Category Archives: Literary Arts

WHAT?


        by improve everywhere

Do you like poetry? I like poetry. My dogs have always like poetry. Have you ever heard me read poetry? How about if I sang it to you? Any chance for that? Come on where’s the support here, there, over there. It has to be here someplace, why else would I write poetry? Happy poetry, sad poetry, nonsense poetry, and serious poetry. Ok, you can just sit and read then…..but if you do make it MY poetry that you read: The Widow’s Cliff and Other Poems on Amazon, or for a very select few, Rabbit in a Box also on Amazon.

You do want to support me, don’t you. Of course you do. Amazon, Gordon Kuhn….come and buy a book!   My dog thanks you.

 

 

INTERVIEW WITH CLAIRE-HARRIS PERKINS


What a wonderful idea, I thought, to actually be interviewed by someone who was professional and knowledgeable about my writing. What a treat. And so, when asked, I answered with a loud, “Yes.” How could I not and I found the experience most entertaining and educational at the same time.

First off, I am not the brightest person when it comes to computers and anything electronic hates me from the first handshake. That held true with trying to get Skype to work. It kept rejecting my passwords and then went nuts when I tried to reload with another email address. So, there I was panicking a full hour before the interview and poor Claire who resides in the UK was wrong on the time difference between there and here. She said 10 AM and it was 9:40 when I wrote on Skype asking if we were connected. She wrote back that she had just come home from shopping and that the time for our conversation was 10 and we had an hour to go. I told her it was coming up on 10 and then she realized the time difference was 4 and not 5 hours. So she set off to get the interview going.

She is incredibly professional.  She  sent me her list of questions and she followed that list perfectly. I was thankful that she had done that because I knew where we were going and there were no surprises.

I am attaching the link to the interview.

https://www.booktalkradio.info/gordon-kuhn

Please go and enjoy it and write back and tell me what you think. Claire can be reached at her site http://www.booktalkradioclub.com she can also be found at her page on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/BookTalkRadioClub/

So, if you are an author and independently publish you own works contact her. She is easy to talk with and lots of fun.

 

Dinner With Diane Brinker


Jan and I were very fortunate to have as a dinner guest yesterday evening Diane Brinker who was one of  the eight sisters of Kathleen Briles. There were 9 girls and 2 boys. Diane shared a lot of details with us and it was a pure blessing to simply be able to sit and talk with her. In some ways, having conversations with her and others, the people in these stories become family to me as I ride along listening to the fun days and the sad days. It is so sad to me to meet them with all this pain brought about by one person, and the tragedy is that Kathleen would not have died if the FBI had not failed to keep their computer data base up to date. Diane shared photos of her sister and her family with us. It was a wonderful evening but so tragically  brought about. It leaves me with a major responsibility to write Nightmare in Terra Ceia with as much sensitivity as I can muster.

GOODREADS BOOK GIVEAWAY


Goodreads has a contest running on my book Do You Know How To Fly which is a true crime novel. It is the first of two books about a career criminal who came to the Tampa Bay area after being placed on parole for bank robbery and sentenced to 15 1/2 years in Federal prison.

Shortly after his arrival here he dumped the woman who married him sight unseen while he was in prison and who helped his being released from prison and moved in with a woman much younger. Shortly after that he began a series of robberies, assaults, and home invasions. It ended with his capture after a bar fight but too late for the murder of a local doctor’s wife. Sadly had the FBI’s CODIS program for DNA been up to date he would have been stopped months prior before two local women (one the doctor’s wife) was brutally murdered.

THE DAY THAT HEMINGWAY DIED


I will never forget the day that Hemingway died

Nor of how he died on ‘61’s second day of July

I was sixteen years old way back then

And far too much to the universe tuned in

I will never forget the shock that filled me as I cried

Deep inside a wounded creature not knowing why

Not even knowing much about the man I stood

Alone in silence surrounded by living woods

That were more than silent that day he died

To me they were, to me they were and yet

The world still moved and went its passing way

But in my heart, I knew something broke that day

Something strange that day had come and gone its way

The day that Papa died, yes that day on ‘61s second day of July       1/14/17

KIRKUS REVIEW OF DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY?


KIRKUS REVIEW

Kuhn’s debut true-crime story shows how a violent man’s life led him to death row.

The author uses interviews and other sources to piece together the life of Delmer Smith, a seasoned career criminal awaiting execution in Florida. Smith was born in Detroit in 1971, on the cusp of the city’s economic decline. By age 14, he was convicted of raping a woman at a carwash where he worked. The 18 months that he spent in a juvenile reformatory dashed any possibility of rehabilitation; instead, he learned “how to be more proficient as a criminal” as he became “a creature without a conscience.” As a young adult, Kuhn writes, Smith carried out burglaries, carjackings, and bank robberies, which eventually led to a 15-year incarceration. After his second prison stint, he moved to Florida; there, Kuhn writes, Smith assaulted and beat multiple women—all the while leading a double life as a “wise and loving uncle” to his two nieces. Eventually, the violence led to a murder conviction. The author interviewed many of Smith’s victims and found that the women were now “desperately seeking someone or something to fully trust again.” Thanks to these firsthand accounts, readers receive a nuanced portrait of a predatory man. Kuhn’s decision to jump between accounts of Smith’s early life and present-day interviews is an effective one; by regularly pulling readers back to the present, he reminds them of the painful, enduring impact of his subject’s actions. Moreover, Kuhn shows a great deal of sensitivity when recounting the crimes, evoking deep pathos instead of graphic sensationalism. That said, the book does include some unnecessary background information, including three pages on Smith’s birth alone; it also bafflingly overuses section breaks, which disrupt the otherwise strong narrative flow.

A thoughtful, engaging account of a brutal life and the carnage that it left behind.


Lost

 

She had blue eyes,

Vulnerable, blue eyes

And they held him in their grasp

Gentleness  lived there so much he had to gasp

And she never spoke; she never once spoke

Yet her eyes could easily jokingly poke

And raise the issue of man and woman

As the world floated past the two who were human

As they lay in a grassy field, in a soft and wavy grassy field

Their hands from the sun wide-open eyes did shield

And his protected hers so deep they were and so blue

As they lay in peace and in love so true.

She had blue eyes, deep, soft blue eyes

Vulnerable blue eyes.

Copyright 2/3/2015 Gordon Kuhn

Poem from Standoff: Bare


STANDOFF  is a book of poems that I will be publishing soon. This poem is one of them: BARE. I simply decided that I would post this one for the time being. I hold the copyright on this. 

BARE

Flesh laid back,

Bare!

Raw, no cover to protect

From salt thrown upon there where the whip struck

Beneath the layer thin and thick

Atop with matted hair that hides

Emotions deep run and amid course shall stall

As the owner fails to know the path laid out

Laid out, but not in common diagram of visual plane

Leaving the direction needles spinning mindless there

Nor can one tell or master the storms drifting path

Should path be there hiding beneath a lacquer veneer while

The stronger weather yet to come as emotions gather

As they gather well before the bow that dips deep

So very deep, and then sliding down the hill so steep

Deep down, deep down, falling into the trough beneath emotions towers

Towers without sight of top, nor bottom have

Crashing then they upon decks wet awash with memories tossed

As the pilot fights to stay the line invisible before them

And fails to see the coming of the loss of light

As clouds of thought weigh down the saddened soul

While deck and hold covers fail to stop the rushing waters in

The ship stalls, shudders, shatters from within, rolls, and sinks beneath a wall of tears.

10/3/2016 Copyright GORDON KUHN ass rights reserved.

WIN A FREE COPY OF PREDATOR; BOOK ONE; “DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY”


Go to Goodreads.com/giveaway and search out my name and/or the name of the book. The contest is run by Goodreads and not me. They make the winning selection. There are two copies being offered.

This is a true-crime, narrative-nonfiction book.  The subject is the criminal acts of Delmer Smith who came to Florida in 2008 to be with the woman who married him sight unseen while he was in Federal Prison for bank robbery. He left her and moved in with a younger woman. Soon after that he returned to his career as a criminal and terrorized two communities before being captured.

He is currently serving a life sentence for a crime committed in Sarasota County and is also on death row for a murder in Manatee County.

Hopefully the link below will take you there but I don’t trust links, computers, watches, cars, dogs with the eyes that are not honest, or people who are overly friendly

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I wish I could play a harmonica.


I wish I knew how to play a harmonica. For that would be grand to sit on my porch and let the sound slip out towards the sky. I wish I knew how to play a violin, for that would be awesome as I love the sound of such. And then there is the guitar. What a wonderful song it can sing. At last I come to the piano. How fantastic a sound like a band singing all to itself with ups and downs of emotions that can only be reached and touched by a soul inflamed with the love of music. I’ve bought a dozen or so of those cheap harmonicas only to throw them out in time. Oh how I wish I could play the harmonica but its like the flute I have that lies dusty on the shelf and only is picked up when I wish to feel so foolish as to try.