was saying, many explicitly called themselves anarchists. Among poets there seemed to be this sense that capitalism was obviously no good, but if the two alternatives were going to be American capitalism and Stalinism, they weren't buying either one. Yet at the same time you get a mainstream cold-war consensus version of this with the idea of the end of ideology. Did the Daniel Bell notion make sense to you as an expression of your sense of beyond ideology, or was it something else? ED: Well, I know what you're talking about, but not so much, because I never really had an ideology in the first place, so I Edward Dorn was born in 1929 and grew up in the farm country of eastern Illinois. He found his way to Black Mountain College in the fifties, where he came across writers like Jonathan Williams, Robert Creeley, and, most importantly, Charles Olson. Dorn first received national recognition as one of the poets of the Black Mountain School with the publication of Donald Allen's The New American Poetry in 1960. Since then, he has taught at universities throughout the American West as well as at the University of Essex in England and has produced a remarkably varied body of work in his poetry, prose, and translations. His books of poetry include Hands Up!, Geography, The North Atlantic Turbine, Recollections of Gran Apacheria, Gunslinger, Hello, La Jolla, Yellow Lola, and Abhorrences. For a number of years, Dorn assisted his wife Jennifer Dunbar Dorn, in editing Rolling Stock, a feisty journal of politics and the arts. This year, Black Sparrow Press will publish Dorn's Way West--Stories, Essays, and Verse Accounts, 1963-1993. The interview takes place at Dorn's home in Boulder Colorado, on 4 September 1990. John Wright, whose adopted home is northwest Washington, begins by asking about Dorn's early years in the Skagit Valley and his novel By the Sound. Later, Jennifer Dunbar Dorn joins them and the conversation for a while. John Wright: You found your way to the Skagit Valley early on in your career, and it was there that you wrote your novel By the Sound. Tell me about your time there. Edward Dorn: Well, I went to the Skagit Valley before I was even married. I was working in the timber, and that was when I was still in the middle of my Black Mountain years. But before that, when I was at the University of Illinois, I had known older students who had connections for summer work in Seattle, so I worked a couple of summers at Boeing. That's when they kept records by hand. This would have been '49, '50, along in there. There were whole rooms of people just transferring parts and keeping them on 5 x 6 cards. It was all intensive hand labor entry. It was very boring and so forth, but the pay was pretty good. I made my tuition doing that, and we'd rent rooms together to keep costs down, one time on Queen Anne Hill and one time in the Ballard District. JW: Seattle was still a pleasant, fairly funky town, even ten years ago. It's all cleaned up now. ED: Californians always dehumanize places. They're the lemmings of the real estate group. They just rush to the next cheaper place. JW: And it's an exchange of different kinds of dirt. The streets are cleaner, but the air's filthy because of all the cars, and people are campaigning for mayor on the traffic issue because the freeways are unbelievably gnarled up. It's becoming like L.A. in that sense, while the rest of the city still feels like what San Francisco might have felt like long ago. ED: Well, they bring all that with them. But Seattle was a very liveable town, actually. It was human. JW: And you went up to the Valley after Black Mountain? ED: Well, when I got married, my first marriage, we lived in San Francisco for a while after Black Mountain, and then I needed work. I was an itinerant worker in those days, and I went back to the woods because I knew how to do it, and it was easy to get a job in those days because there was no ecological movement stopping clear-cutting or anything. …