Ojai

Articles About Ojai

An Unexpected Dedication

February 12, 2010

Robert Peake reads a poem next to "Elliot" the bear

Photo by Randy Graham

I broke away from work to attend the dedication ceremony for my neighbor Mark Benkert’s new memorial sculpture to the Aliso Street Bear (a.k.a “Elliot”). In introducing me to read the poem I wrote dedicated to the bear, Mark also mentioned something remarkable about the process of sculpting the memorial.

For both Mark and I, the loss of the bear resonated deeply with the loss of our sons. As Mark was inscribing the letters “J” and “B”, the initials of his son, Jonah Benkert, the “B” also read much like a “P”–and he mentioned that “J.P.” reminded him of our own son, James Peake. Needless to say that by the time I took the microphone, I was nearly unable to speak.

Yet I managed to read my poem, honoring the bear, our sons, our community. The rest of the dedication meant a lot to me–from written poems and prose pieces, to impromptu verbal tributes, a song, and drumming. It was also a moment of catharsis for our community, coming together once more to honor all that the bear brought to us.

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By Robert Peake | Posted in Community, Grief Recovery, Life, Poetry, Readings | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, James Valentine Peake, Jonah Benkert | Comments (3)

“Climb the Pine” to Remember the Bear

October 16, 2009

I am not the only one for whom the bear seems to have left an indelible imprint. Each morning this week, when I step outside my door to go to to work, I see the silhouette of a bear in the pine tree just across the street. It looks just like him. But it is not him. It is a 70-pound metal sculpture created by my neighbor, Mark Benkert, in memoriam. The following video tells the story of how it got there.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Grief Recovery, Life | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, Mark Benkert, Sculpture | Comments (0)

To the Bear in a Neighbor’s Tree (A Poem)

October 13, 2009

I never post new poems on my website. But this piece came through me this morning, and I want to offer it up to our grieving community.

To the Bear in a Neighbor’s Tree

How quickly we become accustomed to the light,
blinking through discomfort, standing upright,
when our claws break, we fashion tools, use
them, and then just as easily put them down.

We discover clumps of hair on the ground,
and see our lack of fur as a great improvement,
stamping and shivering, we like a cold wind!
When our night vision fades, we stumble a dance.

Now, we have lost you too, primeval cousin,
lost the instinct that might have guided us
in shooing you back where you came from.
We can no longer smell what is on the wind.

You sat all day in a tree, learning our gestures.
You waved at the crowds and considered making a speech.
When you became too much like us, we brought you down,
and hauled your massive blackness into the night.

The truth is that we lost you long ago, long before
our friends loaded up their guns. Look how far
we have come! Our fingers fit the triggers.
And still we remember not to look in an animal’s eyes.

I looked, and became frozen on my couch.
I blinked into the sunlight, and you were gone.
The black spot in the tree is no longer you.
It is the place that you have burned into my mind.

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By Robert Peake | Posted in Grief Recovery, Poetry | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, Nature | Comments (10)

The Bear

October 11, 2009

When my English wife first came to this country, she was eager see North American wildlife. “I want to see a raccoon,” she said. Soon after, we found ourselves in Yosemite, watching a family of raccoons collecting and munching stray Cheetos, orange paws aglow in the moonlight. “I want to see a sea otter.” At the Monterrey Bay Aquarium, we watched sea otters float on their backs like canoes and smash open abalone on the rocks. “I want to see a bear!” she grinned.

I paused, remembering my father’s story of having been nose-to-nose with a grizzly bear, separated only by mosquito netting–the story he told on Boy Scout camp outs that kept us awake in our tents all night. “No,” I replied, “No, honey, you don’t. You want to see a bear in a photograph. You want to see a bear on a nature documentary. You don’t ever want to see a real, live bear up close.”

Photo by Erin Ellwood

When I heard our neighbor exclaim, “Call animal control!” late Friday night, I assumed raccoons had found their trash. I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning, we discovered several police vehicles parked on our street, and a crowd gathering on our front lawn. In the night, a several-hundred-pound Black Bear had scaled our neighbor’s back fence, bounded down the gravel footpath between our houses and, confused by the people and lights, followed his instincts up a large pine tree across the street.

People came to take pictures. People brought their small children, and hoisted them up on their shoulders to get a better view. Eventually, the police cordoned off the street, and still people gathered along the line of yellow police tape to catch a glimpse of the bear. From our living room couch, the cat and I sat and watched him–napping on a branch, shifting his considerable weight, hugging the trunk of the tree. At one point, he seemed to be waving, fanning the air with paws the size of my head. I got to watch the bear, closely and safely, for a long time. And I fell in love.

Continue Reading “The Bear” »

By Robert Peake | Posted in Grief Recovery, Life | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, Nature | Comments (11)

Broken Word at the Farmer and the Cook

May 7, 2009

I had the pleasure of reading a few poems tonight alongside Judy Oberlander, Joan Nicholson, Steve Sprinkel, and Johnny Fonteyn in the front patio of The Farmer and The Cook. Despite noise from an occasional bus or rap-spewing low rider, the air was deliciously warm, and the stage was backed by swaying trees. Overcoming initial hesitation, I read a poem featuring sushi at this charming all-vegetarian restaurant. Nobody threw potatoes.

On the contrary, the atmosphere was friendly and casual, aided in part by the well-received happy hour offer of one dollar off organic beer and wine. The patio was packed, and chatty at intermission. P. Lyn Middleton did an excellent job emceeing the evening, with just the right blend of structure and southern grace. This was the second in what appears to be a very promising new series of readings, and the perfect way to spend a summer evening in Ojai.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Community, Poetry, Readings | Also tagged Broken Word, Farmer And The Cook, Joan Nicholson, Johnny Fonteyn, Judy Oberlander, P. Lyn Middleton, Steve Sprinkel | Comments (2)

Featured Poet at the Village Jester Pub in Ojai

May 12, 2008

Pub I had a great time reading at The Village Jester Restaurant & Pub tonight. We live all of three blocks away, so I grabbed a music stand and a handful of poems, and Val and I walked there through a balmy May night. In addition to being a great hangout and gathering place, The Jester also pours a strong Rose’s Lime and soda.

The open mic was remarkable for the raw, authentic nature of each piece. And, special bonus, my father read a poem as well–something he hadn’t done since he was nineteen, and read at an open mic prior to the feature of a different Robert–Robert Frost.

Many thanks to Tree Bernstein and The Jester for bringing good people to a good spot to share some poems. I can’t think of a better way to start the week.