Judson Crews

  Judson was a printer in Taos, NM, for many years. He has been variously a social worker in child welfare, director of an intensive care unit in a Girl’s School of Correction, a Psychological Counselor & Community Service Coordinator in Gallup, NM. He has lectured at junior colleges in New Mexico and Texas. For four years he was a lecturer in social development studies and directed field service studies at the University of Zambia, Lusaka, Zambia.

In recent years Judson has produced a body of work in the form of collage, still life and landscape photography.

Among his published collections of poems are: The Stones of Konarak (American Poets Press, 1966) Nolo Contendre (Wings Press, 1978), Four Decades (Duende Press, 1980), and Clock of Moss (Ahsahta Press, 1983).

Excerpts from his memoir Henry Miller and My Big Sur Days was published by Vergin Press in 1992 where he recalls the year he was Henry Miller’s friend and neighbor.

Extensive archives of his work are reposited in the University of Texas at Austin; The University of California at Los Angeles; Yale University; The University of Zambia, Zambia; and the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque.

Her freaked jet hair called up a tarantula

image – but what of her white face like

a Japanese mask. Would she have a great

formal bow on the kimono covering her ass?

Would

her many feet be climbing to my groin like

the mouths of a wounded squid?

Tradition has it the mature Gandhi

renounced all personal ownership but

his begging bowl, a loin-cloth, his

eye-glasses. Yet, I wonder. All those

young virgins in his ashram he gave

enemas to – wouldn’t he have owned

a syringe or a douche bag? Did all

these young ladies have to bring

their own?

Confessions

I have not made –

A thimble or two

I could dump them

In the ocean

They would bitter the waters

Pollute the shores

The nacreous shell of the large molluses

whose sweet white meat is all muscle

you must maul it lightly, lightly with

interminable firm but subtle strokes

if you will savor the sweetness. Ah

my sages – you tell me of God’s mercy. I

tell you of woman’s will.

 

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