Adrien Stoutenburg (1916–1982)

Adrian Stoutenburg’s “Hammerman” (in American Tall Tales) attempts to “shorten the height” (so to speak) of the tall tale that is the John Henry legend. In Stoutenburg’s version, John Henry is very much a “real” human being, whose character traits are accentuated, rather than caricatured: Stoutenburg explains that John Henry wasn’t really born with a hammer in his hand, but that he reached for a hammer immediately after his birth. Throughout “Hammerman,” Stoutenburg humanizes the John Henry myth by emphasizing the heroic struggle at the heart of the story: man and his dignified strength versus the cold, unfeeling machine that would replace him. Even the last few lines of Stoutenburg’s John Henry tale (“They say, if John Henry were alive today, he could beat almost every other kind of machine, too. Maybe so. At least John Henry would die trying.”) illustrate that John Henry wasn’t “larger than life” – in fact, his heroism came from the fact that he did die trying to fight the oncoming technology that would change the world. Stoutenburg’s book is a little more sophisticated in its writing style than most retellings of American tall tales, but it is refreshing to hear a more “truthful” account of stories that traditionally bury the truth under mounds of hyperbole.

Citation:
Stoutenburg, Adrien, and Richard M. Powers. "Hammerman/John Henry." American Tall Tales. New York: Viking, 1966. 88-100. Print.… (mais)

One of the pleasures of cataloguing these books is the rediscovery of titles from my reading past—books that were once meaningful to me, but that I have since nearly forgotten or simply taken for granted, books that I merely recognized on my library shelves or when I packed them, moving from one house to another, from one state to another, books that now I want to experience once again, books of which I want to remember and relive my previous experience.

Heroes, Advise Us by Adrien Stoutenberg won the Lamont Poetry Award in 1964. I discovered it at about that time, when I was searching for poems to use in teaching adolescents. I longed to open the world of poetry to them, avoiding cliches and stuffy conventions, opening their eyes and ears to lines and images, their minds to a different way of knowing.

Heroes, Advise Us had poems about adventure, struggle, and sacrifice; about everyday, “unpoetic” reality; about people and places and things that, I thought, might—just might—interest young readers. I bought the quality paperback, with the silver sticker from the Academy of American Poets (in its 30th year), identifying it as the Lamont winner. I read many of the poems aloud many times to many different groups. Though its cover is somewhat the worse for wear, it has held up well. It’s probably been a quarter of a century, maybe even longer, since I last took it down from the shelf and reentered its literary landscape.

The first poem, a long one, is called “This Journey.” It is a detailed account, relying on their notebooks and letters, of the expedition of Captain Robert F. Scott and his four companions to the South Pole in 1912, only to find that they had been preceded by the Roald Amundsen party and, thence, to perish on their return journey. After a brief introduction to the land (“perpetual skull with a blizzard’s hair”) and to Scott himself (“never a coward / But half-afraid / To be less than a hero”), the poem proceeds with a detailed account of “The Journey Out.” It culminates, of course, in the icy evidence of their predecessors: “the blue / white bordered cross on a crimson field, / simple, deadly, compact, in order— / the other man’s tent, the other king’s banner.” And then “The Journey Back,” powerful, tragic, inevitable, arousing hope in the reader in spite of one’s awareness of its hopelessness.

Knowing is not the same as believing;
belief is not the same as knowing.
A little more food, a sweeter wind,
and who knows what morning will bring?

The format alternates between free verse and rhymed lines, between short, punchy lines rife with concrete images and longer, more reflective lines, introspective and rational. Scattered among the various parts, printed in italics, are found poems created from passages in Scott’s own journals and letters.

To his wife:

What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey.
How much better it has been
than lounging in too great comfort at home.

And then, at last,

It seems a pity
but I do not think I can write more.

There are many other poems in this collection that I remember and cherish; for example, “Robinson Crusoe,” “Joseph” (about the earthly “father” of Jesus, “being stepfather only, stud, a convenience, / keeper of sperm / that rolled up the wild, wet / slope of resurrection”), “Brobdingnag,” “Arm Chair Traveler,” “Dear Sirs (“I apologize for the crayon scrawls / on my income tax statement”), “Survivor: West Coast.” Some few are personal poems; several are based on earlier literature or historic events; some are about ordinary city life; one whole section is devoted to animals and the outdoors.

Probably my favorite from among the short poems, one that I taught frequently, is “Reel One.” It focuses on the experience of Hollywood reality (“It was all technicolor / from bullets to nurses”) and walking home afterward in the snow (“there wasn’t much blue / in the drifts of corners: / just white and more white / and the sound track so dead....”).

The title of the collection, “Heroes, advise us,” is the last phrase in a poem entitled, “Ice Age.”

Often in summer, I forget those heroes
who with white beards invaded the future . . . .

But the power and the pathos of “This Journey” will always stand out in my mind.… (mais)