Many years ago, I was drawn to Martin Buber and Max Picard. Buber, I met in an Alpena, Michigan, bookstore, picking up his I and Thou for fifty cents and reading it on the cottage’s couch the rest of vacation. Knowing nothing about Buber at the time, I didn’t understand all (much) of it, but I knew I was reading something beautiful. Picard, I met through Russell Kirk. I knew what to expect, but again, like my experience with Buber, I had difficulty understanding him, though I knew I was reading beauty.
“Poetic philosophy” is what I think some people call books like Buber’s and Picard’s: books that are more concerned with beautiful turns than with technical precision. Truth can never be captured precisely, so poetic philosophy isn’t less truthful than ordinary prose. It just “attacks” truth from a different angle.
Anyway, it was about probably 15-20 years ago that I was drawn to Buber and Picard. In my youthful ambition, I decided to imitate their books. The result was Two Men. It was never a completed work. Heck, it was never even a consistent work, since my approach frequently lapsed into straight prose and anecdotes and analysis, with no poetry and even less philosophy.
But it’s not bad for an early work, especially if you like quotes and anecdotes by and about the saints and philosophers. I never tried to have it published, but I have formatted it into an ebook and posted it to Amazon (Link) and Smashwords (Link), where you can download it in whatever form you want (pdf, Nook, Kindle, etc.).
Unlike Beer Man, this is a book you can browse. Pick it up, read some from the middle, jump to the end. Whatever. It’s a light … Read the rest