From an article in the 2000 November/December issue of
The Quill, the newsletter of SCWW

by Peggy Cwiakala

     For most of his life, poet James Nemeth has lived in urban N.J. in the same city in the same house.  He writes about the city and captures its rhythm.

     An accomplished cook, James prepares food in the same way as he writes. Carefully. Methodically. With spice! Writing every day, he sports a shocking tattoo, collects vintage erotic magazines and dates woman half his age. 

     A man whose work encompassed activities as diverse as Urban planner to carnival worker, James is an astute student of human nature. Witty and urbane, he is an excellent listener. He has never failed to help a friend in need. Those he loved, he wrote poems for, and they are heartbreaking.

     He has led a man’s life on a man’s terms without apology. He led a life that would make most writers blush, but that’s for another column.

     He started writing poetry in 1977 – and has written over 1000 poems since.  He still uses legal pads and pens, writing in an elegant longhand. Some poems take weeks to complete. A good poem is like a good dinner; nourishing, filling, complete.

     James is a learner. With a personal library of 800 volumes, he maintains his University connection so that he can use the library. He reads constantly. It is the critical reviews that make him interested in a book– Susan Sontag often provides an encapsulation that he will pursue. He is the kind of reader writers dream about. Once read, the book is practically committed to memory, discussed at round table and recommended to friends.

     James has devoted his own writing, indeed, his life to poetry. He tries to make sense of the Universe. He tries to share that sense with others. Disabled, often struggling to overcome pain and medication difficulties, James nevertheless finds his way to the stage. On most mornings you can find him taking a civilized breakfast where he will advise, review and discuss the poetry submitted for his review. If the writer is broke, he may buy them a cup of coffee. He is a popular and well-known figure in New Brunswick, New Jersey, a bit of a legend.

     Deservedly so. James was born in Elizabeth, N.J. in Ms. Quinn’s Maternity Hospital  - a facility he says, that subsequently got demolished. On the day in 1947 when he was born, this “fine old-fashioned facility had no air-conditioning.  My entrance into the world was somewhat strained.” His house conveys a sense of order, a dignity and he follows a simple daily routine.

     He is currently compiling a collection of his finest poems that will capture a life of observation and thoughtful review.  We here at the Quill wish him the best of luck!