Edmund Kara

Edmund Kara's life was one of literature, costume design, the theater, and travel before he settled in Big Sur to do what few can: improve redwood. Though he kept his sculptures off display, those who saw them saw his astonishing genius, his gift for seeing into wood, for finding its essence, and carving his way to the creature or character inside. His presence will forever be felt, but nowhere more than at Nepenthe's Bal Masque, a fundraiser for the Big Sur Fire Brigade, when he would appear in a carved redwood mask and his own professionally designed costume, to sweep through the crowd. No costume compared. Few lives did. The following poem, placed in the Big Sur Round Up upon his death, also appeared in "Scribbles," the newsletter for the Central Coast Writers Branch of the California Writers Club. It would take a book of poetry to properly honor his life, but everyone who knew him knows even that would fall short. Below is one attempt to honor his contribution to the community of Big Sur.

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Edmund Kara Remembered

by Anita Alan

Like facets of a rare gem
no two people saw you in the same light,
a complex soul seeking simplicity.
Your brilliance showed with every glance.
You reflected on those you touched,
and they on you.
No more power, no greater strength of purpose
could be bound in one person.
Always you sat across,
love seats facing
each other.
Equals.
Yet you had no equal.
Some implausible spirit held your cliff home,
your scarcely-terraced studio,
a sculpted sanctuary,
peregrine like
etched on the edge of abandon.
Where ceanothus seeds pepper the powder-fine dust on Pfeiffer Point,
where the pungent scents of sage and lupine,
cypress and pine, oak and redwood flourish and combine
with salt spray and summer fog,
bringing aromatic and unending inspiration;
there, from your aerie, above sure oblivion, you soared.
On that precipice, you shaped the redwood that in turn shaped you.
From uplifted marine sediment,
on land rising, resisting change
crumbling, gouging, grinding, sliding
you created your uncertain dwelling and its mute, hewn inhabitants,
studied the shimmering sunrise across a cove of the silken sea,
crafted crashing waves with burl, and a model’s hair with curly redwood.
You witnessed, as Wreck Beach storms claimed boats and bluffs and whole beaches,
while winter waves churned, turning pages in the wind-whipped book of your life.
From your Pacific panorama, you conjured dragons,
sanded famed and unknown faces,
and entertained,
reading in your resonant, commanding voice,
ever sparring, toying with words
as with wood,
rarely taking your genius seriously.
I think of your laughter,
the way you tossed aside admiration for a full year’s work
on each masked masterpiece, mask after Bal Masque mask,
of the grasses, raffia strands, and flowing fabrics
that framed each creation!
Inscrutably you glided through anonymous costumes on Nepenthe’s terrace
a liminal silhouette under the dim wrought iron halo,
as the oak-turned-Phoenix stood dying
among an unending rain of acorns.
Gone forever, the laughter,
yet here forever, your treasured legacy.
Bicycle back to Cape Horn.
Conquer the Seven Deadly Sins, Dear Edmund Kara.
Glide with Angels.
May your spirit stay always with our coast.