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Glens Falls Post-Star, NY
March 9 2008
The pages left behind
By Lisa Bramen
[email protected]
Published: Sunday, March 09, 2008
BALLSTON SPA
Three months after her husband's death at 86, Marian Barba's front
room is slowly transforming from a place for dying to a place for
living.
Gone are the breathing equipment and bedpans from Harry Barba's final
years, when he was too sick to leave his recliner or, usually, to
speak.
But other reminders of Harry, once a distinguished writer and
educator with a mind that stayed lively to the end, are still
everywhere. His papers and books fill an entire enclosed porch.
Organizing them will be a project for some poor graduate student some
day, Marian said, chuckling softly.
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She pointed out the knickknacks scattered throughout the living room
-- a head of Nefertiti, Middle Eastern trinkets, old musical
instruments -- explaining that she collected them as a way of
bringing the world to Harry during the years he was homebound.
Despite his illness, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, Harry
wasn't depressed about his condition. He managed to enjoy what he
could still get out of life.
"He had a lot of
joie
," Marion said, punching her fist for emphasis.
Barba was born in Bristol, Conn. in 1922. Although he was Armenian
American, he thought of himself primarily as an American writer,
Marian said. He implemented the creative writing program at Skidmore
College, where he taught for many years. Among his achievements were
a Fulbright professorship that allowed him to teach in Syria and the
nomination in 1985 of one of his novels for a Pulitzer Prize by
Edward Said, the prominent cultural critic and literary theorist.
He had an uneasy relationship with the lit
erary and publishing world. His first novel, "For the Grape Season,"
was published by Macmillan in 1960, but in a heavily edited form that
left him unsatisfied. In order to retain creative control in
subsequent works, he established his own publishing company, which he
named Harian Creative Books, a combination of his and Marian's names.
"I think there was a frustration of not being recognized enough by
the literary community," Marian said.
Recently, she has begun re-reading his work with a new respect.
During their life together, she was a great support to him in many
ways, but not as a critic. They did collaborate on a pair of
cookbooks, though, called "What's Cooking in Congress?" which sold
well. The first collection, from 1979, includes a recipe for crab
cakes from Strom Thurmond and "Plains Cheese Ring" from President
Carter.
Shortly before he died, two of Harry's stories were re-published in
an anthology of first-generation Armenian American writers, called
"Forgotten Bread," where he is described in an introduction as "one
of the doyens of Armenian American literature."
His inclusion in the book was a satisfying validation, Marian said,
especially since it was unsolicited.
"His last days were very optimistic and energized by having been
republished," she said. "He said he'd like to start physical therapy.
He had an assessment two days before he died."
In the months before Harry's death, Marian delved into their record
collection and began playing music from the days when they could
still go to concerts.
"It was like that fall we had to tie up some loose threads," she
said. "It was almost like a date, reliving those old times we had."
Harry's long illness had allowed him to come to terms with many
aspects of his life, including its eventual end. In the early years
of his 20-year illness, Marian said, his mortality was an untouchable
subject. Slowly, he began to discuss his wishes for how his remains
would be handled, first saying he wanted his ashes scattered in some
far away place. More recently, he asked that his ashes be scattered
under the willow tree in the backyard. To Marian, this meant he was
at peace and comfortable where he was.
They spent their last Thanksgiving at home, one of the few in recent
years he hadn't been in the hospital. A week later, during a
breathing treatment, he died.
This spring, after the thaw, she plans to carry out his wishes and
scatter his ashes by the willow tree.
March 9 2008
The pages left behind
By Lisa Bramen
[email protected]
Published: Sunday, March 09, 2008
BALLSTON SPA
Three months after her husband's death at 86, Marian Barba's front
room is slowly transforming from a place for dying to a place for
living.
Gone are the breathing equipment and bedpans from Harry Barba's final
years, when he was too sick to leave his recliner or, usually, to
speak.
But other reminders of Harry, once a distinguished writer and
educator with a mind that stayed lively to the end, are still
everywhere. His papers and books fill an entire enclosed porch.
Organizing them will be a project for some poor graduate student some
day, Marian said, chuckling softly.
Advertisement
She pointed out the knickknacks scattered throughout the living room
-- a head of Nefertiti, Middle Eastern trinkets, old musical
instruments -- explaining that she collected them as a way of
bringing the world to Harry during the years he was homebound.
Despite his illness, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, Harry
wasn't depressed about his condition. He managed to enjoy what he
could still get out of life.
"He had a lot of
joie
," Marion said, punching her fist for emphasis.
Barba was born in Bristol, Conn. in 1922. Although he was Armenian
American, he thought of himself primarily as an American writer,
Marian said. He implemented the creative writing program at Skidmore
College, where he taught for many years. Among his achievements were
a Fulbright professorship that allowed him to teach in Syria and the
nomination in 1985 of one of his novels for a Pulitzer Prize by
Edward Said, the prominent cultural critic and literary theorist.
He had an uneasy relationship with the lit
erary and publishing world. His first novel, "For the Grape Season,"
was published by Macmillan in 1960, but in a heavily edited form that
left him unsatisfied. In order to retain creative control in
subsequent works, he established his own publishing company, which he
named Harian Creative Books, a combination of his and Marian's names.
"I think there was a frustration of not being recognized enough by
the literary community," Marian said.
Recently, she has begun re-reading his work with a new respect.
During their life together, she was a great support to him in many
ways, but not as a critic. They did collaborate on a pair of
cookbooks, though, called "What's Cooking in Congress?" which sold
well. The first collection, from 1979, includes a recipe for crab
cakes from Strom Thurmond and "Plains Cheese Ring" from President
Carter.
Shortly before he died, two of Harry's stories were re-published in
an anthology of first-generation Armenian American writers, called
"Forgotten Bread," where he is described in an introduction as "one
of the doyens of Armenian American literature."
His inclusion in the book was a satisfying validation, Marian said,
especially since it was unsolicited.
"His last days were very optimistic and energized by having been
republished," she said. "He said he'd like to start physical therapy.
He had an assessment two days before he died."
In the months before Harry's death, Marian delved into their record
collection and began playing music from the days when they could
still go to concerts.
"It was like that fall we had to tie up some loose threads," she
said. "It was almost like a date, reliving those old times we had."
Harry's long illness had allowed him to come to terms with many
aspects of his life, including its eventual end. In the early years
of his 20-year illness, Marian said, his mortality was an untouchable
subject. Slowly, he began to discuss his wishes for how his remains
would be handled, first saying he wanted his ashes scattered in some
far away place. More recently, he asked that his ashes be scattered
under the willow tree in the backyard. To Marian, this meant he was
at peace and comfortable where he was.
They spent their last Thanksgiving at home, one of the few in recent
years he hadn't been in the hospital. A week later, during a
breathing treatment, he died.
This spring, after the thaw, she plans to carry out his wishes and
scatter his ashes by the willow tree.