PATRICK J. CORMIER Ė POET Ė
PAINTER Ė MUSICIAN
Pat Cormier was born
on June 12, 1977 in Calais. He has lived the majority of his
years in Alexander in the house his great-great grandparents
built in 1896. He stands on the shoulders of those before
his time, preserving their elevated ideas and extraordinary
lifestyles, their adaptability and stories of survival.
He is a
singer/songwriter, poet, painter/sculptor, gardener, and
patriot of the earth, as were his ancestors. He is a simple
extension of them, naturally making the best of his time.
For him to have such a life and to greet each day with
enthusiasm, respect and gratuity keeps him close to his
core,wide eyed and warm,
A POEM FOR BARRY GILES, JR. (1976 -
Well, I felt you in the wind, my friend
In the blueberry field today,
And through that wild gust of pensive wind
I know, I felt you say.
ďTell everyone to forgive themselves,
thus releasing me,
Find freedom in your heavy hearts,
Iíve transitioned -- beautifully.Ē
Patrick Cormier - August 7, 1913
ROOTED TO THIS PLACE
Few people in this day
of living with the Internet, high-speed cars, and the
worldwide economy can claim roots like Patrick Cormier. He
is living in the house that his great- great grandparents
built and on property that was settled before Alexander
became a town. Here, he expresses in free verse his feelings
about this place.
The land is calling me.
That tender slice of tuckered prosperity.
The harvest brimming in sweet seclusion.
Tilled by hands.
Passed down to test the times.
Cleared and grown.
Gone, coming again.
What heart will have it?
Whose sweat will wear it?
This source of resilient names.
These halls of familiar faces.
I beat the blood of a weathered many.
I breathe my turn.
I touch my face.
I feel their faces.
Through secret gardens,
That behold feathered patches of
I have found the footsteps of home.
For this is them.
This land is me.
A space -- for us.
Am I building rugged enough,
to withstand all the weight that is building?
twenty-five inches of snow, in a December
We hunker down,
tight to the woodstove, the bone broth is
there is a candle on the window sill for you.
Could my town
blow off the map, leaving flat forest and
What remains if nothing recalls?
Donít rush the winters of life
Patrick Cormier -
February 1, 2014
THE BETTER HALF
is the good woman behind Pat, but she is more than that; she
is an accomplished artist in her own right.
Crystal Leah McCaslin was born in Machias
on August 14, 1980. Her parents are Sheila McCaslin and
Barry Giles SR. Crystal came from Portland to live in
Alexander in 2005 to escape the city and be with Pat.
Crystal has a broad range of interests
including sewing and knitting, drawing and painting, making
soap and natural beauty care products, jewelry making and
cooking, writing and singing, and medicinal alchemy which
was practiced by the first resident of this home over a
hundred years ago.
A large part of her artistic interests and
ability stem from a family heritage built on frugality and
the ability to survive in hard times. She is resourceful and
looks at the world in a playful childlike nature. She
believes that things transform all the time, so that what
may appear as useless can with ones creativity become
something of use or something of beauty.
Tight Like Bark To a Tree
FOLK SONG FROM RAREFIELD
ritten and performed by Patrick Cormier
With this heavy cold dew
apples gonna pass?
I donít understand the weather pattern
But I crave its forecast.
So, Solar System, where are we?
Are we floating freely from debris?
Weíve lost the luster bright of green
And soon the trees will shed this scene.
Well I havenít got too far to stroll
Before Iím chest high in white snow
To the woodshed we all go
To stack our firewood tiers high.
Itís cold outside, let us be thankful
weíre warm inside
With food on the table that will chase a
And a bond so strong
Tight like bark to a tree.
With this cold heavy dew
Are the apples gonna last?
I havenít made any cider
And the golden russets are falling fast.
We awoke this morning to a frost
Thirty degrees, we lost some crops
The sun is shining so letís make hay
And salvage what we can today.
We juggle beer, juggle wine
Pickled peppers and pumpkin pies
Harvest, forage, put food by
And in this land we will survive