AUGUST S. URBANEK

Missing you today - and everyday.
You are always in my heart and head.

I spent my life dreading you having to leave this world. When you did it was worse than I had imagined.

But, now I appear to be an adult. I have multiple degrees and I teach others for a living. I teach young people - how to express themselves through writing and how to expand their horizons by reading.

Inside - I miss you terribly.
I could use your guidance and help right now.

I just need to remember all of the important things that you have told me. I need to remember everything I have seen you accomplish.
If I could emulate 5% of your strength I should be just fine.

I love you always.

Terza Rima of The Wake

Dappled orchid sunk in mossy bedding                                  White sprigs of roses on his copper lid                                         Tissues for tears and tissues for shredding

The wake a river our connections a grid                                                 My father's figure is now just a shell Like the remnants of a molted katydid.

Cling to the branches till I say my farewell    Kissing your frozen hand kissing your brow       Pinning one last wild flower in your lapel.

The last of the great men, a family's strong bough You held me together--you supported us all Kneeling at your side I undertake a vow.

There are boots on my back, but I will not crawl I will remember your words when the way is thin I may stumble for years, but I will not fall.

I will sharpen my nails thicken my skin When I need you, you will rise from within.

The Akkordolias' Typewriter Keys Are Coated in Kicked Up Sand. The Strings are Unplucked.

“Ach du Lieber Augustin
Trash Machine – Wash Machine
Ach du Lieber Augustin
Trash Machine – Wash.”
I sing like a carousel breaking down
and starting up and breaking down again.
The flaking hooves crushing a misplaced stroller.
Empty, but for a handful of baby teeth.
My father used to sing this to me
until I collapsed with laughter and went to bed.
Now I am stiff with grief and don't sleep.

Beneath the black helicopters and satellites
I make eleven runs on the beach each night. I traverse
thirty or more miles for the turtles that don't come.
I grasp the ATV dearly with hands and thighs.
Going faster over goose barnacled rum bottles.
Going faster over seaweed covered gas tanks.
Going faster over the man o' war to hear the pop.
Going slower past couples on worn towels.
Going slower past the homeless curling into Celtic lettering in the cold.
Going slower past night herons spearing ghost crabs.
Then stopping, “Ach du Lieber,” in front of a leatherback. (1)
She arises from the surf a lumbering Venus.

Throat pink and pulsing, eyes wild with the land.
Flippers crawling towards the dunes.
Skin black with white spots and barnacle beauty marks.
Half a ton of turtle flesh and my heart is moved.
My heart is moved, not by an anthropomorphic interpretation
of this prehistoric reptile, I am moved by her alien nature.
Her giant flippers scroll commas in the sand.
Her long tail dips deep between them creating a drag line.
Feeling for the right spot she etches lemniscates speaking of infinity.
I watch her dig her nest from afar, but she pulls me closer.
I stand behind her and can see her contractions.
Her bony ridged shell of secret hand holds taunts.
Her flipper's clench with each contraction
they guide each egg down a three foot deep chamber.
In between laying she carefully pats the chamber wall;
so smooth it looks machine bored.

She is elephantine with her wrinkled tail
and tearing eyes. I want to touch her leathery shell.
I want to place my hand on her back flipper
so I can ease her labor. Instead I lie
belly down behind her. Time passes strangely
and she begins to cover her future.
I press in the stakes – one at each side and a third
to triangulate the spot. She pushes sand in and taps it down,
pushes it in and pats it down. Suddenly she swings
all her limbs, the powerful oars sending broken down
shells into my mouth and down my shirt.
I return to my ATV. I turn the lights on
as she finishes the burial. Then she creates a shallow
false nest to camouflage the true one. Finally
she walks in spirals. The spirals get closer and closer to me.
She tries to walk through me and nearly flips my vehicle.
I switch off the lights. She then proceeds to the water.

I can hear her breathing, guttural and sad
The wind rushes over her crying like a dulcimer.
Lactic acid from exhaustion make her every move cut,
as she makes her way back to the sea.
Where she may live out the century or be caught in a fisherman's trawl.
She may mate again while floating in the waves.
She may dive down 3,900 feet to eat her weight in jelly fish
among the glowing and snaggled-toothed crowd.
I will miss her. I go back to my singing.
A song to cheer up a troubled child, now a lingering dirge for a beloved father.
Ach du Lieber Augustin
Trash Machine – Wash Machine
Ach du Lieber Augustin
Trash Machine – Wash
Her flippers move symmetrically to the tune.
Her shell drops on the downbeat.


In the morning I dig up her eggs.
94 viable eggs and 25 sacrificial eggs.
I bury them a quarter mile down the beach.
Away from the diesel breath and bone shaking
vibrations of the dredge.
The dredge that runs day and night vacuuming
the ocean floor. The dredge that causes escarpments
to block turtles from coming ashore.
The dredge that pours dark sand on the shores to in tomb
gannets killed by the machineries chemical waste.
I compact the sand carefully with my fists.
I will be waiting for them to hatch. I will ferry them to the sea
in a turquoise bucket.
No crab or bird will plunder the nest on my watch.

I would love to hear from you. 954-980-8067

Pacemaker

I cannot rest my head over a lover's heart.
I need to put a pillow beneath my ear.
I mustn't hear the inner working.
I've always been like this. I've always hated
the heartbeat, because I can only think of it stopping.
Multi-chambered muscle like something to find in a tide pool;
squirting and intaking, sucking and circulating finitely.
I have seen mine on the doctor's screen. Gagging and breathing
jaggedly at what has been beating me to consciousness
all these years.

I have a hole in my heart and a leaky valve.
The blood pools and regurgitates making me weak,
but not afraid.
Since I can remember there was a funny bulge
in dad's chest. His skin rose up
and beneath it pulsed metal.
He wasn't supposed to go on roller-coasters anymore
because the friction of the tracks could stop the thing
that kept his body alive.
He wasn't supposed to stand in front of the microwave either.
He couldn't go through a metal detector successfully.
It allowed him to stay with us for decades.
Dad had his ribs cranked open and wires put in the first time.
It wasn't so bad when he had newer models inserted or batteries replaced.
When waves crashed on him the water cascaded down the sides
of the plateau of flesh. Some gathered
on the top shelf sloshing to the rhythm
made uniform
by the mechanism.
The fine clockwork ticking until it couldn't anymore..

After he died mom gave me a green onyx box
of striations that match that of the granite on his grave.
Inside were several pairs of hearing aids, a gold cuff-link
of a watches guts, and his penultimate pacemaker.
I hold it against my breast and push firmly like I am resuscitating him/myself.
My fingers move so confidently I imagine I am channeling
how it used to ride in my father's chest.
My father's distinct drumming comes to me from stored memory
in Model 294-09E.
It was called the Marathon DR. The front side shines
the back side is spottily tarnished. I do not know
which side I caressed through his freckled skin and which side
was nuzzled by his heart. The corroded side? The clean side?


Blessed collection of diodes and tubes
I cannot believe you were made in Texas.
I cannot believe you have arrow directed instructions,
“TO RELEASE LEADS INSERT TOOL IN SLOT AND PUSH.”
Just in case the doctor who puts his hands inside
my father is not familiar with this model.
Mom said that when I was a little girl I used to play with his discarded pacemakers
and she told me I would have liked
the one he was buried with.
It was so small.
But, I do not like that one.
It was the one that failed.
I honor this one that I hold against my heart.
Dad's was co-piloted by the little robot whose
serial number is 204281.
I like to kiss its cool shell.

Dear Melba and family,
In honor of Uncle Augie's memory and birthday, I just wanted to share with you some of my thoughts about him. October 17, 2012 would have been Augie's 93rd birthday.

My uncle Augie was one of the bright stars of his generation. He was a member of that very same generation that Tom Brokaw once dubbed as ‘The Greatest Generation'. Apart from being a true visionary and a generous philanthropist, Uncle Augie always remained humble and approachable. He had a terrific sense of humor and a remarkable zest for life. He was a real family man. His family meant the world to him. He would always create occasions such as family picnics or outings in which we could all be together. He united the Urbaneks on both continents and it is thanks to him that we still enjoy a close relationship with our family members in Slovakia.
An immigrant attitude coupled with a common sense Midwestern upbringing enabled Uncle Augie to flourish in his chosen field. He was honest, observant, and wise, and had an exceptional work ethic. He was avant-garde in his hiring practices. He once told me that one of the keys to his success was to put women in management or sales positions. He believed that women were natural organizers. This idea probably came to him from witnessing his own mother balance a family while running the family mill, farms or restaurants. He also explained to me the importance of having a project to work on—giving form and structure to one's ideas. In fact, this is what he said kept him young! Uncle Augie loved life and lived it to the fullest.
He taught others (without even knowing it) through leading by example. As a child I watched him take loving care of Aunt Irene when she was sick. As an adult I saw him in a in another loving caring partnership with his wife Melba.
On a lighter note, I also learned from Augie how to negotiate hairpin curves in the Swiss Alps, as well as the way to properly pronounce 'Hilton Hotel' when in Vienna:) I will never forget the family pilgrimage we took to Augie's birthplace, and participating in Janka's wedding. I can't thank Augie enough for those memories (and many others). The memories he helped create are the most precious!
Uncle Augie was truly a remarkable man. There are not many people quite like him. I am honoured that our paths crossed in this life. I take peace in the idea that he is in good company with Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Irene, Auntie Mary, my dad, Uncle Willie, Uncle Bob, Joanie, Janie, Michael and others.
I look forward to the next family reunion orchestrated by Uncle Augie and team: Where we will be able to shoot a game of pool while listening to the juke box, dance a polka, play baseball, swim, take a swing at the Sponge Bob pinada and all wear the same Urbanek famiy reunion shirts.
Happy Birthday Uncle Augie! I miss you lots! Life is not the same without you.
Sbohem.
With love,
Your niece Lori

Dear Melba,A man who knew himself and through grace helped so many.So unlike many who know nothing other than a way to help themselves at the expense of others. Blessings upon you,a strong woman, a devoted wife, and upon your loved ones; and a prayer that others such as Augie may follow in this world.

It can be so hard to face the first year without your loved one, but the love of family and friends can carry you through.

Dear Melba
I am so sorry to hear of the passing of Mr Urbanek. A beautiful soul indeed.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the Urbanek family. We will always remember that Augie was a great man who made a difference.

It was a privilege to have known your husband dearest Melba. He will be long remembered by all who knew him. I have greatly admired your love and deep devotion to each other, your memories of him will surely grow more precious with every passing day, my deepest sympathy to you and your family.

Although I did not know August Urbanek I want to express my gratitude to him for his adoption of Jennifer and all the wonderful things he has done for her. He must have been a very selfless man.

Dear Gerry, Larry, and Kathy

My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family

Larry, Jerry and Kathy, you have my sympathy.

Uncle Augie, We remember the great family gatherings where we could just talk and be ourselves, and enjoy the family members. Thank you especially for the kind words and encouragement on my college graduation,. I have not forgotten them and have tried to live by them each day. We love you and will miss you.