State

The Poet Laureate His fond daughter takes a different view of Janies Larkin Pearson’s 50 Acres. North Carolina's Poet Laureate, Janies Larkin Pearson, at age 91, is in the limelight again. His latest poetry collection. My Fingers and My Toes, will be presented in a Publication Day Ceremony at Wilkes Community Col¬ lege on April 25, 1971. Because of his latest achievement and in recognition of his previous con¬ tributions to North Carolina literature, Mr. Pearson received from Governor Scott on April 5 the Distinguished Citizen’s Award. The governor pro¬ claimed April as James Larkin Pearson Month. As the story of this unique North Carolinian is again being reviewed by the press, our readers may find delight in the recent discovery of a parody of Pearson’s best-known poem, “Fifty Acres." It seems that the poet's insatiable appetite for the printed page some¬ times exasperates his daughter, Mrs. Agnes Pearson Eller, who tries to keep his desk and surroundings orderly. Deciding finally that the only way to communicate with a poet was through his own medium, Mrs. Eller chose to parody his beloved "Fifty Acres." So as readers over the state enjoy again the poetry of her famous father, here, for the first time in print, is Mrs. Agnes Pearson Eller’s "Owed to a Hippie Home." — Essie N. Hayes FIFTY ACRES I've never been to London I’ve never been to Rome; But on my Fifty Acres I travel here at home. The hill that looks upon me Right here where I was born Shall be my mighty Jungfrau, My Alp. my Matterhorn. A little land of Egypt My meadow plot shall be. With pyramids of hay stacks Along its sheltered Ice. My hundred yards of brooklet Shall fancy's faith beguile. And be my Rhine, my Avon, My Amazon, my Nile. My humble bed of roses. My honeysuckle hedge, Will do for all the gardens At all the far world's edge. In June I find the Tropics Camped all about the place; Then white December shows me The Arctic’s frozen face. My wood-lot grows an Arden, My pond a Caspian Sea; And so my Fifty Acres Is all the world to me. Here on my Fifty Acres I safe at home remain, And have my own Bermuda, My Sicily, my Spain. — Janies Larkin Pearson OWED TO A HIPPIE HOME I wish I were in London Or living now in Rome, As from the belly-achcrs 1 defend my hippie home. My hundred thousand clippings I’ve saved since I was bom Would tower above a Jungfrau Or Alp or Matterhorn. My ancient piles of papers Are dried to brittle crust; My heavy-laden dresser Wears a coat of furry dust. The filtered sunlight shows me A window's smudgy face, And gray chiffon of cobwebs Draped all about the place. My hundred piles of booklets, My cluttered window ledge Must surely hold some items From all the far world's edge. A land of total chaos My desk has grown to be. Where myriads of health books Preach miracles to me. Amid my careful clutter Which I cling to and adore, I'm collecting Fifty Acres Of dirt upon my floor. J. L. P. (Just Living Peacefully) (Exposed by Agnes Pearson Eller, 10/16/69) THE STATE. APHIL 15. 1971 15