Though Ken Waldman still performs solo on occasion, especially for literary events, he'll often team with other musicians when headlining major clubs, or for festival or concert series appearances. Then it's Ken Waldman & The Secret Visitors. The past decade he's been fortunate to have been accompanied by terrific musicians from all over the continent.
Influences
A half-dozen inspiring poets: William Stafford, Naomi Shihab Nye, Charles Webb, Phil Dacey, Dorianne Laux, Richard Hugo. A half-dozen inspiring fiction writers: Ken Kesey, J.D. Salinger, Ray Carver, Henry Miller, Thomas Pynchon, Paul Bowles. A half-dozen inspiring fiddlers: James Leva, Judy Hyman, Mitch Reed, Louie Michot, Martin Hayes, Liz Carroll. A half-dozen inspiring teachers: Nowell Creadick, Bruce Greene, Peggy Shumaker, Jerah Chadwick, those long Interior Alaska winters, those even longer rural Alaska winters.
Sounds Like
Someone simply putting together poetry and fiddle tunes--with an affinity for those modal West Virginia ones. And tying the package together with a little bit of storytelling.
In 1985 Ken Waldman moved to Fairbanks, Alaska to begin an MFA program in Creative Writing as a fiction writer, and graduated three years later as a fiction writer who'd gotten the bug to write poems. The past twenty years, he's had over 400 poems and stories appear in national journals. Since 2000, he's had six full-length poetry collections published, and has released six CDs that combine old-time fiddle and banjo with original poetry. A former college professor in Sitka and Nome (where he taught writing over telephone, and often traveled to remote villages to meet with students), he's worked as a freelance writer, teacher, musician, and performer since 1995.
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this folk-carol on myspace... Poem 230 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (see my blog for details): CHRISTMAS SUNG SIMPLY
As gospellers have said, Beneath signalling skies, On land dusty to tread, A trough in a stable Was the strawy first-bed Of a divine baby - The forgiving Godhead.
A season for new hope - There then and here now; The yuletide of goodwill - There then and here now.
In respect of this chance, Beneath bright or dark skies, Faith's the star that we glance Attending Christ's churches And trying to enhance, With singing and ritual, Our God-loving stance.
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 162 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): TEES TO TYNE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS - SUMMER 2001
Where traditions are not so rare; Sea, country and works scent the air; A multitude of monuments, Planted tubs and patterned pavements.
The longish pedestrian malls; The remnants of defensive walls; Historic buildings are a gauge Of the respect for heritage.
Wheat, rape and pines in the fields; Estuaries guarded by shields; Long sandy beaches and wide scenes; Romantic-ruin go-betweens.
Rivers in parts licked by trees, Or fringed by boat clubs, wharfs, gantries, And crossed by practical delights - Varied spans, forming pleasing sights.
Fine churches headed at Durham; Football kits ad infinitum; Kept castles - one for study; Masonry behind masonry.
And, with moulding-works out that way, It’s somewhere for a longer stay..?
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 2 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): WALKABOUT WITH MY PEN
Once drove an old sedan, up north, From a place in Sydney to Cairns; Then to Kuranda I went forth, By train, to look without set plans.
I browsed through the trendy market, With fresh fruits of tropical kind; Walked to the creek through lush thicket - Nature’s hand giving peace of mind.
I dined in a scenic cafe; Then, outside, as I wrote for yen, Some passing Kooris called-out: “Hey, You go walkabout with your pen.”
Request or question, I don’t know - Assured voices, elderly men. That’s now several years ago, And I’ve seen the world - with my pen.
As gospellers have said, Beneath signalling skies, On land dusty to tread, A trough in a stable Was the strawy first-bed Of a divine baby - The forgiving Godhead.
A season for new hope - There then and here now; The yuletide of goodwill - There then and here now.
In respect of this chance, Beneath bright or dark skies, Faith’s the star that we glance Attending Christ’s churches And trying to enhance, With singing and ritual, Our God-loving stance.
Hey Ken. Cool gigs in NY. When you play in the Seattle area I hope you can meet Swil Kanim, a Native American violinist, who's just an incredible live performer and presence. You guys need to know one another. He's on MySpace -- Swil Kanim. Hope all is well. I still can't believe I missed you when you came through.
Online Now!
