A Poet who Brings Peace of Mind Psychohistorically (festschrift article)

Peter Petschauer is known to many as a historian, an erudite professor and scholar, a person of deep wisdom and measured emotional responses, a loyal friend and compassionate mentor, an art collector, and a great family man. But few know him as a “consummate weaver of words” (Noyes Capehart, in endorsement for Hopes and Fears) who writes psychohistorical and autobiographical poetry.

I enjoyed getting to know Peter as a poet when we worked together to publish two volumes of his poetry, Hopes and Fears (2019) and Listen to Rarely Heard Voices (2022), through MindMend Publishing. Both books include narrative poetry and free poetry. I also would describe it as existential poetry that transcends the poetic genre. If a clichés-less genre ever existed, Peter’s poetry would be its bright illustration.

Peter’s poetry brings the reader to his world of care: care for people whom Peter knows and loves and those he does not know; care for “in-the-moment” feelings brought by nature; and care for history and its deep meaning. Also, both poetry books reflect on Peter’s journey of self-discovery and appreciation of life “as is”—from being a child of four mothers and an SS-member father to finding his love, joy, and calling later in life.

It is difficult to write about one’s poetry but easy to feel it resonate in our hearts and souls. Here are some examples of Peter’s

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relationship with nature, which found a significant place in his poetry. In “Fall Walk,” he writes: “Birds complain about my presence / acorns crash to the ground / leaves jump to the side / rustle as they reach the border of the path…” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 11). In “The Carpeted Path,” he composes: “Along the path nature does the talking / we embrace its call” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 15).

Peter’s appreciation of the inevitable evolution of life and life stages comes through as a message of hope and light rather than grief or bitterness: “The pain of aging brings serenity and wisdom” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 44); “Tentacles of other times / reaching into the present… / The illusion of being young forever” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 60); and “The soft breathing of my beloved partner / in a shared bed / Reassurances of life…” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 62). Reading Peter’s poems, one realizes that history is not a mere recount of historical facts, but it is a living and breathing entity, which is created in the mind of the beholder because the psychohistorical process includes each person’s unique interpretations of the events based on one’s individual and cultural experiences and insights.

Writing this short essay for Peter Petschauer’s Festschrift was a blessing for me because when I reread both books of poetry from beginning to end, I discovered new and enriched meanings of events and even a new understanding of life. Now I see that Peter’s poem, “Evolution’s Evolution,” dedicated to Howard Stein, became an ode to one’s creative and powerful mind. As Peter writes there, “Eyes that savor a beautiful sunset / may as well deliver the message / of the wreckage of a destructive war…”; “Ears that absorb soothing melodies of Mozart / cannot block the jarring detonations of hand-grenades…”; “Hands that lovingly caress the body of another / that work with chisels and axes / to erect homes, churches, and palaces / may turn and destroy them with dogged will…”; and “The brain, a beautiful fruition of creation / with untold ingenuity in its crevices / may just as well participate in the undoing / of the carriage that underpins it…” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 43).

My (IR) following interview with Peter Webb Petschauer (PWP) took place on August 9, 2023.

IR: Why poetry?

PWP: Because it is succinct; unlike writing articles and books, a poem can get to a point quickly. It is a personal expression and yet it evokes a broader context. My recent poem, “Spiegelbild/

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Reflection,” about unknown soldiers, German and Russian, being pressed by tanks and trucks into the frozen or muddy ground, is case in point. Here is an excerpt from this poem:

The endless halls / of mirror images of wars’ blood-stained soils / A German soldier ground into a muddy road before Moscow / December 1941 / Did a bullet find him and knock him down? / Tanks and trucks rolled over him — / no time to stop and pull him aside — / bullets targeted their crews as well… / …A Russian soldier crushed into a road on the Donets front / July 2023 / Did a bullet knock him down right there? / His uniformed body barely discernible — / only the soles of his boots sticking up sideways / Missing in far-away Ukraine — / a mother or girlfriend mourning far away—unaware of his fate… (pre-publication).

I could have written articles about each of the topics, but in the process, I might have lost the immediacy and comprehensiveness that is attainable with poems. My role models are the brilliant poets Basho and Goethe. I have no illusion about ever reaching their exceptional versatility with the written word. The Japanese traveler’s poetry is usually astonishingly short and succinct, but unfortunately, I can only access it in translation. The German’s poetry is expressive of the human condition in general, but just as powerful, even funny on occasion. I can read it in the original.

IR: Why poetry in psychohistory?

PWP: In a hopefully forthcoming article in Clio’s Psyche, Dr. Howard Stein, a brilliant poet, and my living mentor, speaks of the relationship between applied poetry and psychohistory. What can one say after that?

There are many ways of describing the human condition and, by implication, the many perspectives of the planet that is our home. We can explore and explain in words, paintings, and music. Poetry gets us deeper into issues than an essay, even if many of us prefer to read essays.

Let me elaborate. A poem can get at a topic more holistically than an essay. In Basho’s poems about cherry trees, he brings to the reader his knowledge of words and Japan’s longstanding tradition of the cherry tree as the symbol of the eternal return and dissi-

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pation of spring. When the poems are read out loud, we sense how he has removed himself from the blossoms and is giving us a painting supported by the music of the words.

In a sense, Basho was the psychohistorian’s psychohistorian. His poetry gives all the senses access to a moment in time, be it a person, an animal, or a tree. I cannot hope to reach such perfection, but do endeavor to follow his lead, especially when I create poems about authoritarians/dictators and their followers, and the deepest emotions that drive them.

Stein talks about poetry being a complementary way of knowing. Dare I say that I see it as more than that: It is a comprehensive way of knowing. It provides several aspects of an image, that is, word, image, and tone, that take us deeper into personalities and groups of persons, or events, to discern a more rounded image. Is that psychohistorical? I suppose so.

IR: Which of your poem(s) do you cherish the most?

PWP: My favorites, and also personally meaningful, poems are: from Hopes and Fears—“Attila, the Fencer,” “Two White Summer Suits,” “Am Stammtisch,” and “After Us;” and from Rarely Heard Voices—“Horse Apples,” “The Giant in the Forest,” “Moon Boats,” “The Tyrant’s Death,” and “The Battlefield.” In my third volume, not yet published, my favorites are: “Catching Fish,” “A Cow Peeling in a Mountain Hut,” “Papa Told Me,” and “Spiegelbild/ Reflection.”

IR: Here are the excerpts from Hopes and Fears:

“Attila, how dare you disturb/ my peace with your heritage? / A heritage that questions my own?” (Petschauer, 2019, p. 10).

“I fear you / Grim Reaper / You will undo my thoughts, voice, and actions / You take me from home and friends — even life / … Then no one would — / read our poetry/ hear our music / view our art / inhabit our buildings / taste our foods / not even drink our water / No one would rediscover — our thoughts, our efforts, our creations — even our gravestones…” (Petschauer, 2019, pp. 103-104).

These are from Rarely Heard Voices:

“A fierce storm arose one night/ Unrelenting spray swept into every hiding place/ under the forest’s canopy/ The giant felt its

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roots loosen from the soil – the perfect spot that sustained it so well. Its moans called out to friends and neighbors. They held out their branches – swayed in rhythmic understanding” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 74).

“Even if uninformed, disorganized, and spiteful – / loyal troops follow their commander to their doom / Too many lie buried / on too many battlefields / and in graveyards across the globe / Too late for them to realize – / their prideful chief ended there as well” (Petschauer, 2022, p. 100).

What would you like to be remembered for in 100 years? (This is the same question Oliver Sacks was asked, to which he answered, “He bore witness!”)

PWP: If our species is still around and concerning itself with anything other than survival, I would like to be remembered as having been a loving and loyal husband as well as having warned others about dictators and their inhumanity, especially through their wars, and the end of the planet as we know it.

IR: Do you have regrets? How do you process them?

PWP: My deepest regret is my difficult relationship with my daughter. My first wife’s and my divorce when Melanie was eight probably started it, and then it continued with her hopping from one man to the other without much regard to how it affected them or her. Maybe she is searching in vain for her father.

I grew up in a household of wonderful women, about whom I wrote In the Face of Evil: The Sustenance of Traditions (2014), and in some ways, about the village of Afers/Eores that I wrote about in my latest German book (2022). My close friends are women. They are mothers, sisters, daughters, and now a granddaughter. I suppose all these fantastic women are replacements for a daughter I do not have, but it is also that having grown up in a female household makes me comfortable with them (and in turn, them with me).

IR: What are your strengths? Weaknesses?

PWP: Strengths: Patience, patientia, with others, and the amount of time it takes to resolve many issues—the long view, in other words. A reach for perfection in my work.

Weaknesses: Trying to work out something far too long—be it a relationship or an issue. My wife Joni says that I stay with

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some things far beyond the point of no return. Along with this compulsiveness!

IR: What would you change in your life if you could?

PWP: Bring the relationship with my daughter back on an even keel.

IR: What brings you joy?

PWP: Listening to music, especially jazz and classical, as well as viewing and collecting art. Seeing others, especially younger people, succeed personally and professionally. Writing, especially now poetry, which I engage in daily.

IR: You’re all about consistency, not intensity. Is there anything important that I missed asking you about?

PWP: Probably. Human beings are complex. Once I have worked out one thing, about myself, historically and currently, something else pops up to offer me a different perspective.

IR: Thanks, Peter, for your poetry, deep knowledge, and your humanity.

Peace of mind is the experience that Peter’s psychohistorical poetry provides to many of us. While being vulnerable and unassuming, Peter teaches us, through his poetry, to accept life in all its beauty and ugliness, and it allows us to let go of control of the outcome, no matter what it is.

Haruki Murakami (2000) wrote once, “What happens when people open their hearts? …They get better.” Peter Petschauer’s poetry opens hearts. We all “get better,” able to tolerate, thrive, grieve, and rejoice.

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