might spend two years transcribing religious knowledge into a single book. On the edges of their lustrous gilt script, they complained of back pain, tedium and fatigue. The monks worked dawn to dusk. Perhaps, we have it easy — or easier. But Robert Michael Pyle is ours, the admired and beloved butterfl y monk, writer and poet of the Columbia-Pacifi c. The draw of the river I stopped in after an appointment in Longview, Wash- ington — please get in line with the other graybeards with bad joints. I chose the road less traveled. That’s the Ocean Beach Highway that snakes along the Columbia River and into the Deep River and Naselle Valleys, an evergreen par- adise that still retains a green sway on beauty after a cen- tury and a half of clear-cut logging. Other than Duffy’s Irish Pub (charming, original, clearly rural), eateries are rare here. But the natural beauty of this county lured Pyle, or as I call him, Bob, to his pioneer home. A Yale gradu- ate with a Ph.D. in Butterfl ies (he is a lepidopterist from the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies), he fell for the Grays River Valley on his fi rst visit, ignoring his fi eld assistant’s insistence that they return to Portland and get a big city meal. Instead, Pyle turned onto the old cov- ered bridge and looked up the hill. The painted white Victo- rian was love at fi rst sight. Pyle knows what he likes. He fell headfi rst for his late wife, Thea, as did most everybody who had the good luck to fall under her trance. Weaver and printmaker, she lured those in the rural valley with her intelligence, talent and natural beauty. Thea passed away from cancer six years ago and is missed by one and all. A quick hello On this winter day, the house and library were clut- tered. “Rearranging,” Pyle declared. “Fifty years of collecting and writing books.” At least, two dozen are his own. His latest book was a novel, and he has a book of Columbia River poems and pictures coming out soon with the noted Cathlamet photographer, Judy Vandermatenn. His fourth book, “Wintergreen,” swept most of us away with the same force as Gray’s River during freshet. Of course the timber companies roared their disapproval. Bob sol- diered on. A half-dozen butterfl y books, the latest being the Butterfl ies of the Pacifi c Northwest, show his passion of the elusive winged Lepidoptera. ‘Where Bigfoot Walks’ One might call him a pantheist. Hard for a sci- entist to proclaim a defi nitive explanation of a force (our universe) that expands at extraordinary speed every second, every day, every year and Art Cards Stationary Jewelry Ceramics If You Go Poetry workshop with Robert Michael Pyle and Florence Sage 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Saturday Astoria Studio Collective, 372 10th St, Astoria, OR 97103 Tickets $35 and can be purchased at bit.ly/pylepoetrywork- shop light year at mind-boggling speeds. Pyle fi nds spiritualism in the green lush forests that he has helped protect for most of his adult life, a life which also seems to pass at stagger- ing speed. He and I had to chuckle at the multitude of our aches and pains. Undaunted, he was writing today. That is when he wasn’t shuffl ing books. Or before I interrupted his ded- icated routine. There’s also a phone call from the direc- tor of a movie being made from one of his books, “Where Bigfoot Walks” from the director of a new Bigfoot movie. Does Pyle believe or doesn’t he? That is the question. Lucky us. We follow his popular missive, “Where Bigfoot Walks,” and his career the same way the Grays snakes out its passage through cow fi elds that unfold lime green and lustrous in the sway of a summer day. I wanted to know if the current political war was altering his affable personality. Best, he said, to surge ahead. “Best to ignore what can’t be ignored.” He wasn’t happy with Trump. But there is always new inspiration, and outreach of the written word remains his mantra. He inspires Pyle’s aware of the friction of years on the human body, but you can’t keep a good man down. He writes, he inspires and he participates. His art is diverse. He just released a CD with his Grays River buddy and famous musician, Krist Novoselic in a musical-poetry collaboration, “Butterfl y Launches from Spar Pole.” The trio features Krist’s songs and guitars, Bob’s lyrics, and Ray Prestegard’s back-up strings. And Pyle reads poetry regularly in Astoria venues, often with his good friend and fellow poet, Florence Sage, as fi ne a voice as any artist who ever launched a poem. But the river runs on as Pyle drinks his green tea and forges a new path for new words and his feast of creative ideas. Aren’t we the lucky ones? Move on river, move on. See. Go. Do. The Arts • Music • Museums • Classes • Film News • Blogs • Dining • & More 1133 Commercial Street Astoria, OR 97103 503.468.0308 THURSDAY, JANUARY 23, 2020 // 5
