Multifaceted Sedona artist Mary Heyborne, 92, will be the first interview subject for the Sedona Public Library’s newest program, “Candid Conversations,” which will take place at the Sedona Public Library at 2 p.m. on Saturday, Jan. 27.
“It’s a series of projects in the works. It’s something new at Sedona library where we meet local artists, musicians, local poets, and instead of doing your typical reading, we want to get to know them and what inspires and what their life has been like,” SPL Assistant Director Tasha Spuches said. “[Heyborne] seemed like the perfect person to start with because she’s had such a wild, adventurous and long life that she is great for the series.”
String Theory and Poetry
by Mary Heyborne
I was almost comfortable with string theory—
physicists touted it as sublime.
I accepted its new dimensions
and went beyond three, plus time, to nine.
As a poet, I aim for connection
through universal simplicity
and understand the string theorists’ search
for a Theory of Everything.
I can understand their earnest yearn
to bridge gaps—
to make theories agree—
square the messiness of quantum mechanics
with Einstein’s relativity.
I’m intrigued by their conception of strings—
tiny energy strands that wave,
producing nature’s basic phenomena
and the essential ways they behave.
But could these strings—
earth’s smallest constituents—
be poems afloat in ethereal space
vibrating the essence of beauty and truth
both poets and physicists embrace—?
and all other seekers of connection—?
questers, separate and alone,
seeking to bridge existentialist gaps?
Poetry is basic . . . elemental . . . home . . .
as is physics,
but in both worlds
there are craftsmen masquerading as seers.
Poets must reach beyond words to wisdom
and physicists beyond particles to spheres.
Perhaps the string theory leap came too soon.
As I was taking it to heart,
other physicists rose,
exposed its flaws,
and left me a theory short.
All humanity hungers for the harmony
found in physics and poetic refrains.
My acceptance of string theory
has been undermined . . . . .
but poetry remains!
The series will consist of interviews between facilitators and artists “like they’re almost in their own dining room and create a nice, calm, intimate atmosphere,” Spuches said.
Heyborne’s own dining room in her West Sedona home is also a testament to her artistic endeavors.
“I made these dishes to match the titles on the walls in [the kitchen],” Heyborne said, holding the plates against the titles. “I also made several sets of these to give to my children.”
Heyborne dates the beginning of her family life with her late husband Lester to her job as a carhop in Cedar City, Utah, not far from her hometown of Hurricane. Lester was a college student and U.S. Air Force veteran who had served in World War II who was working part-time as a cook at the same restaurant when the two met.
“My husband was seven years older than I, and when we were married, I was just 18,” Herborne said. “ I’d had one year of college by then. He had one year at the University of Utah left, and so I worked and supported us … and waited a couple of years before we started our family, and then we have three wonderful sons.”
The couple relocated to Sedona almost 40 years ago and Heyborne vividly recalls the words of T.S. Eliot that went through her thoughts upon first seeing the red rocks.
“I had always been interested in the arts, my writing and ceramics,” Heyborne said. “I had been studying T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land’ at the time that we moved here. I’m not extremely mystical, but when we pulled here and I stepped out of the car and put my foot on the ground, I immediately was reminded of that line and the wasteland that I was just studying. ‘Come in under this red rock’ … and just soon as we saw it, we knew it was right. Our house was half-built when we bought it, the rest is history.”
It wasn’t until her 30s that Heyborne got her start in ceramics while living in Wyoming, where Lester was working on a huge mining project. She decided to take an evening college course in ceramics that was taught by a friend.
“I didn’t like to go out in the evenings by myself, but I decided it was a good opportunity and I have to give it a chance,” Heyborne said. “As soon as I saw my very first pot being thrown, I knew there’d be clay under my fingernails from then on and I just loved it … I just thought, what a miracle. You start with this glob of clay and you can just put your fingers in it and push and pull and do whatever you want with it.”
Her intense interest in ceramics continues to this day. Heyborne keeps a log of all her ceramics projects going back to the early 1980s. “Your guess is as good as mine as to how many pieces I’ve done,” she joked, thumbing through the catalogue. “I’ve lost count.”
“An artist with clay under her fingernails for over 50 years, [Heyborne’s] sculpting, raku, salt and primitive firing classes have earned her accolades and a place in private collections worldwide,” the library stated in a press release. “Her profound success and passion for ceramics has not taken away from her lifelong and deep love of the written word. With five full-length books of poetry, including titles like ‘Who’ll Pick the Morning Rose?’ and ‘Words and Other Lovers,’ Mary has established herself as a literary force. In 2006, she founded Poets Corner at Sedona Arts Center, dedicated to ‘the creation, presentation and celebration of poetry.’”
Heyborne’s most recent collection of poetry, “Addendum,” was released in 2023. She said it might be her last book, but she has no intention of stopping her prolific creative output.
For Heyborne, the difference between creating with clay under her fingernails or ink on her fingers is that the clay “frequently has a mind of its own,” she said. Conversely, “some of my best poetry is when I let myself respond to external influences.”
“Words have always been my favorite,” Heyborne said. “I didn’t realize that when my mother died, and I went through all of her things she had saved all these Mother’s Day, birthday and Christmas cards that I’d send over the years. And almost every one of them was [a] poem. I didn’t even realize I was doing this. I also remember wrestling up some of the little kids in the neighborhood [growing up] to be in a play. So I was always interested in plays and poetry, [but] I didn’t really realize that until after she was gone and I looked back.”
How Long is Too Long to be Alone?
by Mary Heyborne
Too long has my bed been half full—
too long my hours erratic—
I stand by the sink to eat my meals—
alone, I’ve become autocratic.
How long is too long to be alone?
How long?—is the question I posit.
Just when I acknowledge there’s room in my bed
I find there’s no room in my closet.