Waldman, Alaska's fiddling poet, has published two recent volumes of poetry: "Nome Poems" and "To Live on this Earth." He recorded excerpts along with his music on albums, such as one titled after his playful poem "A Week in Eek." It begins:

"Kids in sneakers squeaking across the Eek School gym floor, streaking towards baskets. "

Reader-friendly, his eloquent poems are never obscure, elitist or fusty. Waldman tells stories <> joyful, tragic or ambiguous <> and picks poetry as his medium. With a careful ear, he pares tales down to essentials.

The poems show a thoughtful intimacy with Alaska. He describes how people unite to survive grueling winters, and skewers the northern spring as " a month-long April Fool's slop known as break-up."

Reading the books is like making a road trip with Waldman. The poems are autobiographical, but he's no egotist. What comes across is his passion for rural Alaska, its people and music.

" I woke to a stranger, tapping the windshield, pointing to a double rainbow arched over Denali. I mumbled thanks, pushed myself up out of the seat, stood, and watched the sky pull color apart like taffy, while Denali, that big old mountain of mountains, rose like the iceberg king, shrugging sea level and humanity. "

Waldman has traveled in Alaska for 17 years, teaching and performing in the Bush as what he calls a "higher education missionary." His verses take us to villages from Barrow to Hoonah. We taste the cheer of friendly potlucks and the devastation of alcohol and despair. The message is sober, concerned, but ultimately encouraging.

"Here where winter is wintrier, the way to stay sane is to make each day from October to April whole. ," he writes.

Waldman reminds us that poetry is alive, kicking and even fun.