R.I.P. Bill Holm
Posted at 5:05 AM on February 27, 2009
by Dale Connelly
(21 Comments)
It is fitting that a good old fashioned winter storm struck the Twin Cities as word began to spread that Minnesota writer Bill Holm had died. Bill appreciated genuine things like prairies and snowstorms, and if it wasn't already on it's way, he might have sent this one as a gift - an experience troublesome enough to be memorable.
Bill Holm was a Morning Show correspondent for a time in the late '80's, when he was on a teaching fellowship in China. It was still unusual and exotic for an American to be in China back then, and Bill regularly sent cassette tapes back in the baggage of friends who came to visit him. We put those tapes on the air and then passed them along to his publisher. We never knew when something interesting was going to show up, sent by special courier from the other side of the planet.
He came from the prairie and loved it. In an essay titled "Horizontal Grandeur" he drew this distinction -
"There are two eyes in the human head - the eye of mystery and the eye of harsh truth - the hidden and the open - the woods eye and the prairie eye. The prairie eye looks for distance, clarity and light; the woods eye for closeness, complexity and darkness."
He goes on to identify himself as a person with a prairie eye.
Looking through Bill Holm's 1985 book "The Music of Failure", I came across a section of an essay titled "Icelanders, Boxelders, Soybeans and Poets" that tells part of his life story, beginning with his birth on a farm established by his Icelandic grandfather, 8 miles north of Minneota, Minnesota.
"At 18, what I wanted most to see in the world was the Minneota city limits receding, for the last time, in the rear view mirror of an automobile driving east, to New York, Boston, Washington, where men didn't spit snoose into brass spittoons, wore suits instead of clean bib overalls on Saturday night, where women did not wear shapeless print dresses, or discuss egg prices and the newest hot dish recipe, but were elegant and witty with painted eyebrows and long black gowns.By gradual steps, I made my way east, through college, graduate school, and into a teaching job next to the Atlantic Ocean, as far east as American consciousness moves. However, a strange thing happened. In addition to the urban culture of martinis and pate', conversation about Italian movies and liberal politics, I found empty-hearted rootlessness, books used as blunt instrument, a sneering disbelief that hayseed farmers had souls, much less intellects. So I began - much to the skeptical amusement of easterners I knew - to tell Minneota stories about fierce winters, eccentric old Icelanders done in by broken hearts, treeless wildflower-covered hills in Lincoln County, pioneer graveyards with peculiar names in Norwegian, Polish, Belgian, or Icelandic; pitching out a ripe hoghouse; soaking tired bones in the claw foot bathtub; country school with brass bell, glass-doored oak bookcase, and half-mooned outhouse; and most of all, the rich variety of characters in small towns, whom one could know, tolerate, and forgive in ways not available to the guarded privacy of the big city.
As my mother used to say, Minneota is just like that book by Grace Meticulous (sic) - Peyton Place - only better; the stories were true, and you knew all the actors."
Rest in Peace, Bill Holm - a man with a genuine Minnesota voice, a warm Icelandic heart and a keen prairie eye.
Comments (21)
Dale, thank you so much for the tribute to Mr. Holm. I was so sad to read the news in the paper this morning. As I high school student I got the wonderful opportunity to spend a day - I even got of out school for it! - in a creative writing workshop with Bill. It was him, our gifted/talented teacher and about seven teenage girls. I still remember the sound of his booming voice reading a poem I'd written about my boyfriend. Truly unforgettable.
Thanks, Dale, for your wonderful article. I had the pleasure of meeting Bill Holm on a number of occasions, usually at a book signing for one of his books.
One time as he was signing, he noticed my last name on my name tag. "Is that Finnish?" he said. I said yes. He looked squarely at me and challenged, "Do you speak the language?" I am Finnish by marriage, not by birth, but under that ferocious Icelandic gaze, a complete sentence of Finnish appeared in my brain and was proclaimed aloud by me. Bill was satisfied by my recitation, and he completed the signing of the book. I had never had to pass an examination to get a book signed before!
The translation of the Finnish adage that I recited for Bill is this: "Things come; things go. Nothing stays the same." Hearing the news of Bill's death is certainly proof of that old saying. He will be missed.
I also was shocked to read of Bill's death. I met him once at the funeral of a friend's son...I thought what a big bear of a man...a Viking, for sure.
But my fondest thoughts of Bill Holm are from a bookclub gathering we had to make Chinese dumplings based on what he had written from China. Grown-ups covered in flour and filled with laughter. The dumplings ended up looking like dead snails and were tasteless if not dreadful tasting. I would remember that afternoon every time I heard his voice on the radio.
Safe journey, Bill.
It was during the "spring" membership drive that I heard about our Icelandic Giant's passing---how appropriate: "Pay for that which you love, because others won't!" What a loss, although how blessed we have been---and still are, because of Bill's eye, intellect and heart. After we looked at our books and his signatures in them, we read some Walt Whitman and mourn.
And now, we have to go shovel snow.
Good morning, all. I enjoyed reading the excerpt from the "Icelanders, Boxelders, Soybeans and Poets" essay. Thanks for offering the tribute to a poet and the passing of his voice.
beautiful tributes Dale, Lora, Teri, Cynthia, and Bob and then that heart-wrenching "You Are My Sunshine" - i have nothing to add except thank you all.
All I have to add is that Lora is my beautiful daughter and she's coming home this weekend!!
My heart is filled with sorrow and with love as I think about the Icelandic Giant. Got into the office a bit late, so missed the "You are My Sunshine". Probably a good thing, because just the thought of that is bringing tears to my eyes.
I have looked to the boxelder bugs for wisdom and guidance ever since my mother gave me Mr. Holm's book of poetry and other tidbits many years ago. I have been privileged to be in the same room with Mr. Holm and his big bear of a presence. He was larger than life.
A void is out there in my world right now, but sharing with my fellow Heartlanders is beginning to fill it. Thank you all for being here as we remember a great man. Just reading your memories has helped me this morning.
Bill held court as keynoter of our Annual Sinclair Lewis Writer's Conference at the Historic Corner Bar and Palmer House in Sauk Centre many times. Like Lewis, Holm was a Minnesota voice, clear and significant, boxelder bugs and all.
Thanks for "Rock That Sucker" - yep, that's just what I was doing ten minutes ago. Had to move the car for the snow emergency, and got mired in that big ridge the plow left in the intersection.
Good Morning!
I guess we started preparing for this a couple days ago. Sorry to learn of Bill Holm's passing but here's what I think:
Greatness passes
A thundering silence
No longer here but never gone
We all leave a legacy,
But for the great among us
More folks know that legacy
Thanks Bill, I bid you peace.
I will also miss Bill Holm. I didn't have any direct contact with him, but I very much liked his books and attented a public presentation by him where he spoke and also played the piano. He did not work as a profesional musican, as far as I know. However, I understand that he liked to play for people and was a very good piano player.
Good Morning Heartlanders:
I'm sorry to say I'm not familiar with Bill Holm, but he sounds like someone I would like and enjoy just from reading what this group has said about him. My heart goes out to all who miss his presence and remember his spirit.
Your friend, Joanne J
Morning Heartlanders. I'm late onto the blog this morning, but it's incredibly heartwarming to see the Bill Holm tributes. I read "Coming Home Crazy" right before I went to China to pick up my daughter and I was struck by the essay about the Swiss Army knife being the most useful thing he took with him. So I went out and purchased myself the basic red tool and dutifully packed it in my suitcase. And he was right... it was incredibly lucky to have it, for fixing shoelaces, cutting pill tablets in half and I even used it to fix the lamp in my room one night. I think of him every time I use the knife, which now lives in the car.
But more than that, reading these tributes and thinking about the Trial Ballon Blog has made me realize, in a way that all those years of Morning Show could not, that there are lots of folks out in the world who value some of the things I value and have some of the same sensibilities that I have. So I'm feeling warm and fuzzy this morning thanks to all you Heartlanders out there!
My first thoughts on hearing of Bill Holm's passing was that same dumpling bookclub! And then his voice and gentle spirit that you could feel through the radio.
Thank you for honoring him here.
Cynthia in Indiana
I took my son to hear Mr. Holm read his poems in a sunny room at the bookstore that was across from Cafe Latte.
Thanks to Mr. Holm, I love to watch the box elder bugs search for warmth in the sun on curb edges and in sunspots on the hen house. I remember the story about the contraband piano in China. Our Hearts are indeed Filled and my eyes are filled with tears.
Fiamma
Thank you for your moving tribute to Bill Holm. I had the honor of attending one of Bill's writing workshops in Iceland. He was truly larger than life and inspired me as a writer and as a human being. One of his most important messages is intimated in his poem, "Advice" (from Boxelder Bug Varations). It's Bill's benediction, for all of us.
Advice
Someone dancing inside us
has learned only a few steps:
the "Do-Your-Work" in 4/4 time,
the "What-Do-You-Expect" Waltz.
He hasn't noticed yet the woman
standing away from the lamp.
the one with black eyes
who knows the rumba.
and strange steps in jumpy rhythms
from the mountains of Bulgaria.
If they dance together,
something unexpected will happen;
if they don't, the next world
will be a lot like this one.
Bill Holm
Hey Cynthia in Indiana! Welcome to the
Trial Balloon blog...hope to hear from you here again soon.
You were one of the ones covered with flour, as I recall...and I thought on my way to work this morning, the dumplings didn't look like dead snails, they looked like slugs..too nasty a thought before breakfast.
But I remember loving his China stories.
Thank you so much for this, I met Bill Holm only just recently. I had heard about him from some friend when I lived in Iceland. He will be missed, and the Icelandic Community of Minnesota will miss him as well.
Oh my. I just heard the rebroadcast playing of "You Are My Sunshine." The day of the last show, I was walking my dogs and listening to the show on my old Walkman Radio Tape player. I remember exactly where I was when I heard that. I listened and cried while I was walking down 36th Ave, just north of 38th St.
About this time yesterday I read of Bill's death. All sorts of Bill stories came to mind, mostly when I'd run into him when he was in Sioux Falls.
One night, some years ago, Bill and a bunch of us were in a bar where a local band was playing. During the break one of the patrons got a bit ugly and broke a beer bottle and started acting tough. The diminutive bar-maid roughly escorted him out and then Bill pulled the upright piano from the wall to play a bit of ragtime.
This is but one of many memories. He will be missed. When I got home last night from that same bar (now many years later), I went to You Tube and found only one video of Bill, reading a poem and talking about the importance of Paul Wellstone. Check it out.
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