Version 1.0 “The Prelease” test version, of which about fifty copies were sold, was rushed into print in April 2008. At that time, we planned to link  up with the 100th Anniversary of the Lakeview School Fire. That plan was premature. We abandoned that link,  and I apologize for the confusion.

Version 1.1 The  so called “First Edition” appeared in July 2008. In this version, certain parts of the text were altered by me, the author.

Version 1.2 Thanks to certain readers’ requests and with help from independent editors, more typos and grammar problems were corrected.  Effective October 15, 2008, Version 1.2 became available worldwide.  It has not been altered since then.

However, if you have a signed or not signed copy of V 1.0 or 1.1, you  own a collector’s item because we can never revert to those versions!! Those templates(PDF files) were erased forever. So your precious copy is now more precious . The changes were primarily limited to editorial, grammatical, and spelling errors. The story itself remained intact.

However, in Version 1.1, one paragraph was inserted by me at the end of chapter 13  in the interest of establishing an improved ethical balance. 

 I continue to believe that “Faces” has a powerful future even though it is a humble, first  novel by an obscure poet and mystical philosopher. Many have shown interest in developing a movie  or TV version since many non readers are waiting for the DVD to come out. Others have read the novel three or four times and have found at least three levels of meaning: a literal, an historical, and the symbolic.  My preferred focus is obvious. To me, existence is a symbolic process.

Thanks to all who have shown an interest.

It was an overwelming experience in that she was a total stranger who had sought for a copy for a long time. I gave her a press release only because I had sold or given away all the copies I had.  If I had the time, I might have shared with her the following account of the origin of this book.

This project began over twenty years ago when I became interested in restoring antique furniture and doing woodworking. At that time I learned that there were two kinds of furniture: handmade and manufactured. The old handmade pieces had tool marks everywhere. When I examined them carefully, I could feel the presence of the craftsman. Each saw cut or chisel mark brought his handwork to life right before my eyes.

So, being a literary person,  I wrote an essay entitled ‘The Future of A Handmade Cabinet.” The thesis was simple. Handmade cabinets seem crude to the uninformed, but  precious to the devotee. The discussion at Reed’s Inn came directly from this essay.

As for the rest of the story, the Lakeview School Fire was never the main subject of this novel. But the timeless struggle between entrophy and evolution was always the subject. Every day our bodies are being destroyed and reborn. Every day we  are driven to extend our lives another day, another year, another decade. The castatrophic events, such  as theLakeview School fire of 1908, fit into this story like a glove.  Death by fire frightens all of us. But we cannot let such fears drag history down. We must move on.

Most of the writing on the Lakeview School focuses on the horror of the moment. I wanted to examine the consciousness of the survivors. I just thought the horror was overdone on this subject. So from there the plot kind of fell together. While writing, I remembered a phrase from some mediaeval writer that warned of  “our little sister Death.”  I remember it from years ago. It showed up  in Faulkner’s writing, which I have always loved. It implies that we all have a constant awareness of our own  death.

Entrophy, this sense of death  rightly understood, makes us become responsible for the moment. It teaches us how to love children, animals, flowers, life, and oddly enough, handmade cabinets which frequently get burned up because people do not understand them. Fire should not be aimed at tormenting us. That is a sickness. Fire is our constant reminder, our teacher. Its powerful functions must be respected.

That’s the story of  my novel  in a  very compact nutshell.

Coming .

“Delicate Miracles,” my new book of selected poems, was released in December 31, 2009. It can be found through Amazon.com, Authorhouse.com, and it can be ordered through most bookstores. I will be giving readings where copies will be available.

 ”Delicate Miracles”   is a selection of collected  poems arranged in reverse chronology. Some readers began at the back and read forward, which is fine. There is a vague sort of narrative story, but my poems are always isolated glimpses into some special moment where I experienced an epiphany. There is no deep mystery, no supreme logic, just a moment of truth. Fifty years after they were written down, they still  take me right back to the same moment as if it were happening  today.

My poems are inspired by the oriental  method, quatrains and Haiku, and the ultimate—the one-liner, or the one-word, or the utterance, i.e. “OM”.

It is true, as at least one reader has found, that I was influenced by a group at the University of Iowa  in the 1970′s including Ted Berrigan, Anselm Hollo, Marvin Bell, and many others. I think of them as ‘The Fractalists,’  in that they sought to pin down one single moment and see through that moment a glimpse of  a greater  Reality.

They usually did not grind away at some political or economic agenda, nor did they use poetry to demonstrate their erudition. Not that these other things were wrong, but these Fractalists wanted to preserve the intensity of the moment and share it with The World. Often the image was raw. A ruinous heap of disgarded possessions fascinated these writers. For them, the moil of existance often marked the discovery of their true existance. They believed something like this:  I see beauty in life’s refuse, therefore I am. Here is an example in a poem by Anselm Hollo, “The Actualist Anthology,” (Iowa City, 1977)

Elegy

the laundry-basket is still there/though badly chewed up by the cat/but time has devoured the cat/entirely 

I call this Fractalism: a mundane subject, concisely described, with  a glimpse of  memorable importance, i.e., the death of a pet.  Taken with a mixture of humor and tragedy, this appeal  to  ordinary things defined their common ground. Through this  they protested against their unique sense of dehumanization. Of course the imagery in the longer poems often became elaborately intertwined to a point of  being unreadable. Also these diverse writers were not always grouped as one school.

     These poets expressed some of the deeper motives behind the Vietnam War protests, including the counter culture, the greening movement, and the anti-media protests of that time. Clearly, we see the same kind of activity going on today, except that the technique  has now been absorbed into the mainstream so much that overuse has dulled its sarcastic edge.

Over time I lost track of these writers but still continued to write after their manner. Over the years, I actually forgot what I wrote long ago. Then one day I decided to dig all this stuff up, link it together, and publish it. The book  is not for everybody. To me these moments  preserved reality far better than any photograph or  painting. These are fractals, little pieces of some bigger picture which never changes– wistful words clinging to an Illusive Divinity. Chants. Prayers.

At readings I like to improvise the poems to the accompaniment of guitar or bongo drum and draw out an audience response. I am, as many know, the last of the last Romantics.

window light by d. s.

still moon climbs sadly/she needs someone’s strong embrace  /search for  my hoodie

The saw mill at the Kirtland Historical Sites of LDS Church is a replica of one that stood on this same spot when The Mormon Temple was built in the 1830′s. Beneath the mill there is a ten foot round mill wheel that is driven by water from a pond.

 

The Restored Vertical Saw Blade At Kirtland

An interesting feature of the mill is the vertical blade. Before water power was used to drive saw mills, vertical blades were hand-driven. One man stood on a high ramp, the other on the ground (or sometimes in a pit) under the log or board.

In the eighteen century the water-driven mill with a vertical blade was introduced. By the eighteen forties the vertical blade was replaced by the more familar circular blade such as we know today. This circular blade was driven by steam, or later by electrical and gasoline power, and was much faster and easier to maintain. The new blade made a hideous noise, and it also left an arc-shaped cut that dated the boards.

For further information contact: Historic Kirtland Visitor’s Center, 7800 Kirtland-Chardon Road, Kirtland, Ohio 44094. Telephone: 1-440-256-2692; or visit the website at www.lds.org/placestovisit/.

Please note the following: “The Faces Book” blog  and the novel “Faces” are not affliated or endorsed by any organized religion or church. Any opinions expressed on this blog or in the novel are solely those of the author, Dan Sakach. 

A further note on the Saw Mill at Kirtland.

Somtimes, I can still see my characters, Ebb Collard and Abner Steele, arguing as they position logs in front of that vertical blade. Part of the charm of the old vertical mill was the sound. The water ran through the sluice driving the wheel with a gentle splash and flow. As the gears drove the blade up and down, there were many gentle pounding and clicking sounds. The blade itself made  a quiet swish and sawing sound without any high pitched scream. The deck floor seemed to vibrate as if shaken by a faint and distant earthquake.

While I was writing the novel, I had the distinct pleasure of standing on the mill floor shown above when the saw was operating. There was a gentle yet a firm sense of power. It carried me (and others around me) back into a time, long forgotten. For me, it symbolized man in harmony with nature. Unfortunately they no longer engage the blade when visitors are nearby today. Too much liability!   Sometimes, I think they should at least play a recording of those old, clunky sounds!

Water driven mills, similar to this one, were still running as late as 1913. To my knowledge, this replica may be the only one standing in the Midwest today. One of the last running water mills on the Chagrin River was Dodd’s Mill. At that time, it had a vertical blade and a mill house somewhat like the one seen here. But the drive wheel was smaller. During the famous flood of 1913, the dam broke and it was never again restored.

This turning mill wheel remains as a symbol of all those wheels that gave the pioneers power over the forces of nature.

The Whittlesey Carving 1000-1600 A.D.

The image on the cover of the book was carved on a rock summit over the Chagrin River near the intersection of Lake , Geauga, and Cuyahoga Counties, in NE Ohio. As far as I know, it was discovered by my uncle probably in the 1920′s. It has been dated as a Whittlesey carving, very rare. Visitors to this site have seen unusual symbolic meanings in that face. Some have seen similarities to Mayan art work.  Some have seen work similar to Erie Indian pipes. It has one eye shaped like a monacle, a nose flat, and lips thin as if poised not to speak at all. On its chin, an obscure ring seems to be a piece of jewelry. Those who dare to describe it somehow bare their own souls. We need more interpretations, and also a name for this face. If you have a suggestion, let us know.

What do you see in that stone face?

What would you name this face?

For more information onthe Whittlesey focus and Erie Indians contact:  Indian Museum of Lake County, Ohio, Technical Center, P. O. Box 883, 25 Public Square, Willoughby, OH 44096-0883. A copy of my novel is available at the museum.