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Arts and Entertainment: M. A. Harley Exhibit Opens at Arts Center Gallery
February 9th, 2004

Arts and Entertainment: Arts Center Auction Draws Enthusiastic Crowd
February 1st, 2004

Arts and Entertainment: More Than Just Paint on Canvas - the Art of Travis Parks
January 31st, 2004

Arts and Entertainment: Watercolor Exhibit Opens at Arts Center Gallery
January 4th, 2004

Arts and Entertainment: Natural Inspiration - a Gallery and a Vision
January 2nd, 2004

Arts and Entertainment: Annual "Rock the Boat" Exhibit Draws Crowd
December 7th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: The Wildlife Artistry of Rod Random
December 6th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: A Good Old Fashioned Mystery
November 16th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: FSU - UF Art Exhibit Opens at Arts Center Gallery
November 2nd, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: A View Under the Ocean with Artist Alda Leffew
October 27th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: Frostproof Artists Paint Cedar Key
October 24th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: Grammatical Wit and Wisdom
October 14th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: Plein-Air Exhibit Opens at Arts Center
October 5th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: Author Showcases Cedar Key
October 4th, 2003

Arts and Entertainment: Plein-Air Artists Visiting Cedar Key
October 1st, 2003

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A Remembrance

A Remembrance

Robin McClary

Luke Zilles died here in Cedar Key about two weeks ago. I doubt that many people knew him because he was a reclusive man and a bit of a grouch. He lived in the house where he died, on Hodges where it is met by Rye Key Drive. The death was from natural causes, but he was sadly alone for the moment of passing. I have been told that he was either born in Panama or lived there as a child. He was educated at universities in New York State and was a retired Professor of English from the State University of Albany.

I met Luke at the Cedar Key poet's workshop. He was a longtime friend of Bill Stalter, another Cedar Key poet who died several years ago. Like Bill Stalter, Luke was an extraordinary poet. He had a published book of poetry called, Conch of Bees. He was also published in The Saturday Review and the New Yorker magazines.

Beyond these scattered thoughts, most of which I learned from some friends of his, I knew very little about him. What I did know was that he was a true wordsmith. He made the language a living thing that marched to the cadences that he sang. When I asked him about his techniques, he growled at me like a cornered wolf. He told me more than once that he, "didn't want to teach me nothing," but I learned anyhow.

I will miss him.

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