INTRODUCTION
Readers
of my poetry, attendees at talks about and recitations of it, friends, and family
have suggested for years that I record at least a selection from the volumes published
so far: Gathered
from the Wild: Poems of a Wanderer,
The Poetry of
Earth, and Natural
Gifts. In addition I
believe that good poems only reveal their full expression if spoken aloud. So
this selection, Natural
Voice, responds to
these
desires and will I hope whet listeners’ appetites for more of my poetry by including
new verse from a fourth book nearing publication, Illuminations.
In effect
this compact disc offers a generous sample of my work to date. Listeners who use
texts from the books to follow these recordings will notice that small changes
have been made here and there. In this way I’ve taken the opportunity to
incorporate revisions which would otherwise have to wait for revised or second
editions of the published volumes.
As
in the short introductory notes to the books, let me mention here for the sake
of new listeners that the mountain range called Shawangunk is spelled Shongum
sometimes and often pronounced SHONG-gum locally. I have always used this
two-syllable form in my poems. It’s concise and – in the term Shongum grits,
localspeak for the proper geologic mouthful, Shawangunk conglomerates, naming
the ancient crown rocks of the range – rings with genuine toughness, like the
work
song
of gypsy craftsmen in Verdi’s “Anvil Chorus” from Il
Trovatore.
When
I retired from the opera and concert stages in 1996, I knew that I was not done
with song. The singing line I’d long cultivated offstage in sonnets, ballads,
and other rhymed and unrhymed forms would fill my free time, I assumed. And how.
As a country person returning for good to rural life, I did not lack stimulation
and inspiration from the natural world I called my muse. Further, as one whose
soul mate shared passions for gardening, foraging, botanizing, wild woodcraft,
and other skills demanding leisure and muscle, I soon realized that I had no
free
time.
The compensation, the more I’ve adopted these older ways of living from the
land, has been a sharper poetic focus not merely on making sense of Nature, but
on my place in it. A serious occupation indeed.
Yet
no sooner do I write these words than I recall, for instance, serendipitous and even
amusing moments that eventually led to “Wild Apples,” “Juneberrying,” or
“A
Flower for
All
Gardens
.” Poetic credos come and go,
in short, and I wouldn’t want
to be consigned to one fixed formula. But I hope any approach to poetry, for all
its proper seriousness, wouldn’t rule out a twinkle in the poet’s eye. In
fact,
I’d
say some of the best poems exude that delicious sense of serious fun. Or, as
I’ve often expressed it in poetry talks:
ROGER
ROLOFF narrowly
avoided a career in academia by taking a chance on his first love, singing,
which became his profession. For 21 years on major stages worldwide, he made his
living as a baritone in leading opera roles – mainly German and Italian –
and concert parts. Meanwhile, his academic training was put to good use in
refining poetic skills he used offstage – though these, like his singing
voice, were apparent at an early age. Wagner’s shoemaker, poet Hans Sachs in Die
Meistersinger was probably his favorite role, but villains such as Scarpia
and Iago helped him pay the bills and were in their ways enjoyable, too. New
Paltz, New York has been the real life home that he and his wife, musicologist Barbara
Petersen, have shared for more than two decades. There they indulge their interests in and
careful use of Nature year-round, like thrifty homesteaders of an earlier day.
