Friends remember The Klute, aka Bernard Schober (1973-2022)

The Klute, aka Bernard Joseph Schober
(Feb. 8, 1973-July 18, 2022)

Photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

The Klute, aka Bernard Schober (Feb. 8, 1973-July 18, 2022), died following a hike on Monday, July 18. There is a new story at the bottom of this post if you want to read the specifics. If you don't, stop when I write about Klute's last public post.

Memorial SERViCES

It is with profound sadness that the family and friends of Bernard Joseph Schober announce his passing. Please find information on both his viewing and remembrance ceremonies below.

Green Acres Mortuary & Cemetery
401 N Hayden Rd
Scottsdale, AZ 85257

[Map]

Viewing Ceremony
Saturday, July 23, 2022
3pm-7pm
Green Acres Mortuary & Cemetery
Main Building.

Celebration of Life
Saturday, August 13, 2022
4pm-8pm
Green Acres Mortuary & Cemetery
In the chapel
First hour dedication
Food and drinks available

Aug, 12, 2022
Hi everyone-
This is Bob. Thank you for your patience as we worked through the details to be able to webcast the Celebration of Life for Bernard. The event is tomorrow [Saturday, Aug. 13], and the details of time and place are listed on his website, theKlute.com.
This event will be live-streamed on Facebook, via this official page, The Klute, located at: https://www.facebook.com/TheKlute
While the service begins at 4pm, we will initiate the stream at 3:45 MST (or Pacific Time), or as close to it as we can. Please know that during the stream:
- We will not be able to respond to comments, and comments will not be shared with the live audience.
- Quality may suffer based on Internet availability. While we have secured an exclusive hotspot for access to stream with, it is still a wireless connection, and subject to the limitations of such.
Thank you all for the outreach to make sure that you had a way to be a part of this event. Should you have any questions, please feel free to DM Bob Nelson or message on The Klute's Page.

In the meantime, I process my grief I suppose the way any newspaperman does, by publishing the words and photos and stories of others so that you, dear readers, can use your own wisdom to weigh the measure of a man. I don't know how else to act. I will write about my feelings is a later post; I worked on this for the last 7 hours. This is still too fresh.

My wife Laura holding one of our oldest daughter's favorite stuffed animals. Athena loves sharks and loved when Klute would talk to her about them when visiting our house.

The last time I saw Klute in person was May 26 just after we brought our newborn twins home from the hospital. Klute performed in Sedona and was heading home when I begged him to turn around and pop in to see Athena because she had gotten all of her sharks ready to show off.
He visited and made a little 3-year-old girl feel very special.

I'll just say this:

I knew Klute 22 years. He helped me grieve the death of Christopher Lane when I could not grieve with anyone else. He was a slam rival and ally (the two are simultaneous in our sport), was groomsman at my bachelor party and wedding and one of my best friends. We talked politics and life in person and online and I valued his counsel in all things. 

Klute was a good man. 

I loved him as a brother.

I mourn him now.

See what all his others friends have to say:

Jessica Ballantyne-Keller

My best friend passed yesterday. 

I loved Bernard Schober like he was my family. 

He was my family. 

I cherished his friendship so much. 

He saved my life literally three times. 

I am currently completely lost after finding out this morning.

In lieu of flowers please donate to https://sharkangels.org

Bernard Schober was my best friend. 

I don’t just mean he was my best friend because we were like family,

I also mean he was the best person who was also my closest friend. 

I keep looking at his page, because I’m amazed at all the good Bernard did. I watch in real time as another story rolls in, how good of a human he was. 

To be honest, I always knew he was a good person. Seeing it posted in real time from hundreds of people is a completely different story and I didn’t fathom on any level how amazing of a human my best friend really was. 

Grief is selfish. 

Grief says he was mine to mourn on a level that I didn’t think anyone else deserved to. 

But that just isn’t true because everyone lost him,

And to think of all the good he was going to do after all the good he had already done is just mind blowing and I can’t possibly hold all of that to myself. 

It’s an impossible feat. 

He was an impossible feat. 

From open heart surgeries to diving with sharks to writing his poetry. 

There are some of you out there who have told me how much this man respected and loved me. 

I know he did. Even on days I didn’t deserve it. 

But I also know how many of you he loved and respected. And exactly the reasons why. 

It’s no less than every single one of you who has a Klute story. I’m dead serious. 

He saw the good in everyone. 

He was sometimes the only good thing about me. 

I walked a little taller when I was with Klute. 

I sent him my poetry to go over, and he sent me his. 

I could never be the poet he was because he could arrange words like houses of cards.  I always felt like I was grabbing bingo balls from a cage. 

I beat him one time at slam. One time. 

I rode that victory for two weeks straight. And he let me. He made it to almost every single one of the birthday parties I had for as long as I knew him. 

We sang karaoke together. 

He would call me while he was visiting his dad in Florida while walking home from the bars, would miss his turn by two streets and somehow would still navigate home ok. 

We had a mutual hatred of United Airlines. 

And then there was the one time we flew to Texas together for Grand Slam on United, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only time I can remember we didn’t run into problems. 

I say Bernard saved my life three times. 

And on three seperate occasions he absolutely did. It’s not a figure of speech. 

He loved me unconditionally, just like he did with everyone in his inner circle. 

To say I miss him is a complete understatement. It’s the pain that keeps on giving. I’ve said before and I’ll say again it feels like I’ve lost a limb. 

I have gone to send him a text no less than a thousand times over the last two days and that’s the kind of pain that breaks a person. 

But I’m trying to remain steadfast. 

He wouldn’t have left if he didn’t think we couldn’t handle it. 

So I’m handling this. 

And because of him and his influence, I have so many of you to help lift up and who are helping lift me up. 

I will never forgive Bernard for making me make friends. 

Also he would have laughed at that. 

I have said a few times over the last few days that words have become very hard for me. And they still are. But I needed all of this to get out while I still had them rumbling around in my brain. 

I love you, Bernard.

Partners Bernard Schober and Teresa Newkirk

Lauren Perry

For the first two minutes of my morning when I woke up today Klute, it’s as if it never happened. As if the phone call at 2:29pm on July 18th hadn't occurred at all and it had just been a really awful dream, as so many nightmares tend to be. I remember this time years ago, when you dramatically called me and said “Lauren! I had a dream I was walking along the River Sphinx! And the toll man asked for my coins so I pulled them from my eyelids.” 

My birthday 2021. He made everything so much more special!

It's as if our entire friendship, you have been preparing me for this day and even still, I feel as if I am on stage with a blank piece of paper and my poem unmemorized. 

Classy tiki adventures at Captain's Cabin.

It still doesn't seem real; not hearing your voice again calling me through the phone, that you’ll never again stand in my doorway before we head to Captain's for tiki drinks with your newest tiki mug that is always better than mine. 

Tiki adventures: Cthulhu addition with his fancy new birthday tiki!

Where you will no doubt regale us with videos of the ocean of these beautiful sharks and massive stingrays from your adventures scuba diving in sunken, lost cities. We never got to go together. There’s so much we’ll never do again. I swear that someday you were going to tell me you had grown gills; it seems almost silly now I think about that now, but I was so happy for you when you found the ocean and fully embraced it. You deserved so much to be happy, you had so much love in your heart and you gave it without wanting or needing anything in return! 

Favorite memory, back in 2010. We'd just crushed a duet on stage and got a perfect 50 at the SLC Utah Arts Festival. We were clearly the coolest kids in school!

Your friendship was the best gift I could have ever received while still feeling undeserving of. To say you are my best friend is the understatement of the century, you are my other half! The Giles to my Buffy! I god damn love you so much more than I ever felt I could ever love another person and I'm so very appreciative that I had almost 20 years of knowing you while being in awe of your achievements, you're unending strength to push through challenges that would have crippled a normal person. To always know the right thing to say at the right moment. How did you always do that? You used to joke that I'd save your life at least two or three times but really, you saved mine.

Klute's birthday 2022. He was so happy and had such a great night!!!!

You never gave up on me or our friendship. In truth, I think we only truly ever fought a handful of times which is pretty great considering all those twelve-hour road trips, late night flights to Florida and poetry competitions, crammed together in overly priced hotels with the stresses of getting scored a perfect score on stage. 

Haunted house adventures 2021. We finally made it out of that blood corn maze after 30 minutes!

I'll never forget when you finally told me your real first name was Bernard or that you were actually from Illinois and let me think you were from Florida. Like who keeps that a secret?! You are so incredibly funny and only ever really messed with me a few times, but when you did it was really something! Like when you calmly said “oh yeah, my father is the zodiac killer” like it was nothing then just turned away to watch tv, letting it hang there casually in the air, and just let me sit there thinking your dad was actually the zodiac killer for thirty minutes then laughed at me for believing you! 

Dream team, killing it on stage 2013 at Copperstate with a duet.

Your sarcastic sense of humor was unmatched; a secret layer of your personality that you shared in the rarest of moments. You were so damn funny! You loved haunted houses but hated horror movies. Last year when we got lost in that corn maze when it was so bloody cold and had to have a clown walk us back to the front so we could go through the zombie house twice even though you hated zombies, but still waited 18 years to tell me because I love them. You believed that sharks were kind and gentle creatures so you saved clippings of newspaper articles about them in your journal. You wrote beautiful fun journal entries about food you’d tasted on your trips and were a phenomenal cook. You loved to dance but were very specific about to what kind of music. 

Nerd Slam, IWPS Flagstaff edition.

There are so many tiny details that make you up that I can't even begin to describe them all even as I think about every single one of them, every memory, every moment; I'm breathing through them, missing you. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking. All my life, I will cherish the time we had together, even as I wish there have been more. You are the true last king of Egypt. Klute, you’re dearest person close to my heart. Not a day will go by that I will not feel the absence of your presence. All my love.

نرجو أن تعيش إلى الأبد في حقل القصب. أفضل صديق لي. توأم روحي. لقد كنت جيدًا جدًا بالنسبة لهذا العالم.

May you live forever in the Field of Reeds. 

My best friend. 

My Soul Mate. 

You were too good for this world.

13th Floor Haunted House 2021. He jumped numerous times. It was awesome!

David Tabor

It is a thing. Most of us will remember “The Klute” in this way or some other variation being behind a microphone etc. Most of my time with him was spent with Bernard Schober if that makes any sense to anyone. 

I could probably say the same thing in some ways that most of you know “Tabor”. A larger than life version of myself that I present and manicure for others entertainment. It’s not that it is an bit per say, but it a cultivated part of my life.

Especially the last two years with the pandemic lingering. We moved our long standing Saturday coffee drinking to his backyard and was one of the few pillars of normalcy in my life left. That and work.

I feel like we’ll have something to commemorate at some point. It’s a tough call when you realized that you are probably that person who does this or should be a part of that. As another one who is in the “double income- no kids” club and also had a brush with mortality; I have wondered about who does what when I pass on.

Bill Campana

there is no way to ease into something as devastating as losing one who has been a part of your life for 22-years.  in a world gone haywire, Bernard Schober always made sense of the chaos.  he lived his life doing what he loved.  he won his final slam last week.  out with a bang.  he was the supreme traveling companion, soundboard for all incorrect comments, purveyor of good times, and always seemed to enjoy it when on saturday mornings during our 22-year coffee klatch he would freshen my coffee and i would say, "thanks, doll face."  we are all going to miss you, my friend.  the inner circle is going to spin out off balance for a long time.  word from teresa is while hiking on monday morning had a heart attack and dialed 911 on his cell phone.  doctors worked on him for an hour.  this is going to take some time to sink in.

The Klute and Marc Schaefer, dive buddies and partners in crime

"Awake"

by The Klute

(2015)

I swim through the Blue Eternal.

She feeds me.

Truth told, that's all I've ever cared about.

Her waters are an endless buffet.

Bring me a Harp seal, 

Tender mackrel,

Robust tuna!

From each meal to the next, I devour the seas 

One bite at a time.

At the top of the game,

Atop the food chain

Who's the Great White Shark.

Who's an eating machine to all the fishes.

They say that's shark's a bad mother...

Shut your mouth!

I *can't* shut my mouth.

If I do, I'll die.

Mother Ocean and I are tied together

Bound by the oxygen I take from her body.

Five gills fluttering as bloody flags in the briny breeze

Keep me alive and in your nightmares,

Chasing you through REM sleep,

Waking you up in a cold sweat, 

Your heart pounding so hard

I can hear it whisper to me as I ply through the shoals

Close to your shore-hugging homes,

Tickling my senses with promise and delight.

I envy you.

Wishing I could stop and drift away

Stop my constant forward motion.

I know other residents of the deep can do it.

I have felt the wings of stingrays pull covers of sand over their bodies

Suprised dreaming dolphins bobbing in the waves,

Watches eels slip into crevices and disappear.

It looks wonderful.

To be able to stop, feel the wave's embrace

Cradling me in her arms,

The only movement a gentle tidal dance. 

Dolphins always talk of dreaming.

When they close their eyes

They can let the currents carry them to places long forgotten,

To places never been.

They can swim with the dead that my kind took from them,

Or simply float to half-heard whale song from the unfathomable depths.

It looks and sounds wonderful,

But I can't stop, not even for a moment.

My life is a series of forward motions,

Punctuated by 

Dive,

     Speed up, 

              Surface,

ATTACK

Dive,

     Dive,

          Dive,

Keep moving forward

NEVER STOP,

Forward! Forward!

Surface, 

Attack, ATTACK, ATTACK!

Forward, forward, 

Never stop moving forward.

I am forever swimming towards death.

Mine, yours, theirs...

The line between such trivialities grows thinner

With each passing flick of my tail, each meal, every mate.

The hourglass will always be half-empty to someone 

Who can never stop to turn it over,

But sometimes I imagine what it would be like to stop.

If destiny wants me to keep moving,

Who am I to argue with destiny?

But I can slow myself down until I'm just... barely...

Moving.

      

I cannot close my eyes, 

So I let myself sink to where the light does not reach

My tail barely moves,

And I begin to think I know what it must be like

To live without perpetual motion.

So deep that the sounds of waves against rocks grows ever silent

I sink deeper,

              deeper,

                     deeper

Into the endless black of the infinite sea.

I feel my fins flutter gently and twitch

I begin to feel Mother Ocean embrace me

And it feels wonderful.

I cannot stop.

This is not what she created me to be.

Sometimes though, I think I know what dreaming is.

I do not need to stop,

I only need to slow down.

I only need to sleep. 

Laura Lacanette

Bernard Schober your time here was over too soon but you really lived the hell out of this life. I’m absolutely devastated for your family, your partner, and your many dear friends. 

Thank you for always being so kind and welcoming to an awkward newbie, for making space and encouraging others, for supporting the weird and offbeat without judgement. Your talent with poetry and comedy was something I looked up to and I feel honored to have been able to share space and get my ass kicked by you on stage. 

You always used your larger than life presence to bring people up. I’ll never forget when I performed a nerdy poem that bombed, only to look out into the crowd and see you and Lauren standing up cheering your heads off. I wish I could tell you how much you meant to me and how much you will be missed. 

I hope you’re somewhere swimming with sharks, winning all the slams, and pissing off online trolls. So long Klute, and thanks for all the fish.

Laura Lacanette, Russ Kazmierczak, the Klute and Lauren Perry at Phoenix Fan Fusion, or, 

Julie Elefante

Dear Klute,

Bernard Schober. I hate that you died because you were so damned good at living. My torso is a heavy fist, but it loosens its grip when I read all the eulogies collecting on your page and feel the love that you put out coming back in with the tides. The affirmation, the ebb and flow, is soothing. We grew up next to oceans on opposite ends of the country, but we always celebrated the kinship. When people are born and bred by the sea, it threads its silver hooks and fine white lines along their spines and sways them into sleep. In turn, people of the sea leave their lines in everyone they touch. What a wonderful net you wove through all of us, and how well you filled it. 

Here are stories, things I’m grateful for:

A lot of people have talked about their poetry friendships with you. You did all that for me, too. And even after I left slam behind, you always asked me if I was going to read whenever you saw me at poetry events. There’s something so validating when a well-known, well-loved writer tells you they want to hear your words, and you did that for a lot of us. Thank you for that.

Looking through my hard drive, looking for memories of you, I’ve found hundreds of documents—photos, art, and of course poems. All the edits, layouts, and final proofs for so many of your chapbooks and books from the last 17 years. I loved that you asked me to take care of these, partly because you knew I’ve always loved layouts and editing, and partly because you trusted me with it all. AND, for every book, I was guaranteed a delicious home-cooked meal, some fine drink, and an evening of cartoons and conversation. Thank you for giving me all these opportunities to let me express my own passions, for believing in me and trusting me with your own. 

For a few months, when you needed a place to stay, I offered you a room in a house I was renting. Thank you, Klute, for being one of those rare roommates who was easy to live with, for cleaning up after yourself and around the house, for paying your share of the rent and bills on time, for just adulting so well. Sorry you had to clean up that chicken bone in a sock; the previous roommate wasn’t so good.

At one point, I was struggling with money but too stubborn and proud to take handouts, so I was picking up side jobs here and there. You took me aside and told me you were looking for a sort of personal assistant. You’d find random chores and errands that I’m sure you were just making up—putting all your printed poems into a binders, sorting out a pile of stuff you said you wanted to list on eBay, stuff like that. You paid more than the work was worth, that you could’ve done yourself in far less time and much more efficiently. I told you I’d tried pawning stuff, and during one visit to my place, you asked if I still used my old bike from college. It was several years old, well-used, and banged up, but you said you’d been meaning to buy a bike and asked how much I originally paid for it, and that’s just about how much you gave me for it. I don’t know if you ever rode it, and I can’t imagine you pedaling along with your long black duster flapping behind you in the breeze. You said you were enjoying it, though. That made me feel better. Thank you for treating me with dignity and generosity in equal measure. 

So your body is gone, but your light is still with me, inspiring me with everything you accomplished while you were here and were still pushing to do, ever so intrepid. Thank you for your friendship and your part in making me a better version of myself, thank you for weaving me into your life and letting me weave you indelibly into mine. 

Love you, Klute,

-J

Cherilyn Formanek

Ah Bernard Schober, I step away from Facebook for a minute and come back to find you have left the world. I will miss your scuba videos, your many lively adventures, your hilarious runs at the Right Wingers on Twitter. The passion you put into saving these beautiful creatures. You will be missed by so many, me included. Strength and love your family, friends, and fans.

Prior to his death on July 18, 2022, the Klute was scheduled to present on sharks to kids at the Cottonwood Public Library on July 21, 2022.

Amir Safi

I remember hearing about The Klute and the trench coat poem before I ever knew your name was Bernard Schober. 

As an artist, your goal should be to be talked about in the cities you don’t live in by other awesome artists. That’s the highest honor. 

He flew in from Arizona to participate in Texas Grand Slam. A poetry festival I created to bring art from all around the country to my hometown.

The Klute made poetry fun and embraced chaos. He let us know it’s okay to be silly or absurd in your work and he still delivered his message.

One of my favorite things about what we do is that we document the work of poets while they’re still here so that their work still reaches people after they’re gone. I’m glad our paths crossed my friend and I’ll be sharing a poem today.

James Barrett Rodehaver

In remembrance of the great poet Bernard Schober, who was very much loved and will be missed, I repost this haiku I wrote for him. Rest in power, poet. 😔

Poem For #NaPoWriMo. April 4, 2021. #30for30 #NationalPoetryMonth

This haiku is dedicated to Bernard Schober, as I was inspired by a poetic sounding group of words in a post of his. That group of words is the first line of my haiku. Also because we're all pulling for him to heal up and feel better. He recently had heart surgery. This one's for you dude!

Claire Pearson

absolutely devastated is an understatement. i don’t have the words yet, but i did find a rock on my way home that Bernard Schober would have absolutely thought was funny. the world is a little worse today but we’re all the better for knowing you.

Shaun Srivastava

TFW you’re all having a moment, and know you’re all having a moment. 10 years ago, still smiling. AZ poets. All love, no friends. 
Bernard Schober, safe travels my friend. You will live on in the countless hearts you touched. So grateful and honored for the time we shared ❤️🙏🏼

National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Crìsdean Mícheál 

Tonight I will be pelting the audience at Austin Poetry Slam with an onslaught of nerd poems in the name of Bernard Schober The Klute.

Suzi Q. Smith

Love to all who loved Bernard Schober, known to many of us as The Klute. May he rest easy.

"Criminal"

by The Klute

Somebody needs to arrest me.

When Arizona Senate Bill 1070 passed, 

A big bullseye should have been painted on my back,

Using the standards set by Russell Pearce and the Arizona State Senate,

I am not a real American. 

Oh sure, I was born here.

From the Land of Lincoln,

My blood runs red, white, and blue,

And I fucking LOVE apple pie.

But I've got a secret... Shhhh.

My ancestors didn't walk across the land bridge,

They didn't build the temples at Tenochtitlan,

You won't find them on the manifest of the Mayflower,

Or buried among the bodies in Arlington.

The storied history of the Klute family in America 

Dates all the way back to a long ago, magical time called "The Fifties",

That's right, yours truly is child of immigrants!

Homeless, 

tempest-tossed, 

wrectched

slighty-swarthy 

Immigrants. 

Fleeing our homelands consumed by war and insanity.

America was their refuge

So sterotypical

Martin Scorcese thought their story was a little on the nose. 

Grandfather's first job? Cop.

Grandmother's? Maid.

When they spoke English it carried a heavy accent,

Amongst themselves they only spoke their native tongue.

And my father wasn't born here either!

He grew up in refugee camps and slums,

Married my mother in a foreign land, and brought her over - 

She didn't get here until the Sixties! 

There are Americans with last names like Ramierz, Gonzales, Delacruz

With family histories woven into the tapestry of America

Far more intricately than mine.

They were born here.

My family - we just kind of showed up.

"Hey, now that you're done with all that 

'RevolutionCivilWarManifestDestinyTwoWorldWars' stuff

Would it be cool if we sorta 'crashed' here for the next 60 years?"

Remember, I say I was born here,

But I could be lying.

Have you seen my birth certificate lately?

For all you know, I could have been born not in Illinois

But in Prague or Bratislava,

Then snuck across the eastern border of America in the middle of the night. 

Or worse: I could be an anchor baby. 

One of those horrible creatures whose sole existance

Is to slide out of the birth canal into arms of Lady Liberty

And demand food stamps.

God knows I've secured my share of the general welfare,

Unemployment, 

Social security, 

roads...

I fit the profile, Sheriff Joe!

Why aren't you asking to see *my* proof of citizenship?

I can assure you there's probable cause.

Smuggling Cuban cigars across the border,

Importing absinthe when it was illegal,

I used to know the name of a really great pharmacist in Mexico.

Guess you don't care about the safety of America,

Letting this social-services sucking, 

law-breaking, 

child of immigrants run free.

Maybe it's because I look like you,

Russell Pearce, Sheriff Joe, Governor Jan Brewer.

Caucasian camo keeping me out of reach of long arm of the law,

While law-abiding citizens with names like Ramierz, Gonzales, Delacruz 

are rounded up as the usual suspects.

So I guess my grandparents got lucky,

New immigrants more American than old residents,

More than the builders of this desert, descendents of Natives and Conquistators

Because now red blood beneath white skin is the only ID required...

And maybe my grandparents never really escaped oppression, 

They just transferred it to someone else,

Because someone else can always do it.

It's the American Way

Deena Remiel

To me, he was larger than life, yet unassuming. Someone I admired from afar for his wit, his poetry, and passion to save the sharks. I feel fortunate to have shared space with him at conventions. Bernard Schober, you've left behind a deep void in the lives of so many, but your printed and spoken words are forever imprinted in our hearts and minds. May you rest in peace.

Deirdre Evans

Still reeling from finding out that Bernard Schober, a man I met doing slam poetry, passed away.  His FB page right now is filling up with tributes to his kind and generous soul, his passionate and fierce heart.  He shared his journey through heart surgery and diving with the sharks he loved.  He mentored and befriended wherever he went, he wrote amazing poetry, he was a guardian of the oceans, he took on fools and outwitted them.  

The world is bereft of a bright light today.  Oh, I will miss him.

Gary Every

Sad to hear of the passing of Bernard Schober aka The Klute.  Such a nice guy.  After sharing various stages with him here and there for years we finally went on our first hike together this spring.  He wanted me to show him some rock art.    The last time we performed together was Friends of The Verde River show on May 27th.  He did a wonderful poem about a prehistoric shark living in the prehistoric sea.  What a talented writer.

Jesse Parent

Bernard Schober was here in SLC two weeks ago and we grabbed BBQ and drinks. We talked about our friendship, about Shappy's passing, our various near brushes with death, and how lucky we felt to be alive. We always kept in touch, made sure we told each other how much we cared about the other person, and he was just a great friend to me. I wanted the Facebook posts about Klute's death to be mistakes, but here we are. I am processing along with so many of his circle.

I'm so proud of all he's accomplished. Of the spotlight he shone on causes that were important to him, especially with shark conservation. And I will always remember him as someone who brought loud and funny to poetry slams, and a lot of nerd, as well.

I have a lot of memories and pictures with him. But this one with a shark balloon hat just always made me smile. I'll miss you, Klute.

As his family requested, in lieu of flowers please consider making a donation in Bernard’s name to:

https://sharkangels.org/

For folks who may not be familiar with the bombastic poetry of the Klute (aka Bernard Schober), here is one of his better-known pieces. One that he performed on the street next to some dude holding a sign disparaging homosexuality because Klute never shied away from confrontation. Especially when it was about something he cared about.

I'm gonna miss that guy

Billy Tuggle

I, like I'm sure more have in slam years, known the Klute- Bernard Schober forever. He is one of us, a rare breed that withstood the weathering of the national game and stuck with it through thick and thin. He was my (and I'm sure many others) personal "sharkspert" and a food enthisiast; an excellent,  bullseye-of-his-topic writer and straight forward conversationalist, that I go all the way back to 2003 #NPS with. What I respected most about Klute is his ability to see past a social blindspot and evolve. Oh, and his omega-level nerdom. His is a spirit to well missed among the poetry slam tribe and this dimension will greatly miss.

Charlotte, NC...

I can't remember if it was #iWPS '11 or #NPS '12; but a group of us slam kids, chilling for the night; talking, leaning on each other, enjoying the get-together and occasional poems by the upper-floor lounge area elevators...

Doors open, and Bernard -the Klute- steps off of the elevator, quickly surveys the cozy scene and, stepping throuround the gathering, verbalizes the asessment...

PSSHHH!

POETS! BLAH BLAH BLAH... EVERYBODY SEXY...!!! 😃 

*crowd cracks the entire fuck up!*

😃 🙂

😐 😕

🙁 😢

Rest well, Klute.

Ivan Chavez

I am devastated to hear about Bernard aka the Klute leaving this plane of existence. He was the most wonderful friend anyone could have had and when I met him I was just an impressionable 17 year old kid who won a poetry contest in high school. That's right, I was the 2005 phoenix union high school district poetry contest champion once , and the klute gave us a presentation about poetry slams. I then started taking the bus to all sorts of strange locations like mysterious Mesa for the essenza coffee house slam as well as the willow house open mic (where I could drink coffee and smoke cigs indoors!) and I discovered a world where creatives got together regularly to jam poetry. What a concept! 

I lament having lost contact but life gets in the way. I loved him still and was always happy for the memories we shared. I only hope I can embrace the remainder of my life the way he did. Fly high brother klute forever!

Scott Woods

I don’t know when I met The Klute aka Bernard Schober, but it was early in my poetry slam career, at least since 2004. It would have been at a National Poetry Slam. It would have been in a loud place, where we could both raise our voices to be heard. We always ended up in loud places, or ended up making the places we were in loud. His intellect was deep and wide-ranging, his nerdom 110% deeper than mine, and his place in the Poetry Slam firmament was secured a long time ago. 

I don’t know if he knew that last one, that he was a bit of a legend. He was second only to Shappy as a Nerd Slam persona, and always brought Vader energy to the mic in his ever-present duster. I know I heard a story or two about him before we met, and once we did, he was wild, but way more human than the stories suggested. We had him feature in Columbus at the Writers’ Block Poetry Night, and we broke bread a lot. We both loved food the way a travelling poet does. He was a fixture at my annual “It’s a Wonderful Life” live roasts. The last time I saw him in person was at the first and only in-person UnPS. we both sat in the jeep-styled compartment of a Jurassic Park video game at a skating rink in Omaha, Nebraska, shooting at velociraptors. We spoke to students together, cooked out together, talked mad shit together. He was my cup of tea. 

I don’t think I ever called him Bernard to his face. He was always Klute to me. I couldn’t believe he was still slamming, but then I shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved the game of it, ad he won a slam he was in just last week, his last. I’d have liked to seen that, even though I can’t sit through most slams anymore. Poets who have been doing it from a certain era or longer just have a spice you don’t see anymore, in or out of Slam. And never let us forget his piercing political barbs. He once wrote of Herman Cain during his bid for president: “"Does Cain understand that running world's last superpower isn't like running a campaign for the Meat Lover's rollout?”

I didn’t hold on to a lot of people from my Slam career, but I held on to Klute. I don’t think we had a choice, really, as we were similarly yoked. I will miss his poems and his bite and my friend.

Shark education and conservation was his passion, so please consider making a donation in Bernard’s name to:

https://sharkangels.org/

Maria Lynn

I found out yesterday that my friend Bernard Schober passed away. It hit me pretty hard considering we haven't really talked or hung out in a long time. It does warm my heart though all the posts he is getting from his friends. He had an amazing life with some incredible friends and that makes me smile. RIP The Klute. You will be missed.

He was the very first person I went to New Orleans with. I got mugged on that trip and Bernard chased down the mugger until the mugger drop my purse. Then we stepped into a dinner that had just gotten robbed so police were already there. What a trip!!!

Tamara Glover

I am crying as I post this.

Bernard Schober was a great poet, voice of sharks and supporter of Fins Attached. I'm so sad he is gone. RIP my friend.

I know this video is old, but the message is Bernard's.

Jeremiah Blanchard

No matter how many people we lose, it never seems to get easier.

Bernard Schober, I'll miss our spirited chats, man. You were kind to a stupid teenager when you didn't have to be. I was just 16, an insecure and mouthy idiot, but you took everything I said in stride and kindness. I'll never forget that. Thank you. A lot of people are missing you. Cheers, friend.

Wendy Dafoe

I thought I had more pictures, but these were pre-digital times, and we always forgot to take selfies later.

"Some Pig"

by The Klute

I always knew my heart would eventually break;

death not by the metaphors of lost love

but by the insidiousness of congenital construction

gone aortically awry - blood building up inside

like all the passions I had, unable to get to their

final destinations - leaving me blue in the face

literally 

First diagnosis would come from

 studying cyanotic lips

 8 hours in the ocean left me gasping

 oxygen's inability to power my limbs

 brought me to the doctor's waiting room

 and tests

 everything from treadmills under clinician eyes

 to 3 days in Miami a wailing mess

 needles, probes, and finally a stopwatch triggered

 to 26 years, 2 months, some days

 The End

Second diagnosis

 once again my arms betray me

 or I betrayed them

 the occasional numbness in fingers

 wasted on keyboard clicks

 never did all those things I wanted to do

 challenging white sharks in blue water

 crawling through pyramids over Egyptian sands

 tracking storms of elephants in the jungle  

 replaced by the tick-tack of plastic punching electrons

 onto CRT screens 

Death tapped my shoulder to introduce me to you

 but the doctor did not know your name 

 only by your technical specification: 

 porcine bioprothsetic aortic value

 they would tear open my chest, 

 replace a part of me with a part of you

 and only one of us should live. 

 I wonder what happened to you pig?

 Were you harvested for other parts, 

 a chop shop of pork, 

 with bone and sinew cast aside like leftovers?

 I hope your terror was brief

 your end was peaceful,

 butchers blade merciful,

 in your last moment there was vision of what we would do

 together.

 

 You gave me more life than even I imagined

 you were there, filling my heart to full sail

 on a ship of dreams I had always left moored at port.  

 We climbed Sinai, defying holy books as swine stood at its peak,

 descended into the deep to howl in delight at the silent world,

 saw sunsets descending into Fijian seas

 storms lighting up the African night

 explored the ruins of Rome, the castle, and Pharaoh by firelight.

 We drank fully 

 but now my inebriations 

 would end suddenly 

 as if you were taking your angel's share - 

 because you were a guest a Bacchus' table in the heavens

 instead of main course.   

Now me must part because you were never meant to last this long

 Never meant to see the bottom of the Indian Ocean

 the tops of Jordanian mountains

 to stand before lions 

 and walk though the far-flung gardens of the globe,

 but neither was I. 

 My grave should have dug, 

 my life the occasional ghost

 fleeting in the minds of those who knew me. 

 in your sacrifice we traveled together.

 With your grant,

 we made it through these years, 

 alive.    

I don't know what will become of me without you.  

 For the first time in 13 years I am afraid of the afterlife

 terrible in its infinite beauties

 I don't want to let you go.

 A grim hand will eventually lead me back to you

 maybe with more time,

 maybe less,

 hopefully along a paralell path of the Rainbow Bridge.

 I hope we will exchange memories 

 to see that they are the same

 You with parts that are old,

 me with parts that are new. 

 I will pour you a drink, 

 our shares now equal,

 we will toast to the Earth we left, 

 where I was a just a lowly human given a gift

 to cultivate dreams not denied, 

 just delayed, 

 by a broken heart

 that was mended and made whole,

 to beat with time - 

 oh wondrous gift given to me 

 by the sacrifice

 of Some Pig 

Bill Abbott

We lost Bernard Schober? The Klute? The slam world has lost another legend.

Jenn Labuz

Bernard Schober ; when I moved to Arizona I thought I was a nerd about sharks 🦈 and knowing you definitely made me want to up my game. Your work in conservation was amazing and inspiring. 

It was an honor working on the Beatdown Report with you, especially having the chance to meet and talk with Mikel Weisser in one of the episodes.

I’ll never forget the time you braved a room full of pre-schoolers to give them a better understanding of sharks and our oceans. Thank you for offering and spending time with my classroom that year. 

I’ve got good memories. But nothing I write seems to make it real, that you’ve passed on. What is remembered lives. I’ll miss you, and I‘m upping my ocean conservation game🌊🦈

Jan Marc Quisumbing

You and I will meet again

When we're least expecting it

Somewhere in some far off place

I will recognize your face

I won't say goodbye my friend

For you and I will meet again

-Tom Petty

To your next adventure Klute.

M C Tristan Marshell

...today starts with sadness at the passing of a friend, Bernard Schober ...I guess I lied when I told him that he will be at my funeral...Selachimorpha, my friend.

The Prophesy of Teeth and Blood, we all have fins for hands...

Three years ago...today

Niccolea Miouo Nance

Klute (I don't think I ever called him "Bernard") was at the very first slam I ever went to back in February 2004 at the Anthology Cafe in Mesa. I'm pretty sure I knew of him through Kevin Patterson (KP) before then.

I wanted to do a pic collage in memorium but I have surprisingly few pictures of Klute considering I've known him since 2004. In the pictures I have, he is in the background which is strange considering how many times I had traveled from the West Valley to Mesa or Tempe to a slam or show he was in. 

A lot of the time I was around Klute was when he was off stages:  in a conversation circle with other poets... on road trips to Sedona, Flagstaff, or Tucson (some of those prefaced by pancake breakfasts at his house).  I only made it to one or two of the poet coffee meet-ups with him, Bill Campana, and David Tabor being the regulars. He was one of those people that if he was doing it or supporting it, it was going to be good (if not great). 

He is why Kracken is my favorite rum (And was witness to me drunk dialing my poet-crush the night he, Jessica, and I shared a bottle behind the Firehouse).

There are a million small moments that happened over the 18 years that would fill a whole timeline. I'll stop at these for now. 

To think that I won't randomly run into Klute around the valley is like a Mac truck on my chest.

also remember that Klute loved his coworkers:

"Testimony"

by The Klute

I will end you.

I will snap you in half like a twig,

grind your bones into dust,

eat your soul slowly,

like a ripe Georgia peach.

I am sick to death of you.

Every day that you continue to draw breath

is an affront to my existence.

There can be no compromise,

no meeting of the minds.

You will be destroyed,

I will be victorious,

It is inevitable as the sunrise.

We share a cubicle wall

And it is the only thing keeping you alive,

so pray that it does not fall.

I can hear your breath through your nose

like a fetid wind through a rotted tree.

which you accentuate by farting at your desk.

You chatter incessantly through personal calls

without care to the day's business ahead

and guess who has to pick up the slack?

Me. 

You are are the absolute worst person I know.

You are the reason why this country is losing

economic ground to the Chinese

and when the Dow Jones Industrial average loses 100 points

It because of something you did. 

You should be ashamed of yourself,

But you saunter in here like you are God's gift to accounts recievable

Even though everyone here wants to see you dead,

with your head on a pike next to the time clock as a warning

to all the other douchebags with an MBA and a lease on a pre-owned Mercedes.

I saw you take the last donut.

I saw put the coffee pot back empty

And it took every fiber of my being

Not to smash you over the head with a paperweight

Stuff you in the trunk of my car

Drive you out to the middle of nowhere

Cut you up into little pieces 

So the coyotes could gobble you up

And then crap you out all over the Sonoran Desert 

Oh, I'm creating a hostile work environment?

You're going to go to human resources to a file complaint.

Well, good luck.

I've got pictures of the company president

In the 2nd floor bathroom glory hole 

Giving out handjobs two at a time

So guess what?

Human resources ain't got shit on me.

I could punch you in the cock

Then write "I Did It" in 12 foot flaming letters in the parking lot

And I'll still be of the employee of the month, motherfucker.

What're you going to do?

If I had my way,

You would be fired.

And not just any kind of fired.

You would be ULTRA fired.

Your house would be burned to the ground

And the ashes sold on the courthouse steps.

Your wife would leave you for your worst enemy: ME.

You'd be washing car windows at the intersection 

smoking crack

And sleeping next to the urinals at the Greyhound station. 

You'd probably try to commit suicide

But you're so incompetent you would probably fuck that up too.

You are a drag on everything you touch.

And I hate you.

Hate.

HATE.

Can't. Breathe.

Now that we've gotten that all out the way...

I drew your name in the company's Secret Santa pool

I hope you like what I got you.

I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.  

Gary Bowers

Here is a remastered version of the page I did on Bernard Schober -- known to the Valley poetry community as The Klute -- way back in February of 2009. The page appeared in my chapbook "Lives of the Eminent Poets of Greater Phoenix, Volume I." The Double Acrostic (triple if you include the symbols), "Talis Manic," goes like this:

Take a heart hit for the team

And an asterisk per schema

Let the club impress and glean

Info won with spadework--I

See rough diamonds hit high C

Rest in Power and Self-Contained Underwater Being Apparatus, my friend.

Brooke von Blomberg

Like all of us, I was shocked and saddened to hear of the sudden passing of my friend Bernard Schober, aka The Klute. I think I've known him since 2007, when he must have come to ABQ for a poetic feature.  He had such a dynamic stage presence but I also hung out with him afterwards and got to know him as the sweet, engaged, and down-to-earth person he was. We had many interesting conversations over the years at various events, but I also have a unique memory of him that was just the two of us. The last time I saw him in person was in January of 2017, when I flew to Phoenix for my big Jeopardy audition. When it was all over we went out to dinner to a Thai place that, upon entering, he cheekily pointed out used to be a Wendy's. I had Thai peanut curry and it was excellent. On the way there he was quizzing me on Simpsons trivia that he was going to use for some show he was hosting that weekend. We had a very pleasant conversation and he expressed regret that I couldn't stay with him and his partner because his house was being remodeled. I never even thought to ask and was fine with my suite at the LA Quinta Inn, but that's the type of person he was, so effortlessly generous and genuine. He even offered to drive me to the airport and apologized that he would be at work by the time my flight left the following day. 

I always hoped I would see him again but that remote possibility diminished even further when Covid hit and I moved to Florida. However, ironically, I felt like I got to know him better, the other dimensions of him through following his social media posts. I loved following his travelogues, his fearless diving adventures (dude survived at least two hurricanes on these trips) and his tireless activism. He was an inspiration to us all (that sounds like a cliché but he was no cliché) for how to live fully and take care in how you are living and the impact you put into the world. 

My heart goes out to his family during this difficult time. I know he would be touched and humbled by these tributes. I miss him already and thank him for his words.

Cynthia French

Woke up to the news that I lost a great friend, poet, caretaker of cats, protector of sharks, and deeply loving, extremely hilarious, and all-around wonderful human. I'm sharing this video because one of the things I loved about The Klute is that he didn't mind being a villain in order to make sure the right thing was done

Jewel Blackfeather Welter

We met in 2004 at a poetry festival I helped organize, when the rambling desert rose that I eventually became was a mere withered bloom. He wore a black trenchcoat that flowed behind him like the lyrics Stevie Nicks wrote about Mick Fleetwood: “And he was just like / a great dark wave / within the wings of a storm.” He wore his signature item of clothing in Arizona. In the high desert, where heat was this sly cheetah that made you forget it was prowling the length of your body. Later, I would learn that he often wore this trenchcoat and that this was just a part of his larger-than-legends persona. 

At first, I didn’t know what to say. His performance style was humorous, bombastic, and filled with fists. My hands still shook when I held the papers with my words scrawled on them. Years later, I would memorize all of my pieces because I could see how doing that allowed Bernard Schober to reach his audience. I wasn’t sure if we could become friends because we seemed so different. Truthfully, I didn’t think I was funny enough to be the friend of a person who everyone called The Klute. 

But we became great friends, and every time I saw him, he made it a point to offer me encouragement and to hold space for me. He was quietly generous, seriously whacky, and so, so funny. He was protective of his friends and those who were downtrodden and wronged, and of course, of sharks. He liked going where they went and swimming where they swam. He dressed up as a shark to spit poems about these giant creatures, trying to dispel the misinformation about them. Maybe he was a lot like the sharks, a presence that couldn’t be ignored, misunderstood, and simply awesome to behold. 

He made me feel like a ferocious poet and worthwhile human. I was not the only one he did this for. One time at a show, I told him I was nervous to perform, that someone had said I wasn’t good enough, that I took it too seriously. He shook his head vehemently and said, “Jewel, did you ever know you’re one of my favorite living writers and you make everyone around you better because we all want to make you proud?” 

And maybe someone lesser would have said that just to cheer me up, but he didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He didn’t say things just to make people feel a certain type of way. When he said you were good, it meant that you were great. I wanted to be great because he believed that I was. When he had his surgeries and I had mine, we kept each other company and talked about all kinds of things. I read him tarot cards sometimes, and he indulged me, and never once teased me about it. “How is my good friend Klute doing?” I would ask, and he’d really tell me, and let me see into the little window of his soul for a little while. 

On our last conversation, he asked for my address. We had discussed him coming to share poems by fire with other poets in my backyard. I really wanted to hear him live again. There is so much about his passing that inspires sadness. I am sad that we won’t get to have the kind of late night chats that we had, that sharks won’t have the true friend and guardian that he was on their side, and that my friends who’ve heard all about him won’t get to meet him or hear him perform again. 

For some reason, I keep thinking of lyrics to this old ‘seventies song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” “Does any one know where the love of God goes / when the waves turn the minutes to hours.” We will keep the lighthouse lit, Klute. It’s time to go home. You deserve a peaceful rest. Thank you for being my friend and for seeing something in me worthwhile. Thank you for being such a mentor and supporter of poets. There will never be another like you.

Gray Brian Thomas

Bernard Schober was a legend in my eyes. Just a vibrant good-willed guy. You'll be missed, Klute.

Jason Carney

Godspeed Bernard Schober, aka The Klute! An incredibly generous human being, a human being with genuine and precise insights, a human being who lived with generosity and laughter. Thank you for blessing our lives.

Dahled Jeffries

RIP Bernard Schober aka The Klute. I hope there are lots of sharks for you to swim with Wherever You Are.

Brok Kerbrat

When I found The Klute, he had actually found a lot of us.

At the credits.

Waiting.

Amen and amen.

Terry L Smith

I'm mourning the loss of an AWWsome friend. Bernard Schober. I keep waiting for him to pop up and tell us it was one of his internet trolls, but I don't think so this time. I'm sorry Klute. I will miss your face at our shows.

Mej Yeldem

When you fall out of touch with people you admire, respect, and call friend, you always think there will be more time in the future to catch up... there's always that elusive someday... when we have more time, when work settles down, when the house is more in order, when the kids are a little bigger.... but there isn't always a someday. The world lost a very beloved man recently, one who cared not only for his fellow humans but also for nature and wildlife, especially sharks. With my marine biology once upon a time background, I especially appreciated this about my friend Bernard Schober aka The Klute. I didn't sleep a wink after finding out, but since I missed my someday date to catch up with him, I'm asking anyone to join me in honoring him in a way that he would love. Please donate to the cause that was important to him. Say a little prayer for the world and take time to tell someone you miss that you love them today. Don't wait. Do it now.

Sharks were his favorite. To honor him please help him to continue to help save the environment and so the sharks can thrive. In lieu of flowers please consider making a donation in Bernard’s name to: https://sharkangels.org/

Ruby Tate

Im so sad to hear of Bernard Schober passing. I will always remember my first introduction to “The Klute” at an open poetry slam night where he stunned all my senses with an ode to the KFC Double Down. A great man.  Rest in Power.

The Klute introduces The Meg.

We are so sorry to hear of the passing of our friend The Klute Bernard Schober. Amazing man, slam poet and lover of all things ocean and sharks. He honored us with several performances including Jaws in the Water, The Meg and a great panel at Phoenix Comicon. Heres his poem from the Meg.

Rest in Power my friend.

Ashley Naftule

Some people are monumental in their connection to a place, as inextricably linked to a landscape’s identity as the Eiffel Tower to Paris or the Empire State Building to NYC. So much of what is good about Phoenix was reflected and embodied by Bernard Schober. I could talk at length about his generosity of spirit, or how welcoming he was to me (and to so many other people) when I was first dipping my toes in the community, or how funny he was, or how intellectually curious and omnivorous he was, or how talented he was (and how unpretentious he was about it), but what really says it all is how diminished this place will feel in his absence. Like looking at a familiar skyline and not seeing a towering silhouette you thought would always be there.

Jason Lalli

We lost another good one. 😔 Bernard Schober. It’s heavy.

A presence so strong he will undeniably be missed by many. 

Excited for you to be back with the universe my friend. We will miss you here though. 

I celebrate you and all you created and inspired—countless. Myself included.

Jonathan Oak

Lost a friend today. I met Bernard Schober almost 21 years ago. He was a big part of what drew me into the slam community here in Phoenix. He was a powerful presence, both on and off the stage, but he wasn't intimidating, he was welcoming and inclusive.

His work on the Edgar Allan Poe birthday shows inspired us to bring that show, along with him, all the way up to Portland, Oregon. And I have to admit that part of the reason I wanted him there (aside from getting his blessing and continuity) was just to show him off to the writing community in Portland. 

He was good to me. He defended or community. He championed those without the resources to defend themselves. 

I'm sorry this is all over the place. There's too much to say, and I'm addled by sadness. But there's a whole community saying pieces of it, reliving and reminiscing. It will all get said.

Chris E. Ware 

Now let me tell you about Bernard Schober bka THE KLUUUTTTEEE!!

We were members of the first ever Ghost Poetry Slam team getting ready for Utah. This one particular rehearsal he had to do work stuff and couldn't be there.  But Raad Sharrar still needed to practice his part for their duo piece. So we all took turns reading Klute's part in our best Klute voices. It was on that night we learned: many can try, but no one will ever be able to do it quite like The Klute!

I'll miss you, my friend. Rest well. Thank you.

Britni Nance

We lost one of the greatest slam poets of our time yesterday, Bernard Schober . Not only did he have a way with words, but his passion for diving and ocean life was beautiful. I will really miss nerding out about sharks with you over Tiki drinks. You introduced me to the shark conservation group I'm planning to do my cage dive with. I was so excited to share all the details with you when it finally happened. You were always honest, brave and never shied away from confrontation especially when performing pieces like this. You will never be forgotten. Rest easy, Klute. We love you always and forever.

RJ Walker

Bernard Schober was one of the poets I looked up to the most.

Right now, there's a lot of kids coming out of our youth scene with that old notion that poetry has to only be about trauma or politics or both if you want to score well. Like you have to hurt yourself for scores or find parts of yourself to exploit. Of course this is bullshit, but I think most poets have been there. The Klute really was the poet that taught me that this shit should be fun. It should bring people together. Doing the work shouldn't have to hurt.

I know a lot of people will remember The Klute fondly. His ocean conservation work and how he never backed down from a challenge. He brought so much joy while doing so much good.

I don't believe in afterlives or ghosts, but I'd like to imagine that, if he is a ghost, he'd be real pissed that he died just 6 days before shark week. And I hope he haunts the seas forever over it.

Davey Anthony Latour

I did not know Bernard Schober  -The Klute, nearly as well as I wished. But I loved watching him perform and "Adam and Steve" meant the world to me. On the occasions we did meet and talk we shared a mutual love for the sea, him with his immense diving experience and me with my experience crewing tallships. He was one of the few people I've ever met who was genuinely interested in hearing those stories, and I have always remembered and unyieldingly appreciated it...

For you my fellow sea loving and sailing friend: 

"Sunset and evening star,

      And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

      When I put out to sea,

   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

      Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

      Turns again home.

   Twilight and evening bell,

      And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

      When I embark;

   For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

      The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

      When I have crost the bar."

Fair winds and following seas.

All hands line the rails, the honorable Bernard Schober Departing

Don McIver

Oh my! One of my favorite people in all of Slam. True family.

Jeff Knight

When I first started engaging in social media in the early aughts, it was with LJ. And pretty early on, in the friend of a friend way, amplified through slam poetry, one of the people I friended was Bernard Schober, aka, the Klute. 

Funny, smart, fierce, a good writer, and — in the way you kind of get to know somebody from what they say and do day-in, day-out — I was a fan of both the writer and the human. 

I bet we spent fewer than five hours together over these almost-20 years, but: read each other multiple times a week, saw a lot of things about the same way, liked each other’s creative work, and had a sense of camaraderie. We were online friends for long enough, and both posted a lot, giving that online relationship a sense of dailiness, and  I considered him a friend. 

I loved watching his last act. As his heart troubles manifested, he got busy. Threw himself into a cause (ocean ecology, and especially protecting sharks), got more intentional about where and how he spent his energies, and took better care of his health. He wrote posts about his mortality in a brave, sweet, funny, and straightforward way that I did and do admire. 

Bernard, grateful to have known you. Tremendously moved at the outpouring of love I’m seeing all over the interwebs. Will miss your posts, from real to snarky to 4th-grade humor. Adios.

A.J. Moyer

I'm unbelievably heartbroken at the news of The Klute (Bernard Schober)'s passing. Love and peace to all the folks processing this loss today, especially his closest friends and family.

Laura Ochs Olivieri

When your personality is so grand, and your love of life is so vast that the human suit you wear around seems like a pair of shoes that are too tight, you might be Bernard Schober.

When you're so keenly aware of your own mortality but have fought so hard and stared it in the face for so long that the reaper is compelled to sneak up on you from behind on some random Monday morning -  like the little b!*ch that he is - too much a coward to look you in the eye when you're looking at him - you might be Bernard Schober.

When the footprint of love that you leave on this Earth with your family, and friends, and community, and poets, and wit, and fierce defense of things that are worthy in this world, is so deep and so wide that the ocean you love so much wouldn't fill it's pinky toe - you might be Bernard Schober.

I was fond acquaintance. We never spent time, never had a beer, never did a dive, never saw each other beyond the slams in Maricopa, but I will miss this human.  I hope the water is clear and blue and amazing for you, forever.

Maricopa art community remembers beloved poet 'The Klute'

By KIMLYE STAGER

Jul 27, 2022

The Maricopa arts community is mourning the death of a man who helped usher the city onto the Arizona poetry slam scene.

On July 19, Maricopa Arts Council told the community via Facebook with “great sadness” that Bernard Schober, also known by his stage name “The Klute,” had died at age 49 the previous day.

He had won a first prize in Ghost Poetry the previous Thursday.

The MAC Facebook account said he went out at the “very top.”

“The Klute WAS ‘poetry’ to the city of Maricopa! He introduced slams here, awoke us all to the fire and subtlety of his art,” it said, adding he organized and emceed all the local slams starting with Slam 101 in August 2015. “He was a dear friend — passionate and professional — and every member of our city’s arts scene will miss him hugely.”

MAC said Schober was “super creative” and first-generation born in the U.S. who was “supremely caring for the denizens of the sea — truly one-of-a-kind, and definitely larger-than-life.”

Judith Zaimont, MAC co-director, worked with him for over seven years producing poetry slams in Maricopa.

She said he would volunteer to take extra trips to Maricopa to speak at an elementary school on shark conservation, hold multiple online lotteries for the All-AZ Poetry Slam Championship in Maricopa, performed at the Maricopa ArtsFest and more due to his admiration for the city’s passion for the arts.

Laura Olivieri, a local musician-poet, said Schober “wore a coat of many colors” and was “outspoken about each color on his spectrum,” wearing them “loudly with great awareness and vigor.”

She only knew him from the poetry slams, but his “scope of life was so much bigger.”

”I think that poetry kept him grounded with an extensive group of family and friends, a community and a home base that he cherished,” Olivieri said.

She said he was an anchor for many along with being a champion of various endeavors such as health and growth, poetry, human rights, ocean life, political action and being involved and present, each being the “loves of his life.”

Olivieri said The Klute did 200 deep sea dives and was an advocate for sea life, particularly sharks. He published at least five books, some ocean-themed and some not.

She said he did slam poetry “as if he needed it to breathe” and won his last slam competition, the Ghost Poetry Show in Phoenix, on July 14 this year.

Olivieri said he competed in much more such as local, regional, state and national slams with “’firsts’ and friends ever at his back.”

“He brought that magic here to Maricopa when there was none,” she said.

Olivieri said he supported those within his inner and outer circle and “made everyone he was with feel special.”

“I hope the water is deep and blue, and filled with life for him, forever,” she said. “I learned a lot from him, as so many others did, and I wasn’t even one of ‘his people’. But the best, of course, for us is that he cared enough to bring himself here. He brought his love of poetry and life to Maricopa — and at least one person (ME!) heard him — though I know his influence goes much, much farther. On his pages, I see the hundreds of people whose lives are ever-changed because of him, and I’m honored to count myself among them. I hope all of Maricopa will remember.”

Kimlye Stager covers Maricopa and the surrounding area for PinalCentral, including city, education, business, crime and more. She can be reached at kstager@pinalcentral.com.

Briana Grace Hammerstrom

I wish I could write something witty and deserving of Bernard Schober, a man who made me cry with a shark poem. Annnnnd then promptly made me laugh with another shark poem. I will write something eventually, but tonight is the necessary night of a bonfire and memories for a man whose elongated vowels Im certain are still rumbling in my sternum somewhere. The words can come later~

Gabbi Jue

These are one of those moments that don’t feel real, and may not feel real for a while... Bernard Schober-The Klute… you will be sorely missed. Your presence was so pivotal for the Slam community, and your absence will be felt by so many. I feel so honored and privileged to have been able to call you my friend, mentor, fellow poet, teammate… thank you for all of it.

First time I met Klute was at a Berkeley Slam where he was featuring. I was a fresh bean sprout of a poet in the scene and I was so excited to meet an AZ poet whom I had heard so much about. Flash forward a couple years later to 2014 where we found ourselves on a NPS team together. I was intimidated to be on a team with such seasoned poets, but yet he was nothing but kind and encouraging. 

At Nationals before our first bout, he brought a flask of Jameson and poured each of us a shot. Tonight, I’ll be pouring another shot for you, my friend. ❤️🥃🦈

Randee Lankford Sewell

My heart is heavy with sadness.  I can't accept that you're gone and life is still going on.  I am so grateful that you were in my life.  Rest in peace.

The boys were directed to look annoyed for a photo series called "Me Talking to My Best Friend"

Janelle Wilson

I've been having trouble finding my words through the deep sadness of losing Bernard Schober. 

I met Klute through poetry slam and we liked each other immediately - recognizing our shared predilection for witty cynicism and loud opinions. He was so perfectly himself and I appreciated that. There is no person I would rather have yelling at me from the stage. 

We lived far apart but took the opportunity to get together whenever possible. We met in many cities at events and shared a lot of laughs. 

On a visit to Boise, I left him at the bar for an hour while I went to teach my dance class. When I came back he had wandered off somewhere so I messaged him. He said he was at the Capitol building having randomly joined a protest. Because of course he did. 

He once drove to the airport to meet me for a margarita on a layover. I felt honored that he was willing to make the effort to see me even briefly. 

When my life was coming apart and I had a chance to catch a ride to Phoenix for a few days he welcomed me without hesitation. We went to the float tank, ate delicious tacos, petted the cats, and watched Venture Brothers. I needed a moment of reprieve and kindness and this was always available with Klute. 

We stayed in touch. We checked on each other and offered support. We commiserated over how challenging it was to go through health problems in a pandemic. It was hard to be forced apart from everyone for so long. 

I was supposed to see him in Salt Lake last month and I had to cancel because I wasn’t feeling well enough to travel after Covid. I am struggling with the regret of missing my last chance to see him. We had plans to reconnect as soon as possible. We spoke of sitting side by side in the sand, staring at the ocean, and enjoying fruity drinks together in real life. 

In a time of great loneliness, he was there for me. He was a good friend and I will miss him so much.

CChristy White

A friend and a poet...a man who was too big for this world. We knew in our hearts that The Klute, Bernard Schober, would face the challenges in his life with enthusiasm, greet friends with open arms, exude poetry and shark love all over us! Some know that his house was a refuge for street cats AND poet cats, and my Miu-Ling was one of the rescues. I have known some great people in my life, but he is/was gusto embodied. Ah, Klute, may your passion move the heavens as you have moved us all.

"The Laugh"

by The Klute

"Not I, nor anyone else

Can travel that road for you.

It is not far...

Perhaps it is everywhere -

on water and land"

- Walt Whitman

Oh, you fancy,

ain't you Mr. Whitman?

Acting all big and bad

like you're the transition

Between trancedentalism and realism

Or something!

You think you're better than me? 

Well, the only Walt I care about

Was on "Breaking Bad".

Got another edition of "Leaves of Grass" do ya?

La-dee-da!

Guess I've got another edition 

of "Wipes My Ass".

And O Captain! My Captain?

Look at you gettin' famous

Off the death of Abraham Lincoln.

And the only reason that people remember that

Was because of Robin Williams,

Now he's dead too. 

He's dead because there is omnipresent air of doom 

surrounding every comedian.

Behind the jokes 

We know there is nothing but the big empty

So we try to write faster 

than the shadows that will overwhlem us.

Sometimes we get ahead of the curve. 

We stand at the event horizons our souls

Stare into the black holes of despair

And laugh. 

We want you to laugh with us...

Because if you're not laughing with us

You're looking at us

And if you you're looking at us

You're wondering what's wrong with us

And if you look at us long enough

You'll probably figure it out 

And that's what scares the hell out of us.

Some of us are just strange,

Sculpted personas out of pain

Wearing them like masks to hide in plain sight

Because you cannot hurt what cannot see

Others dull the pain with drugs

Prescribed and otherwise

Suspended from wires on Saturday Night Live

We hang for your enjoyment

So we don't hang for something else.

The truly brave face it head on.

Death comes for them in the worst ways

Sam Kinison couldn't scream loud enough to scare death away

Bill Hicks couldn't produce enough poison to kill cancer

Phil Hartman couldn't disappear into character to avoid his wife's bullets

We know we will all die

That there is nothing funnier than the death of a clown. 

For some of us, there will never be an escape.

No matter how many laughs 

Pats on the back

Good gigs

The bleak flood will come and we cannot stop it

We will stand at the water's edge

And hope there is enough... hope

To act like a life preserver to keep us afloat

We all know we are one impule away 

From taking the microphone cord

And tying it into a knot and standing on a chair

Cursed by chemistry to give it a kick

And give the world one final punchline

So when you see us laugh,

Then wonder why we become a moment of silence

Well remember, 

Tragedy... that's easy.

Comedy - that's hard. 

Corbet Dean

Thank you, Bernard Schober, for your endless encouragement over the years.  And for putting up with my mess.  You were always there, helping me up... making us all better.  I'm grateful for our long, honest conversations - talks about your travels, your faith, and your loves.  My life was infinitely better because you were in it.  Peace always, my friend.  Rest in power.

Kat Radsek

We weren't the best of friends. We honestly haven't spoken in about a year, and our last conversations were about how you regretted that and how things went. I wasn't close enough to your circle to know.

I believe you, when you said you wanted us to get back in touch. And we will, if not here. I think you know that.

I never blamed you, I wasn't upset or hurt for long, and the last time I stopped by, I just wanted you to know that, that I understood and I valued you past what value you brought to my life. I didn't want you to feel guilty about it.

I'm glad you found means and purposes and lived your life well. And that's all that happened. That we were two different people with means and purposes and lived to live, and I never stopped loving you as a person as a friend.

And I have every expectation that someday we will sit and drink and share these stories. Enjoy the adventure, and we will share another round of tacos and margaritas. Not soon, but someday.

The best kind of yelling

Sharon Skinner

When the vampire hunter no longer hunts...

I want to walk into the grocery store and see the cereal aisle ravaged.

I want to go on safari and see a glittering rock star chased by hungry lions.

I want to swim with sharks and see one wearing a goatee.

And when the shadow of a ghost flits by in the dark,

I want it to be wearing a long black coat,

hem flapping, as it gestures wildly,

ranting at the disorder and chaos of humanity,

and spilling sarcastic quips like rattling chains,

reminding us we need to do better.

Like the tinman’s,

his heart was real

and large,

and he shared it

openly.

Bernard Schober, you are sorely missed.

Neil Gearns

We lost a very talented poet.  I had the privledge of competing with and against the Klute aka Bernard Schober. You were an influence and an artistic force of nature.  Hopefully you are doing slam poetry in heaven  and giving them Hell.  Thanks for all the laughs.... and showing me how poetry could be.  Rest well 

Russ Kazmierczak

Among the many facets of the legacy Bernard Schober leaves behind in Phoenix -- Arizona -- the Southwest -- damn it, the whole WORLD -- is his mysterious desire and commitment to collaboration.

I say "mysterious" because I've never beheld a more capable, entertaining one man show. I presume quite consciously, the Klute mastered rhythm and pacing: every poem took you for a ride, and every SET took you for a ride, whether 5 minutes at an open mic or 30 minutes as a feature. He remains truly the only poet that makes me think, "Oh, THIS is what a poetry CONCERT would feel like." Galleries felt like arenas when he took the stage, with his name alone, well-earned, on the marquee.

Yet, he INSISTED on community. Coffees. Slam teams. Collaborations with artists for book covers and merch. I don't think he needed anyone else to make the impact that he did, but his actions spoke otherwise. He made it clear, for all his talent, he didn't WANT to do it alone. He loved his friends, and he so graciously shared his spotlight, which is, itself, an art.

I was incredibly lucky enough to draw a book cover for the Klute, a request I didn't take lightly then, and an honor I tout now and always will. I know a few copies are available at Wasted Ink Zine Distro, if you don't have it yet and occasionally want to read his work. We may not have the concerts anymore, but we'll always have the albums. Put it on, and crank it up. Thankfully, incredible artists like the Klute leave plenty of work behind, and it's never too late to be a part of it.

Bebe Gray

I am so sad to hear of this. He was such a kind friend to me from the poet days to the environmental days. He was a kindred spirit and always teaching me about life. We even shared some plant based recipes. Godspeed. I am so sad for all of our suffering in saying so long to you.

Ghost Poetry Slam 

As a poetry community, you’d think words would come easy to describe someone, however we are at a loss. The Klute lived poetically. He won his first Ghost slam this past Thursday. In round 1, he had a new poem that he started in Salt Lake at the Utah Arts Festival we went to last month. Nearly every poem was sad so he decided to write a “sad” poem from his perspective. In round 2, he did one of his classics mocking the religious right. If you followed Klute on any social media platform, he made sure you knew where he stood. In the finals, he did a poem with an alternative title "Mr. DeMartino's Last Lecture". If that isn’t poetic. For his victory lap, he did a shark poem. You know he couldn’t leave us without telling us once more about sharks. We will miss you Klute. Safe travels poet 💔

Betsy Gomez

This is too soon, Bernard Schober , and you fought so hard. I'm going to miss you so much. All the love to those who are feeling the pain of your loss.

Rosemarie Dombrowski

The Klute was a legend. I haven’t always done a great job of crossing over to the slam community, but Klute sure did a good job of crossing over to the slightly tamer “page community.” He enlivened our shows and our lives. He helped build bridges. Thanks again legendary friend. You will be greatly missed. 💔

Catherine Garrett

There’s not much to say that hasn’t been said. Bernard Schober Rest in power friend. I’ll miss you terribly. He was kind and funny and very welcoming to a very nervous me at my first American poetry slam.

Andrea Rittschof

Just devastated to hears the news of Bernard Schober passing. We worked at author events and he's always been such a great guy, a friend, a wonderful person and an amazing poet.

The Klute at PHXCC 2015

Ocean poet, activist The Klute remembered

By Jayson Peters

Iam saddened to report here that Bernard Schober, aka The Klute, a god among slam poets and an ocean activist and diver, died on July 18. He was 49.

Schober, who routinely covered Shark Week shenanigans for Nerdvana, leaves behind a megalodon-sized legacy of love, laughter and respect for the natural world that few could hope to match.

Born in Florida, he called Phoenix home for many years but never let the desert keep him from becoming a divemaster and marine life and ocean conservation evangelist.

I last spoke with Nerdvana’s senior oceanographic correspondent via DM on July 3 to ask if he was going to sink his teeth into “Shark Week” coverage again for Nerdvana as he had for the past six (!) years. I was met with an enthusiastic “Yessir.” I wish we’d talked more, about a lot more. A whole lot more.

The Klute was a nerd-king who loved quoting The Simpsons and Hanna-Barbera cartoon classics like Sealab 2021, but he also loved bringing the wonders and perils of the briny deep to you any way he could. His loss will be felt deeply by any who ever knew him, even a little.

“The ‘Klute’ of today was a culmination of countless personal events and influences and a multitude of experiences, all glued together by his determination to be better in all things,” wrote his friend and publisher at Brick Cave Media, Bob Nelson. “He loved his circle unconditionally, and if you were a part of it, you knew, because he never said no when you asked him for something.”

Indie comic book artist Russ Kazmierczak, who illustrated the cover for a collection of The Klute’s poetry, took to social media to remember his commitment to community: “Galleries felt like arenas when he took the stage, with his name alone, well-earned, on the marquee,” he said. “Yet, he INSISTED on community. Coffees. Slam teams. Collaborations with artists for book covers and merch. I don’t think he needed anyone else to make the impact that he did, but his actions spoke otherwise.

“He made it clear, for all his talent, he didn’t WANT to do it alone. He loved his friends, and he so graciously shared his spotlight, which is, itself, an art.”

Here are some of the charities The Klute supported, which you can help in his memory:

• Anthology, Inc.
• Arizona State Poetry Society
• Fins Attached
• Shark Angels

So long, Klute — and thanks for all the sharks.

Holly Samulcek

Fucking brilliant! This was recorded just last week, where The Klute won the Ghost Poetry slam for the first time. 

Shit's sad these days, indeed. 😢

Rest in Poetry, Bernard Schober

People need to stop dying before I tell them what their life and presence has meant to me. In reality though, I need to start making it a point to tell people what their life and presence has meant to me... before that chance is gone forever. 

I'm sorry Bernard Schober that I didn't make it a point to do so. It was 'on my list', like oh so many things. 

Left undone. 

Undone.

Gone.

🦈🪦

I'm so very glad to have ordered a signed copy of Chumming the Waters from Bernard Schober, just 6 short weeks ago. 

Everything about it is so very Klute, from the poems, to the inscription, right down to the packaging. 

I noted that last bit in what was to be our last interaction. 

Of couse the packaging is compostable, upcycled, and recyclable! But since I still have it, I'll keep it as is. The book will live inside for as long as it lasts.  💙

Joshua Wiss

Sending out all of my love to poets everywhere mourning the loss of The Klute. 

Bernard Schober was one of the most talented & consistent poets I've ever had the pleasure to perform with & against over the past 12 years. He was the first truly super-powered poet I ever consciously came up against in competition & have always been amazed by his voice/presence. For years he was a mountain against which I sharpened my craft & skills. Eventually I was able to hold my own against Klute in a slam & I think with that came a certain level of respect from him. I always felt instantly at ease showing up at some weird slam somewhere & seeing Klute. Having him around always guaranteed a good show.

I've seen him go through several eras of poetry over the years. I have been fortunate enough to see both the meticulously crafted masterpiece performances of Klute classics & also more experimental & emotional work. The man had an incredible talent as a writer, editor & performer. What an amazing catalog poems.

Bernard was always the epitome of class to me. He was always just-- a fair & professional host who made it a point to keep communities & connections alive. I miss you so much already.

Life is so precious. 

Love you all. 

Libby Rooney

Heartbroken to hear of his passing. The Klute won this Slam, which is no surprise, but the competition was stiff. I was so grateful that he came up from his home in the big PHX to small town Miami [Arizona] to support our first Miami Loco Poetry Slam. 

Bernard Schober, you have done many kind and wonderful things that continue to reverberate in the world. RIP

Tina Scammell Dunning

I’m in shock at this. I met Bernard Schober diving and went to his shark trivia! He was an interesting guy and knew so much about sharks and the ocean. He wasn’t afraid to say what he wanted to. I didn’t know him very well but we were in a couple dives trips. Bernard, I had much more to learn from you! So many did! You will be missed. RIP 🦈❤️

Stefan Sencerz

The Klute, Bernard Schober, just passed away. I’m sorry about it. But I will not lament passing away of someone as young and vibrant as he was; The Klute told me that this is not what is done in his circles. So, I will mourn in “my own” quiet way and by sharing few memories of our encounters.

I saw The Klute but few times; each time it was memorable. The first time it was in ABQ (or maybe it was Austin), on occasion of the National Poetry Slam. He strolled into a room where I was staying as if it was his own back yard, or his own Palace, filling it with his gigantic presence. He was wearing his signature “Black Coat”. Everyone greeted him with respect. Someone passed to him a bottle of absinthe, waiting there for just this occasion. He picked up a sugar cube from a bowl, prepared it, and shown us how it is done. That was my first taste absinthe. And then we proceed to share some poems, his being one of the nerdiest pieces I’ve heard.

I remembered this well on my next trip to Europe. As luck had it, I forgot to pick up a pile of books prepare for a down time on the plane. So, the only one I had on me was his chapbook adorned with the photo of his standing in his “Black Coat” in front of the White House, reading poems for the President or, perhaps, cursing at him. I read it back-to-back a few times, trading it with periods of zazen, each time submerging deeper into his world full of nerdiness and political insights. It was just as entertaining as it was revealing.

On the way home, I picked up a few bottles of absinthe at a duty-free shop in Paris, knowing I am bound to run into him in Madison, again on occasion of NPS. I told him about it as soon as I saw him. Unfortunately, we were not able to hook up. So, when we opened a bottle, I had to play a role of a master of ceremony. The absinthe did not come up nearly as good as what he prepared for us.

We saw each other again some years later in Dallas, during a regional poetry slam. His team did not advance. Afterwords, he was analytic about how the bout went down. And he was both very graceful and grateful about what had emerged. It was impressive. I knew that, if we had a chance, we would spend hours analyzing the matters of poetry and slam-strategy.

At one time we discovered a common interest in environmental issue. I shared with him my environmental piece, “Garbage on a Beach”. I was honored when he asked me for a permission to publish it on his blog. I tried to convince him that someone as dedicated to the respect for sharks should be equally respectful about the rights of all animals. Amazingly, he found my arguments convincing; I know that he tried to make progress along this path.

I do not know whether those who depart know what we think about them (and, if they know, whether they care). One way or another, you’ve been loved and respected within our community. You'll be missed Friend Poet. 

A photo from Madison, Wisconsin, 2008.

In the comments, few clips of The Klute's reading his poems.

Enan Oscar Whitby

Two larger than life people have left this world smaller and quieter without them in it. Robert Whitby and Bernard Schober taught me about our duty as humans to care for the world around us. I hope to continue that legacy.

Judith Lang Zaimont

The Klute WAS 'poetry' to the city of Maricopa!  He introduced slams here, awoke us all to the fire and subtlety of his art - and he organized and emceed every one of this locale's slams starting with Slam 101 in August 2015.   He was a dear friend - passionate and professional --  and every member of our city's arts scene will miss him hugely. 

    A super creative, first-generation born in the US, supremely caring for the denizens of the sea - truly one-of-a-kind, and definitely larger-than-life.

Siaara Freeman

As a very young adult/ grown teen, you told me I could write whatever was important to me and to be fair a lot of poets said that, but you proved it each time you got on stage. You were a huge part of why I begin to write and slam my joy. I have had alot of experiences with death in my life and if it has taught me one thing, it is that you can always say thank you. Thank you. I hope it’s shark week wherever you are. 

You were deeply loved on this earth fam

Enjoy the next part of this ride 

-Si

Leah Marche

The words are harder to come by when you lose a poet... for me. But if the tears count I have volumes of memories. Nothing but good times at all the slams & after & before the slams. Gonna miss the one-of-a-kind The Klute (aka Bernard Schober), who was a powerhouse of poems, passion & purpose. He had them fightin' words. & what I wouldn't give to hear/see him call out society/suckas/sociopaths again... in that black trench coat. Rest well, friend.

Rowie Shondeen Shebala

With the loss of Bernard Schober... I find myself missing my poet family very much. I love you all. My prayers to you all. And comfort for us all as we go forward. I hope to see you all soon once again.  I love you.

My dear friend Bernard Schober. Thank you for all that you have done for me. You were so kind. I loved you dearly. You were always in my prayers, and my thoughts. I remember the first time I met you so many years ago. Threw that black trenchcoat at Arcosanti you were the kindest man I've ever known. My heart is broken. You and I were on 3 teams together. Whenever I think of Phoenix or Arizona poets... you're at the top of the list. I am the poet I am today in part because of you. Thank you, my friend. Thank you.

"Training Day"

by The Klute

Everyone thinks that the clown is in charge

His grease paint and ability to pull golden arches out of the air

Are just a little show for the cameras.

I am the power behind the throne. 

An all-beef patty, special sauce… 

They call me the Mayor

But you can call me McCheese.

In McDonaldland nothing gets done without my say-so

You want some sesame seeds on that bun?

Good luck without a permit.  

Want to know when the McRib is gonna be back?

Well, I’ve got the stopwatch that starts on “limited time” 

And ends on “only if you can afford it”.   

If you want to Super Size that – 

Well, you just let me know. 

I got a guy.

But it ain’t all dance parties with Mac and Me. 

I hear the people talking about how they are the 99 Cent Value Meals

How I own this town and don’t give anything back to the community

They think this top hat and sash come cheap?

Just because I know the value of a dollar

Doesn’t mean I’m gotta start handing out gift certificates 

Like it’s the last night of Hanukah.

I’ve got mine, you can’t have it

If you don’t like that, get back to your McJob behind the fryer

And tell it to your McNugget Buddies that you’re gonna serve up with sweet and sour sauce

That in this fast food nation

Everyone here is edible.

The Fry Guys, 

Birdie, 

I think even Grimace is some sort of Jell-O shot.

Hell, my head's a giant cheeseburger! 

There is no liberation.

It’s eat or be eaten. 

And if you think the Hamburgular is some sort of Robin Hood

Stealing the burgers away to some sort of Happy Meal

Well, I got an army of Big Macs 

That put his McAss in McJail

And he’s never coming out.   

Not unless starts bringing back the cheddar for Mayor McCheese

So shut the fuck up.   

The only color that matters here is Shamrock Shake green

And if you want to talk about humanity 

Everyone in a Playplace with a multi-colored ball pit.

Well have it your way

And then get back to work and hope we don’t cut your hours for getting out of line

Because this is McDonaldland

Where cash is the Burger King

That shit’s so good, it’s golden.

Atlas St. Cloud

just got news of the passing of a good friend. Bernard Schober  had made a habit of inviting me to participate in poetry opportunities that i otherwise would have never dreamed of. he was one of the first people to believe in my poetry and performance. every conversation we had was important and not just because of topic but because he believed in everything he said and listened to what you had to say. i will always be thankful for the confidence he placed in me so early on that it's honestly, to this day, shocking. it was a fucking honor to have been friends with this man. today i'm gonna read his collection Escape Velocity, get stoned out of my mind, and shout my favorite lines from my balcony. he'd think it's funny, probably. 

buddy, i hope wherever you are, you're swimming with sharks, be it constellations and star stuff or the dead god of the megalodon in an ancient sea. you live on in your word, and when i think about you i'll pull out my phone and learn a new shark fact in your honor.

Matt Mason

It's hard to wrap my head around the passing of Bernard Schober (who I mainly know by his stage name: The Klute). He's a poet who taught me as much about sharks as he did poetry (okay, probably more), and a man who knew how to write a political rant poem that would make you laugh and, at the same time, get you pissed off at the fools he ranted against.

It's weird to get news like this from Facebook, it took a while to convince myself that what I was reading was even true.

Klute was a regular at the semi-annual Great Plains Poetry Pile-Ups here in Nebraska, coming from Arizona to almost all of them (and showing his generosity by helping a few other poets get here). He was also here for uNPS in 2016, probably the last time I would have seen him. 

I just didn't expect I'd wake up today and miss him like this.  Thanks for everything, Klute, it was a pleasure.

Kristine Kamen Wendt 

Just yesterday, I was shopping after work and saw this and thought about the logistics of making it and mailing it to The Klute. I always think about him when I see a shark and I always will. I can't tell you much else about him... He was a poet, loved the ocean and diving and fought for what he believed was right and good. I was told before I met him, "he is The Klute and you're going to love him." Well, I can't say I knew him well but I do love him. He was quick with conversation and saved me a seat. He made quite an impression on me.  I always thought that I'd see him again.

Aaron Enskat

Fuck man. RIP Bernard Schober. This year is so dumb.

Morris Astricannum Stegosaurus

When Adam Stone and I toured together in 2003, The Klute put us up for a few days in Mesa. Upon arriving at his place I noticed and inquired about the large sarcophagus in the corner of his living room. "Inside the sarcophagus", he informed me, in perfect deadpan, "you will find a wide array of gothic DVDs."

I don't talk much about it much, but I have a serious problem with video game addiction. The Klute had recently acquired the most recent Mortal Kombat game. I'm not even into fighting games particularly, but I unlocked every playable character for him before we left town. 

When I was involved in running the Salt Lake City poetry slam in 2008 we brought him through for a gig. I am pretty sure that is the last time I saw him in meat space.

Complicated feelings. Hard to articulate. Glad I knew him. Sad he's gone. Inchoate frustration, disappointment, and anger.

"Hooked Claus"

by The Klute

For the longest time,

no one remembered how we were partners,

the Good Cop and Bad Cop of Yuletide,

a symphony of jingle bells and rattling chains

‘ere we drove out of sight.

How disturbed must they have been by the thought of me

looking over your shoulder and salivating

as you added children to the naughty list

for transgressions great and small.

You were the carrot,

oranges in the stocking,

presents under the tree,

half-eaten cookies as a reminder that you were there.

I was the stick,

birch branches in hand,

bathtub on my back,

my stew-pot bubbling in anticipation of fresh meat.

You were the red and green of holly and mistletoe,

I was the poison.

From the first,

I have been with them.

Born of the sands of Egpyt,

I was Abo Ragl Ma Slokha,

Man with the Burnt Leg,

bane of wicked tots.

Parents around the world would conjure me in story,

the Namahage,

le Croque-mitten,

Baba Yaga,

El Coco,

to keep their brats in line.

In their stories,

they always gave me horns,

yellow eyes,

a cloven hoof at the end of one leg,

a misshapen foot on the other,

my teeth sharp,

tongue so long it could reach them from under the bed

to taste their nightmares.

When I crossed the Alps, followed the Danube,

I found a new home under the Solstice moon.

As the fires of Yule cheer burned in the village squares,

I shouted my name so loud that every child would remember it,

whisper it to each other between shudders:

I

AM

THE

KRAMPUS!!!

When the willful boy or indolent girl came to a bad end

parents would remind the kinder:

Behave or the Krampus will come for you too.

When we first met, Santa Claus,

I thought you were there to kill me.

You came to my cave in regal glory.

Father Christmas! Jolly Old Saint Nick!

Your light washed away the darkness so I had no place to hide.

Trapped, I thought you were there to finally bring a gift

to those excluded as an annual tradition.

You cannot imagine my surprise when you extended your hand,

asked “won’t you ride my sleigh tonight?”.

You put me in chains as a precaution,

you still felt my wicked heart beat beneath my goatish chest,

but left me my bundle of sticks

because as you said: spare the rod, spoil the child.

Why does no one ever see the shadow behind your rosy cheeks?

Over the years, we brought so many children to goodness,

I rarely ate.

I did not mind,

I was able to drink in their fear like an elixir.

Then one foggy Christmas eve,

I noticed your sleigh was now driven by a broken buck with a freakish nose, your retinue filled out with polar bears drinking caramel-colored sugar water, the sack was filled with things never seen in your workshop before.

My eyes full of terrible wonder,

you leaned in,

smiled,

said one word: “Plastics“.

I did not like the sound of it.

As we flew over the city and marched down the streets,

your image was everywhere.

On billboards, in newspaper ads, on TV, in shopping malls.

I would have no part of this,

with sadness in your voice, you agreed: I would have no part of this.

You banished me back to the cave,

exiled into fading memory.

But I feel them pulling me back,

through of the Black Forest,

past the gingerbread house,

out of the fairy tales,

and into a cage.

They are corking my teeth,

dumping out my stew-pot,

reeling my tongue back in,

making me safe,

making me fun,

making me marketable.

It will not be long before I star in the limelight of cartoons,

baked into the shape of cookies,

imprisoned within  wrapping paper.

When I am a triumph marched down 5th Avenue on Thanksgiving,

I will know they have checked me off their list,

now as gelded as Donner and Blitzen.

I see you up there on your sleigh,

and for the first time since we first met, Santa Claus,

the Krampus is afraid.

I wonder if you felt like this, when the ad-men turned their attention on you.

© 2016, Bernard Schober/The Klute

This is an older poem, back from 2016.  I always like to share it at this time of the year.  It is a holiday story, with a scary ghost story, and the glories of long, long ago.  

It comes from an idea by Jesse Parent  (whose permission I received to do this),  but mostly in structure, and of course, the title (which I’ll admit is direct parody).   

I hope you enjoyed it!  

Seth White

Bernard Schober , The Klute, so sad to hear of his passing.  So many fond memories of him at poetry slams.  In Fayetteville we ended up in the Head to Head Haiku finals against each other.  Afterward at the nerd slam The Klute proclaimed that in an alternate timeline he had won.  I would like to see him in that timeline, he's probably got fins and shark teeth and writes poems about how crazy people are.  So almost the same as this timeline.  I will miss him.

Faylita Hicks

Thanks for all the laughs Bernard Schober. Gonna miss that trench coat swinging through the corridors.

Kelsey Miller

Bernard Schober was such a kind and generous friend to me at such a formative (and obnoxious) stage in my life. He taught me about all of my favorite tiki drinks and got me into Invader Zim. He somehow made a black trench coat work in every climate and for every occasion. He was someone who I always felt safe with and accepted by; the person who made me believe being a nerd was actually, very cool and worth celebrating.

I am very grateful to have known him.

Jomar Valentin

Is it ironic or universal placement that The Klute, Bernard Schober leveled up during Shark Week? Swim big, Klute. We already miss you.

Tara Bingdazzo Randazzo

Remembering the Klute today. Man, what an absolutely legendary man. I’m grateful to have met him and be his friend. 

I love this photo of us atop Mt Sinai on a trip to Egypt & Jordan many years ago. RIP Bernard Schober

Christian Drake

This won't be the last or most definitive thing I might post about Bernard Schober, because The Klute had so many sides & I think of all them deserve to be honored. But one of his sides I admired most was one which I never saw & couldn't see. Possibly none of us could. 

Here's what I did see: At the National Poetry Slam in 2009 in West Palm Beach, The Klute took my on my first & only snorkeling trip. It was a hometown beach he knew well, a special place for him. I had worked at two different aquariums, but never gotten into a tank with the fishes, & had never seen beneath a warm sea with my own eyes in my life. It was astounding: a figure-8 carousel of candy-colored fish of many stripes & spots that showed no fear of me, since they were innocent & saw no threat in people. Birds are my passion, so I'm used to a great volume of air between me & what I watch. But these fish swam right through my arms & under my chin, in the space where I would hold another person. And when I came ashore, The Klute could tell me what each & every one of them were. They'd been through his arms before. 

Here's what I could never see, having never followed him further than the surface: a very private Klute, in the deep blue of the Indian Ocean in this crucial moment, marveling at a nurse shark. 

Oh, I read all his travelogues. I watched his videos of encounters with all kinds of sea creatures. But try to imagine what it must have been like to BE him there; not The Klute as most of us knew him — the wit, the poet, the friend, the leader, the political provocateur, the comedian, the nerd, the activist, the legend;

And not as any of The Klute's other faces I never had the privilege to see, but this particular one: the diver in his element, amazed.

Not 'The Klute,' not even necessarily 'Bernard,' because in such a place there are no names & no need for identity. Just this man, apart from the rest of us & most of humanity, suspended in warm currents & rippling sunlight, as far from the deserts of Arizona as you can get, awestruck as a manta ray soars overhead in its vast trenchcoat. No words, just plumes of breath racing skyward from his regulator. 

Later, he would tell us about it. But it's like telling someone you're in love. It's one thing to look into your beloved's eyes & be caught there, & another to say "I love her" in any amount of words. You don't just have to be there; you have to be him. So there was a single, solitary, private Klute underwater & in love with the ocean, & that's where I like to imagine him best: down there. 

He would bring us back so many pearls. The stories, of course. The passion for conservation. The poetry. There were a hundred ways he transformed the wonder he found below into useful & beautiful things above. He was like the manta in some ways: looming, impressive, shade-casting—a giant, yet not one to fear. And he was like the little fish: a flash of colors in & out of our arms too quickly. And he leaves each of us, by ourselves & without our names, awestruck & wondering how in the world we are so lucky to have witnessed this in our lifetimes: this man with a defective heart both strong enough to bear the pressures of ocean depths & large enough to house a whale shark.

Of all the things he was, I like this secret side of him the best: the stargazer of the deep. I'll never know it; I'd have to be him. But I always loved knowing that it existed, because when I consider everything else he did with love & with passion, it's the one thing that makes everything else make sense. It was the deep place from which he'd always return more himself. No more. And yet, the place exists still.

JayJay Rushing

Rest in Poetry Bernard Schober, aka The Klute. You were poetry, truth, and action. And now the light goes back to its source.

Dear Klute,

I hope you become a shark now. Godspeed ❤️

Evermore Nevermore’s Bob Leeper

Klute has been a friend for the past 13 years and I knew him to be fearless, funny and unforgettable. He was featured together with his pal, Lauren Perry, at one of the first events we ever held at the old Evermore Nevermore shop, where he presented his brand of badass poetry to a bunch of hardened bikers who thought they were too cool to listen. Klute was way cooler than all of them. He became a regular fixture in our shop and a part of our family that has carried on for years since we closed.

In 2016, I wrote a letter to the Phoenix Office of Arts and Culture nominating Klute to be the “Phoenix Poet Laureate” (I actually still have it here on my desktop) and no one was more deserving. He didn’t get selected, but around here we still referred to him as the nation’s “Nerd Poet Laureate!​” A title bestowed on him for his many passionate and enlightening poems of nerdy nature and for his steadfast efforts in coordinating the annual Nerd Poetry Slam at Phoenix Comicon.

We had a love for the film Jaws in common, but Klute took that love to the next degree and became a full-on advocate for sharks and other ocean causes – a real-life Aquaman. Along the way he became Nerdvana’a official “Ocean Correspondent” and he took that role seriously and professionally. The Klute was one of the smartest, coolest, kindest and most talented souls I’ve known. The Arizona Nerd Community has lost a favorite son and he will be terribly missed. I’m certain he’s looking down on us and singing, “Farewell and Adieu Fair Spanish Ladies.”

Debbie Leeper

He will forever be famous.  I know Bob and Sharon recognize where this is at and I would guarantee it still is. Fly high friend.

Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory

Bernard Schober seemed invincible — surviving multiple heart surgeries, not only swimming with but working to save sharks, traveling the world, rocking out with words & doing the journalism thing before it was cool (and sticking with it even when it wasn’t). 

I met him through poetry but respected the hell out of him because the heart he had on stage was a thousand times cooler IRL. Grateful to have been anthology buddies with him, but even more grateful to have shared the Earth at the same time. 

Gonna jump in the ocean and say the rosary for you this weekend, dude. 

I really hope all sharks go to heaven because they deserve a friend like you in the infinite whatever. 

Knowing you made us all better.

Thadra Sheridan

Oh man.  If there was a person who just wanted to wring every drop out of life that he could, it was Bernard.  That man used every one of his five senses with each new experience.  He was kind, thoughtful, talented, smart, and a REALLY big fan of sharks.  He died wringing out one last drop.  Bernard, you will be missed.  I hope you are somewhere amazing now, and that they have given you a couple of new senses to experience it with.

Maya Asher

Sending love to my poet friends. To everyone who loved Bernard.

We where not close, him and I, but that didn’t really matter, he was always kind and made me laugh. I cannot imagine my time as a slam poet without him in the room with his long coat. 

Messaged him a few weeks ago and he encouraged me to come visit and he’d show me his pictures of sharks etc. 

Wish I’d taken him up on it. We never know how much time we have left with those we love.

Trish Justrish

I respected and valued you more than I ever let on...

RIP Bernard Schober

Harrison Gearns

Bernard made me feel welcomed when the poetry scene didn't.

I hope he rested with the knowledge of his impact in the forefront. There were very few poets - people, really - with his kindness. It only takes a cursory glance on his wall to understand. 

Diamond Sutra

"So you should view this fleeting world—

A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream, A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,

A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream."

Landry Ntaryamira

You know,

The last conversation we had, you were saying to me how this would be the first time competing against each other. 

At that moment, I realized that you thought of me as fair competition. Here I was thinking that this larger than life poetry LEGEND in the community would always be somewhere out of reach and yet you thought we were equals... and while we didn't get to end up competing against each other, for a second there I was excited and wanted to give you the best competition ever. You even WON in the end because that's what you do. The Klute, a powerhouse shark conservationist who's presence on stage is irrefutable and electric. I so looked forward to the next time we'd meet but that'll have to be postponed for awhile I guess. Thank you so much for everything you've done for the community, for inviting me to do my first poetry panel at Phx comic con, for seeing me as someone worth competing against, for your immense fight, your fight for all the things you love. I hope the afterlife is full of shark pals for you. 

Till next time

Bernard Schober

Julieanna Smith

Today I find myself mourning the loss of somebody I didn't even know. I had only seen The Klute Bernard Schober perform once or twice at slams, but everything in me told me he was a force that I wanted to be near. I never had a chance to talk to him in person, but did have a few interactions here and I rooted for him through his health challenges, hoping to get to see him perform once again someday. Seeing his friends and loved ones honor him only reinforces that my instinct was good. I didn't know him but I knew he was one of the good guys. Sending my heartfelt love and condolences to those who held him dear. Your pain is not lost to those on the periphery.

Mickey Thompson

Wish we were back standing in a random hotel hallway at some huge poetry tournament talking for hours about anything & everything my friend, Bernard Schober, the Klute, shark savior, nerd buddy, & genuinely good dude 💔 you are already so deeply missed.

I have been seeing that his family has requested that memorial donations can be made to the organization Shark Angels https://sharkangels.org/

Joel Swanstrom

Thank you Bernard Schober.  Thank you for building the slam poetry community in Phoenix.  Thank you for making a space for artists to share.  Thank you for your energy.  For your humor.  For your sharp wit.  For your unrelenting tenacity.  For your huge heart that pretended to be prickly.
And thanks for all the sharks. 🦈
We will all miss you.  ♥️

Klute and his father

Jen Rinaldi

Oh, we loved

him so.

Bernard Schober, Klute, may you swim with sharks always.

Tara Noel

I am sad that the world has lost the irreplaceable Bernard Schober. I followed his performance in my first bout at my first National Poetry Slam. I loved that he loved to entertain,  too make others enjoy the show,  to delight in his art,  and make others laugh.  I laughed with him. He immediately gave me a compliment after our bout, and it was one of the ways I felt belonging in the slam community early on.  When I was learning to scuba dive,  his shared adventures made the water seem less scary. He was inherently encouraging in everything. You will be greatly missed my friend.

Jessica Helen Lopez

Rest well, Poeta. You are remembered, commemorated and deservedly missed. Love, the Albuquerque Poetry Familia. ❤️ #TheKlute Bernard Schober

Tony Brown

Some time not too long ago, I had a conversation here with Bernard Schober (the Klute) in which I told him that I admired him for his ability to be consistently, intentionally funny in his poems, that it was a talent beyond my own for the most part as it requires a dead on understanding of how to hit that nerve in people. He was flattered and so humble about that bit of praise. 

The man was also just as able to be as biting and sharp as, um, a shark.  Fitting, no?

A fierce shark conservationist and so much more; while news of his passing was a shock, in retrospect he died living a life I think he suspected would be marked more by intensity than by longevity. 

Laura Parker Roerden, Sarah Oktay -- I think I mentioned him to you both over the years as someone who shared your passion for the ocean and its preservation.  We lost him yesterday to a heart attack while hiking. 

While plans for a poet memorial event are still forming, you can do some good in his name with a donation here. 

I'd tell you to sleep easy, Klute, but we all have heard the story about sharks never sleeping.  So swim, you dark-coated bastard, and never stop. We won't forget.

SharkAngels.org

Victor Infante

I was searching through our photo catalog for a picture to go with a poem next week. I tried searching under "Poetry Slam," and the first picture that came up was of Bernard Schober, from one of our sister papers, the Arizona Republic, from a story on a nerd slam last month in Phoenix. 
My first reaction was to freeze. Klute has literally never come up in a photo search for me before. Then I started thinking about how much I always loved the nerd slam, and how I can't even imagine it without him and Shappy Seasholtz. 
Sometimes things just sneak up on you and thump you upside the head, you know?

Troy Farah

Very sad to hear about Bernard Schober / The Klute's passing into the ether... No one I knew cared more about sharks and conserving the oceans than him. Hope to do a proper tribute later but in the meantime, enjoy this video we did together in 2016 with illustrations/art by Riayn

Sean McGarragle

Bernard Schober, aka The Klute has passed away. He was one of the first people to introduce me to Nerd Poems and poems based in humour. We've had him up here a number of shows, festivals, etc. over the years. Right now, I don't have words.

This piece speaks to The Klute's love of Canada and Vancouver in particular. We miss him and our thoughts are with Teresa, his partner of many years.  

"Canadian Dawn"

By The Klute

As per The Klute: "Persona piece. 'Red Dawn' meets the 'Joe Canada Rant' set in an alternate universe for some reason."

February 28, 2010

A date which will live in infamy.

We should have seen it coming,

When our boys in blue were beaten,

Before the eyes of the whole world,

At the game of ice hockey.

We all wept when Americans were forced to stand beneath that maple leaf,

Made to listen to someone else's national anthem for a change.

You could almost hear the collective licking of our northern neighbor's chops

As they realized America's one weakness:

We're not that good on the frozen pond.

So a cabal of generals of the Canadian Armed Forces hatched a plan.

Using an eco-friendly, green technology doomsday device,

They would erode our long-standing line of defense

Against Great White Northern agression.

They reversed global warming!

A new ice age was upon us.

Their advance,

Like Quebecois tourists driving in the fast lane,

Was slow and methodical.

With no NHL team to defend it, Seattle was the first city to fall.

We tried to fight back, but it was no use.

Flocks of suicide geese grounded the Air Force.

Our Navy was crippled by strategically-placed icebergs.

The Army? Let's just say you don't bring a machine gun to a polar bear fight.

When they blasted George Washington's face off of Mt. Rushmore

And replaced it with Gordie Howe,

The resistance collapsed.

Panicked American refugees began to pour over the Mexican border,

The Red Maple now waving over the White House.

We survived in the United American Provinces of Lower Canada,

But they began to change us.

We were more polite,

Less eager to wave around a loaded handgun shouting "Who wants some!?! Who Wants some!?!".

Distances were measured in meters,

Temperatures reported in centigrade.

No one knew what the fuck was going on.

They denied our God-given right to die in a gutter,

Broke and penniless, Of an easily treatable illness.

I remember when my father was taken away...

On a government-mandated two-week holiday,

Clutching the plane tickets to Aruba in his hand, he shouted "AVENGE ME!!!"

We tried, Papa, but we were too busy getting drunk on Labatt's Blue

And planning our next trip to the Edmonton Folk Festival...

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Now, due to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, I must begin this poem over in French:

Nous devrions l'avoir vu venir.

Quand nos garçons dans le bleu ont été battus,

Avant les yeux du monde entier ...

No! This is a bridge I will not cross.

They cannot make me speak in French!

I will resist,

Proudly dipping my freedom fries in ketchup, and not poutine,

Replacing my tuque with a foam-dome filled with two cans of shitty American beer

And I will not let them change everything about us, from A to Z -

Because it is "Z", Not Zed, Z!!!

We will drive you syrup drinkers back across the 49th parallel north,

Raise Old Glory once again,

Take away everyone's health care,

Give the upper-class a tax cut, then really stick it to the poor,

Like we used to do when were still remembered what it meant to be American!

So let me say it so you can understand it, O Canada:

Je n'ai pas encore commencé à combattre,

I have not yet begun to fight!

Copyright 2010 © Bernard "The Klute" Schober

Jeska Eichenberger

Bernard Schober, I will miss seeing you every month for your hair appointments. You were a client that over the years became a friend. I will actually miss you being so excited to show me your latest underwater video that you totally knew would freak me out. I will miss hearing all of your adventure stories. I will miss all of your amazing restaurant recommendations for my travels. I will miss our adventures out with Lauren Perry .Like the rest of our community, I will miss you. Rest easy my friend💔❤💔❤

Mara Saltzburg

Dear Bernard,

It’s hard to believe you’re gone. You were so full of life, I never imagined death would come for you so soon. Somehow I thought that heart of yours, part mechanical but all love, would beat forever. 

I wish we could have one more breakfast. One more conversation about sharks, hurricanes, politics, history and your fierce loyalty to your family. I have carried you in my heart from the day we met, and I never stopped caring for you, even when our paths separated all those years ago. 

The world was a better place with you in it. I keep waiting for the earth to stop spinning, because how can it keep turning without you here? The only comfort I can find is in the knowing that your mother met you on the other side. 

Until we meet again, my friend. ❤️

Leyna Rynearson

Poetry slams introduced me to some of the greatest folks I’ve ever met. I think Klute (Bernard Schober) was probably one of the greatest people and poets any of us will ever meet. Losing him is shocking and difficult, and frustrating at a time where I think the world could use laughter and kindness and mischief like the kind he could sow. 

As I do when poets die, I was looking through YouTube for some of his poems and found this from a couple of months ago, and I hadn’t seen it before. He was such a king of the stage. Sucks.

Jamie Pollack

We are incredibly heartbroken regarding the news of our friend Bernard Schober AKA "The Klute". He truly was one of a kind. He loved sharks and was an amazing poet. He was a  kind and generous human. Here he is working at our Shark Angels booth at a trade show while we were able to get him on video doing his poetry. I thought you all would like seeing this. We will miss him. - Jamie

Kathleen Plasko

This morning I opened FB to find my feed filling up with memorial tributes to Bernard Schober aka “The Klute”. This truly is a very sad day in the PHX poetry community in particular, as well as for the many other groups and ventures (both locally and nationally, even internationally) he was a part of. I first met him in April 2010 at the Poetry Bomb event that took place at the venue formally known as Conspire. While we were not close friends, I do know this – he was very passionate about things that mattered to him. A few examples include, but are not limited to, poetry, politics, environmental issues, and shark conservation. He endured and bounced back from several major medical setbacks, always fighting to get back up when he was down. For each obstacle he overcame, his passion to live life fully became even stronger. Giving up was never an option.  If anyone, he understood each day is a gift and did not take that for granted. He truly lived every day as if it would be his last.  And even when that day came, he was out there active, doing, and looking forward.  Rest in peace, Klute. Your work here may be done, but your impact will be felt in all corners for ages to come.

Michelle Nimmo

RIP Bernard Schober

You were a very nice person and a very funny poet.

Red and Green Dawn

"Christmas"

by The Klute
(2012)

It used to be a magical time,

For Sugarplum Fairies and Nutcracker Suites

A time for family, 

To sing carols,

And bask in the warmth of the holiday spirit.

For me that all that changed.

The day when I learned that every stocking hung by the chimney with care

Was just another nail being driven into a coffin.

America's coffin.

Buried under the mistletoe after being drowned in eggnog.  

It was the day that I realized: Yuletide was un-American!

I had woken up before my parents,

Went directly to the presents under the tree

Shook each box with gleeful anticipation.

When I reached the biggest one

I noticed it was swathed in red paper

Peppered with the image of smiling fat man with a white beard on it

Two and two together slammed together.

Like an Iron Curtain falling over the North Pole.

 

The only other time I had seen banners of red

And images of old men with white beards on it

Was when I would watch nightly news footage of tanks and missiles

Parading through Moscow streets

Under the approving eyes of Marx, and Engels, and Lenin.

It struck me like a hammer and cut me like a sickle

Santa was goddamn Commie,

Christmas was a Trojan Horse for Socialist rule!

The signs were all there:

Santa’s red suit? In honor of the October Revolution of 1917.

Rosy cheeks? Due to all the vodka he’s been swilling with his Soviet masters.

His laugh, a warning: “Ho-ho-ho! I’m going to destroy Capitalism

By giving free gifts to all the ‘good’ little boys and girls who follow the Party line

And believe in me!" 

Well, I had news for Comrade Kringle

He could keep having his KGB stooges checking his list, checking it twice

I was no longer going to be a “good” little automaton in his cult of personality

Accepting gifts built by dissident elf labor in his workshop gulag 

I wasn’t going to sell my country out to the Reds for any gift

Not for Milennium Falcon, not even for an Atari 2600!

Nice try, fat man.  

When my parents found me under the tree,

I denouned them to the House Un-American Activities Committee

Sold all my presents

Donated the proceeds to the John Birch Society

Turned off "It's a Wonderful Life!" and put on "Red Dawn".

This would be the “First Noel”... The first Noel I fought back!

Because even though we were victorious over “Stalin” Claus in the Cold War

What did we win?

It’s still the season, but not to be jolly.

A celebration of Socialism

Where everyone still gets something for nothing.

Because we’re taught it’s better to give than receive

Well, why don’t we just gift wrap everyone a copy of Mao’s little red book

Sing the “Internationale” instead of “Frosty the Snowman”

Because Christmas is now all about San Francisco values

We teach our kids that a small business owner is the bad guy for not having room

For an unwed teenager mother to give birth to her illegitimate child

Who eventually grew up to be a long-haired, sandal-wearing hippie

Who walked around preaching about “peace on earth” and “goodwill” to all men

And was visited by three “wise” men from the “east” on the night of his birth

"Peace on Earth?" "Wise Men from the East"?

Don’t they know there’s a war on?

So you keep your season's greetings

Keep heading over the river and through the woods

To Karl Marx’s house you go

I’m celebrating a real holiday

It's called Hannukah. 

And it's about chocolate covered gold coins, war and eight nights of neverending oil!

There's nothing more American that!

"Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of...  WOLVERINES!"

Aaron Johnson

One of the things about being a poet is you have to say a lot of goodbyes. Not because you are a writer and people expect you to write goodbyes. Unfortunately, poets die pretty early.

But this one is the most important one from the poetry scene in Arizona. The Klute was the first slam poet I ever saw, in Canyon Moon Theater in Sedona, AZ. I went with another speech and debate colleague, Tony Damico. We saw Christopher Lane, Andrea Gibson, and Bill Campana in that slam.

It wasn't until four years later that I began to write and perform my own poetry my last few years in Flagstaff. I saw The Klute often at Essenza, Mill's End, The Southwest Shootout, Arcosanti's Slab City Slam, and the National Poetry Slam.

In 2008, I moved back to Phoenix. We frequented many events together, wrote together, ate together, talked about Venture Bros. We were finally on a team together in 2008 and had several poems we wrote together that will forever be lost in team poem cutting floors and hard drives.

He was my favorite travelling companion on airplanes and in cars, played 'Hey Cow' from LA to West Palm Beach, drank wormwood around campfires, and was in love with his ability to live beyond what any doctor predicted. Equipped with his mechanical heart, The Klute was a political wit that criticized Nixon and every republican that came after. He was part of my wedding party, brought a brand new cast iron skillet to my door minutes after my daughter was born, and was one of the first people I talked to after my divorce.

The Klute is one of those writers that would perform a poem, and afterwards a roomful of poets would say, 'Damn, I wish I wrote that.'

It is ironic that in the later years, The Klute ditched the trademark trenchcoat in order to raise awareness for his favorite trench-dwellers, the shark. It is Shark Week now. We are all filling the ocean with tears over our loss. Thank you, Bernard. You gave a lot to this life and we are all the better for it.

KB Chesko

Bernard was a slam poetry mentor to me in so many ways. We were teammates, we did group pieces, we hosted nerd slams together, and we shared countless nights of laughter. Most importantly, he was my friend-one of the most genuine friends I have ever had.

He and Shappy were two of the most instrumental people in showing me that it was ok to be funny. That making people laugh was not just ok, but that it was important. It was needed.

I wasn’t ready for this. When I think about my time in Arizona, there is no denying that the Klute played a central role. I can’t keep writing posts like this. 🥺

Hilary Grace

I’m grateful for my fiancé Thomas Cooper, the person I met Bernard Schober through and I’m grateful for my friend Shelbi Schmidt I met while working at the Y. (and I’m grateful for all the others in my circle especially these hard days) 

Shelbi lost a very special loved one from her skating community only a few days ago and when I woke up to the news about Klute, Shelbi was one of the first people I reached out to and she immediately said come skate with me. So we did. And it was so nice to get out of the house and be with people. I stuffed my purse with tissues and had some hugs and shared some tears. Shelbi didn’t know Klute and I didn’t know Lin but today both of their memories were shared. 

I wore my Klute shirt I bought from his booth at the PHX comic con just a couple months ago and Tom wore his Florida Man shirt which was a thrift store find and an homage to his own poem, but now also is a fitting homage to our super Klute. We miss our friends!!!!

Thomas Cooper

I guess Bernard Schober passed away. He was one of my better poetry friends. I’m pretty sad about it. Here’s a poem I wrote for him, based on events from our trip to Portland. 

I’m gonna miss you, dude. 

***

What’s that? 

Is it a bird? Is it a cat?

No, idiot: it’s a shark 

that can bark poetry 

to Portlandians after breaking up their homeless fights for me. 

See, I have a kickboxing match in a week, 

so as joyous as it would be 

to jump in and start some shit, I couldn’t. 

What if some stray shard of broken glass grazed me?  

God, I’m so cowardly…

But wait, what’s that?

Is it a bird? Is it a bat?

No, bro: it’s SUUUUPER KLUUUUTE!!!

Coming in like a whale shark 

about to wreck some shit, concerned for this dogs’ welfare. 

What care he shows while pulling the pitbull to safety! So cool! 

I’d throw him my underwear, but I’m not wearing any. 

And I’m left staring, gape-mouthed, looking dumb as fuck 

when I remember this guy, this specimen of the human species, 

is drunk as a skunk! A skunk shark! 

I’m pretty sure that’s imaginary. 

But wait!

What’s that?

Is it a bird? Is it a skunk?

No, Dumbo: IT’S SUPER KLUTE,

AND HE’S GONNA DUNK 

ON YOUR DISNEY ASS!

Yeah, they’re gonna give that Bruce shark from Finding Nemo his own movie after this. 

In it, he will start his life as a loner outcast from the shark pack, 

but then Bruce will learn sonar, 

start talking to the dolphins and the crabs, 

and he will make friends with them. 

And they will start a traveling band and sing songs together. 

And when they get in trouble, he will beat up all the bad guys. 

And in the last scene, before it cuts to black and their story is over, 

the dolphins and the crabs and all the other sea-creatures 

will lift Bruce up and sing about him,

and it will sound

just

like

this!

Brent Heffron

I am not one to post about much anymore.  But this hurts.  Klute was one of the good ones.  Many of my good memories from Slam had that shadow of a trench coat some where in the background.  Great talent, better person.  Bernard Schober

Jeanene Vesper

I’m shocked and sad and a little pissed off at the universe.  I loved watching your poetry, your energy, you activism, your humanity.  Thanks for being an example of LIVING.  Thanks for bringing poetry slam to my far-flung town of Maricopa.  Thanks for being a support and a mentor to so many in the poetry community.  You will be missed dearly and celebrated broadly by poets, nerds, sharks and humans.  Swim free in clear waters, good sir.

Dustin Gardy

My friend Bernard Schober (aka, The Klute) passed away yesterday, and I'm just waiting for the tears to come. Such a huge, welcoming, encouraging presence to me in the poetry community in Phoenix. This was him just last week. At my request, he once drove over an hour, each way, to talk to middle schoolers about poetry, sharks, and conservation. He fielded my panicked questions about how to run a poetry slam the first (and only) time I hosted one, then came out to perform at a later event and heavily complimented me on the production and culture that I had helped develop there. I was looking forward to more Nerd Poetry Slams with him, more political discussion, more of everything. I never got out to his standing-invitation Saturday coffee gathering, which apparently ran for over two decades. Not 10 feet away from me is one of his books. I shall pick it up, and read some of his incredible shark mythos, and feel guilty every time I use plastic silverware, and hope that he's swimming in the Blue Eternal. I'm sitting here feeling my child's heartbeat, and wondering how I can collect some of Bernard's lingering power and strength, floating gently over Phoenix, to imbue into my son, strengthening him, and maybe keeping some of Bernard here with me. The tears have come with the words.

I can't even believe this. One of the pillars of my poetry friends, toppled. I don't begin to know how to process it.

Jodi Leafer

Just Heard the heartbreaking news! The Klute will be missed! Loved all your stories your poetry while we were on adventures to far away lands chasing sharks! You were larger than life, my thoughts and prayers are with your family and friends during this time!

Lori Lashley

I didn’t know Bernard Schober as personally as many of you—Just enjoyed his poetry (live Slams) and commentary here on FB, but when I just started noticing tribute posts and realized he was gone, I sincerely started to cry. Went back pages and pages to try and see what happened, and have to marvel at just how much love there has been in the past 24 hours for The Klute! Wow! RIP! The world definitely lost yet another good one 💜

Marques Quez Linly

My fellow nerd, my fellow poet. Rest well.

War of the Wood(s)

by The Klute

(2015)

To the termite colony that resides beneath the ground

Of what Homo sapiens has designated 

1719 E Catalina Dr, Phoenix, AZ, 85016:

It is my solemn and unfortunate duty 

To declare, 

On this day,

June 15th in the year of our Lord Jesus Two Thousand and Thirteen,

War upon you,

Your colony, 

And your illustrious Queen Mother,

May she rest in peace. 

Surely you noticed us. 

The earth that surrounds you must have trembled 

As we trundled in our great and various possessions:

The china cabinet, the armoire, the entertainment center. 

Made of wood, did you mistake them for peace offerings,

Symbolic of our desire to live in harmony,

Human and insect, together as one?

You were wrong.

Here on the surface world

Your xylophagia the consumption of wood offends us.

In fact, we signed forms before we purchased this crumbling shitheap 

Initialed and in Triplicate

Specifically stating that said shitheap was FREE of wood-destroying organisms.

Why? 

Because we believe with every fiber of our being, that you are nothing more

Than property-devaluing, 

structure-weakening, 

insurance-premium increasing 

VERMIN.

You WILL be destroyed, make no mistake.

When you left your slanderous graffito

Of undigested fiber and feces on the walls

You signed your own death warrants with your filth.

And you may be legion, perhaps millions strong,

But we are not aardvarks, 

Content to enjoy a simple meal of the innumerable horde  

We are HUMANS!

You may laugh at our short and stubby tongues

But what do you know of our poisons?

Bifenthrin, Hexaflumuron, Arsenic trioxide,

We have a thousand names for them, but you will know them by one word:

DEATH.

We have hired mercenaries, 

Paid professionals with a GED and a bad attitude

Who studied the subtle art of jackhammering through the concrete slabs

And pumping in toxins which will leach into your subterranean empire

To slaughter… you… all.

Do you know that the end is coming?

Have you called in reinforcements?

Is that why my lawn is filled with swarms of angry bees?

Are the roaches in the kitchen agents of biological warfare?

Well don’t worry, we’re gonna kill them too. 

This land belongs to humanity, not those of insect race. 

Do you understand?

 

This is not war, this is pest control 

You will be exterminated.   

Your bodies will be stacked 5, maybe10 millimeters high,

No will be left to mourn your dead queen!

And even if you do win the day,

Chewing your way to victory,

I’ve got an insurance policy with a low deductible 

And a gallon of kerosene!

I will burn this fucking house down before I let you have it.

I will burn it to the ground!

FROM HELL’S HEART, I STAB AT THEE!!!

Sherri Catalano Hubbard

I was one of Bernard's teachers in high school. I reconnected with him last year and it was great following his remarkable life.  I've been reading your posts and thinking of him with a broken heart.

Hal C F Astell

Dude. This doesn't feel real.

Swim forever. It's a lesser world without you in it.

Karen Garrabrant

A poet friend I have nothing but good memories of passed away outside,on a trail. He was a 🦈  conservation advocate & I can only think of his spirit swimming with them now. He loved diving & met sharks. While many of us think of Bernard Schober in a trench coat at a poetry slam, or giving us a ride somewhere for the best salsa or coffee,I also think of him outside,free.

There they are. The words. It's gonna take time for more to show up & I know many who were closer to him or further away or had different perspectives--all my words & memories were good ones & full of life. He fought hard to be here,so he's one of the reasons I do,too.

Regan Gawan

Noooooo!! Not the Klute!!!! My heart breaks….

Cheryl Maddalena

Poetry lost a friend this week, a big presence with a booming laugh who was welcoming, supportive, and could write horrifyingly hilarious poems about terrible things. I saw him at semis in 2005 and made friends with him as soon as possible: to remind oldsters what the poem was without triggering traumatic reactions, it was a “love letter” wondering if he’d “get a thumbs up, or a thumbs down?”

I’ve appreciated reading posts about specific memories with him. Mine is taking his towering, black-trenchcoat-over-all-black-clothes self to pick up my little ones at preschool. Tiny, brightly colored toddlers just rushed around his blockade like a wave in a technicolor sea.

I love you Klute. Thank you for everything.

♥️#soblessed♥️

"Xenu-phobic"

by The Klute

The following is protected the 1st Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America

And in section 2(b) Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms 

Scientology is not a scam.

A scam is a deceptive act or operation

designed to be sophisticated and believable enough

often to separate people from their money. 

Scientology… is not a scam. 

Scams make sense.  

There’s no part of Scientology that makes any sense at all.

Its Star Wars meets the I-Ching meets “I’m OK-You’re OK”

washed down with a tall glass of piping-hot Everclear, 

followed by an LSD chaser,

served to you in a human skull by a madman, 

standing in a bucket of gasoline,

offering to light your cigarette.

I don’t know how the mind of a Scientologist works. 

I’m assuming not very well. 

If you believe that we’re all pawns in an eons-long intragalactic war

against an alien overlord named Xenu

who has imprisoned an alien dissident in your headmeats 

And that’s why you’re sad and can’t get an erection,

well…  

I don’t know what to say to that. 

Catholics have the Vatican, the rock that Peter built the Church upon.

The Islamic faithful make the Hajj to triumphant Mecca.

Hindus look for enlightenment in the Himalayas that lift up Heaven itself. 

Hemet, California is the Promised Land that awaits the return of L. Ron Hubbard. 

No, really. 

Hemet, California.

Look it up. 

Christ took bread, and said:

“Take this all of you, and eat it, for it is my body which shall be given up for you”

L. Ron Hubbard took screamers, uppers, downers, yellow jackets, blue bombers and said:

“REMEMBER WHAT THE DOORMOUSE SAID… FEED YOUR HEAD!!!”

Muslims read the Qu’ran. 

Scientologists, “Battlefield Earth”.

Jews celebrate the Passover seder, to remember that which unified the Chosen.

Scientologists get audited in the basement with an e-meter built from 1960s Radio Shack surplus.

Winner, we have a tie! The Abrahamic faiths.

Loser, we have another tie: every Scientologist ever.

If you boil away the trappings of the major faiths,

you are left with “Love they neighbor – do unto others”;

with Scientology, all that remains is: “Give me money, and I’ll make you better.”

When your religion has more lawyers than holy men…

It’s time to find a new religion.

I understand you’re scared,

we all are, because we peer into the void for answers,

we find no solace in the silence of eternity.

So we take shelter in shared ritual, history, and tradition. 

L. Ron Hubbard is the end run,

complete crap, 

Writing the gospel of People magazine,

Forever and ever, amen.

And it’s time wake up and smell the insanity.

If you can’t find the answers in the banquet of faiths already set before you,

they’re sure as hell not in the writings of man

who wrote “Revolt in the Stars” and “Typewriter in the Sky”

So keep looking, but remember:

John Travolta is not the path to salvation,

Tom Cruise is not the messiah,

and Katie Holmes did not die for your sins…

Yet. 

Thomas J. Schober

I have been trying to put together the words to say when you lose a family member. Not many know much about my family but it's a story of immigrants fleeing Europe for WW2 reasons with my grandfather being a Czech Army Officer. A big chapter is two boys my father ( Thomas C. Schober  and my cousin's father became American Citizens, and they had children, with a wild long story of what led me to where I am today. My cousin Bernard Schober has tragically passed away and while we weren't that close we always bonded on the fact we were family and always had that mutual respect. At the end of the day while we lived in different spectrums of life geographic and political, we equally respected each other for what we've become as Schober men in America, living a free life that our parents wanted for us. He had a recent health scare last year and we both realized life is short and precious. At our recent conversation that I will never forget, he said my Grandfather would have been proud that I'm building an American life as the branch of our family in America with the freedom our grandfather envisioned, and I acknowledged the same for him with all he was doing in life. I will remember who he was and do my best to carry our family name with pride for all of us. Seeing all his friends and family on his page shows he lived a rich life that I envy to live. Rest in Peace Bernard Schober you won't be forgotten.

Pic. Bernard , My dad , me baby.

Rich Boucher

The news of the passing of Bernard Schober. Another gone too soon. Dealing with comedic work, we sometimes swam in the same poetic waters. And he was always good, sweet and kind to me. May he rest in peace.

Christopher Boutwell  · 

The Klute was the GOAT. He mentored me into my career path, came to my college class and performed slam poetry. He made me laugh every day at work for 7 years, and taught me how to think critically. They’ll never be another one like him. #theklute 

Kevin Reid

Rest easy buddy. You died a Slam Champion and will always be a Phoenix Legend.

Joaquin Zihuatanejo

So saddened to hear of the loss of Bernard Schober The Klute. Every time we interacted at Nationals he was so kind and impossibly funny. He will be missed by so many. My condolences go out to his family by blood and his slamily by poetry.

Shawnte Orion

***Japan has a long history of jisei, or death poems. Jisei is the “farewell poem to life.” They reflect what is on the mind during the last days or moments of the writer.***

This is likely the final Bernard Schober poem and that feels appropriate. It might be my favorite among many favorite-worthy ones over many years.

I was really knocked on my ass to hear that The Klute's heart gave out during a hike this week. He had so many close calls with death that I started to take for granted that he might be as invincible as his larger than stage persona. 

I wasn't super close with him but close enough to realize what a treasured friend he was to so many people around me. 

He was staunchly "slam" and I had lots of respect for him. Not only as a writer/performer but also as a citizen of the community that he helped build and far beyond. He was an exemplary citizen of the desert, of the ocean, of living life to its fullest while always caring for the people and earth around you.

I was always proud to see him representing AZ on stages across the country and it makes me even more proud to read all the tribute posts that remind me how beloved he was to so many people. 

Fuck. There'll never be anyone like him.

"ARE YOU NOT SORROWTAINED?"

Brian DuFresne

Dude you will be missed

"Cemetery Blues"

by The Klute

(2012)

Got them cemetery blues tonight.

Sitting here in the graveyard 

Under the full moonlight...

Got them cemetery blues.

The night air is cold,

Colder than the bones that talk to me

Buried beneath hallowed ground

Groaning through expanding wood

Spirits that talk to me, 

That tell me that if I only had enough silver

Then I could give the boatman his due

And we could talk in person.

But I’m a poor conjure man, I try to explain

And Papa Legba hasn’t it seen it fit

To bless me with silver and gold.

"That ain’t no kind of problem!"

Replies a chorus of moldering bodies 

Stacked in crumbing crypts

"We remember when old Judas

Dropped his silver on a Jerusalem hill,

And he still got to where he was going!

The cost ain’t all that much

Come on down an’ rest your weary bones a spell

Come on down and lift your cemetery blues"

Politely declining

(This is the South after all)

I continue reclining

Against the wall of an antebellum tomb

And watch as the smoke from incense and candle 

Drifts into them powdered sugar skies. 

The smoke is more for effect than anything else though

Because tonight I'm not gonna try to alter the future

This is about recalling the past

And the events that led to me 

To prowl these forgotten thoroughfares of the City of the Dead

On a night like this.

I gave up on the living a long time ago

And cast my lot with ancient souls and spell book tomes

Thinking that if I knew the ways of death

I could live life to fullest.

I hear the sounds of the Rampart Street jazz clubs 

And the notes drift in like ghosts 

And they would taste like ashes

If I could somehow transfigure music into food.

Footfalls and laughter move past these gravestone walls

And I can see lovers entwined in nervous embraces

For they can't help but think about the horrors that lie in wait 

For those imprisoned within this alabaster keep

And oh, if they only knew!

Some of them learn, though.

And I'm the only one who can hear them

Keeping my nights where I do 

Jilted lovers tell me their stories of what went wrong

And disgraced loan sharks tell me where their fortunes lie

And I write down their stories in grimoires

Then dance through fires and paint pictures in blood

But for all the hocus-pocus hustle and bustle,

I'm can't really tell you if I'm alive anymore

To know the ways of death before the Ioa comes for you

Well, let's just say that life after death becomes a cruel joke

But I'll keep strolling down this path

Because all I gots left is in my bag of tricks

And in these doleful books

And in the voice of an old hoodoo man

Singing them cemetery blues

Michael Jasso

While I'm saddened to learn of Bernard Schober 's passing, it's been heartwarming to see the outpouring of love and memories celebrating the legend he became in our community. I too would like to take a moment in sharing my memories of The Klute.

I first met Klute at my first trip to nationals back in 2014 when our teams got to compete with one another. From the moment we walked into the space, he came up to introduce himself and his team to ours. It was one of the first moments my team and I felt recognized and welcomed by a slam veteran. 

Fast-forward to a couple years later, we get paired up to go head-to-head in our Prehistoric Match in Extreme Championship poetry. Still one of my funnest performances to this day, but it wouldn't have been the same with anyone else besides the Mega Lou Don.

Bernard, Klute, wherever your journey takes you now, know that your community loves you. And we look forward to seeing you on the path again soon

Leslie Barton

It was a whirlwind life, friend, but every time we spoke it was always with mutual respect and you are still one of the funniest and kindest people I ever met-💔 travel on RIP

Wynter Juliet

Oh, man. What do you even say? I met Bernard Schober aka The Klute 15+ years ago at a poetry slam and he inspired me to start writing and performing. 

He was a force of nature 🌪 funny, whip-smart, caring, kind and a truly decent human. Talented but humble. He lived life with great passion, from poetry to friendships to exploring the seas 🌎 and protecting sharks 🦈 

The world is a lot less bright today with his loss. I hope I can live the rest of my own life with even a fraction of the courage and passion he showed.

Brady Ware

Our bodies betray us, my friend. I know. But you loved god’s creatures, and you fought fiercely because of that love. Patron saint of sharks, and the vast unseen now. I don’t know where we go anymore, but I hope it’s far beyond your plans of diving in Cozumel. The vastness of an entire night sky, I can’t imagine what adventures you’re already having. God loved you. people here loved you. I hope you finally hear the poems the sea has written for you, for all the love you poured into it. The world feels smaller now.

"A Lie is a Rose by Any Other Name"

by The Klute

(2015)

If you look at Phoenix from the air... 

It is a perfect grid.  

X axes streets intersect with Y axes avenues

Everything is fits into a perfect binary

You can always get to where you are going.

One of these avenues is named Van Buren

After the president with the most epic sideburns known to man

But Van Buren in Phoenix is also known to men who want to buy women

And here, as in every other city and town in the world 

here on this perfect grid,

the world's oldest profession ties into the world's oldest story

When Jesus walked among men

His followers included a whore who wore repentance like a crown

Mary of Magdala 

She would still be selling her body

But the Rose of Sharon, spoke of in the Song of Solomon

Lifted her up with the words "Go, and sin no more"

She became holy, a saint, virtue unblemished even in shadows of Golgotha.

But the oldest story of the oldest profession is a lie. 

There are no words in the Testament 

That call the Magdalene a prostitute

This is a fiction of man

In fact before she stood under the cross

Before Jesus gave up his body

All that we know of her is that she was afflicted with seven demons

That she was under the care of other women. 

2000 years later, this lie bears flowers.

Project ROSE

Where the apostles of justice

Bring alleged modern Marys off the streets

And take them not to prison

But to the Cross. 

If these women choose to supplicate themselves before

God

Then Country will not brand them with hot iron of the law

This is not fiction.

In Phoenix, your peace officers 

Are the new Pharissees

Using the Bible as the sword and the sheild

The Bible doesn't lie to us about Mary

It tells us almost nothing about her

It was men who said she was a whore

Men who said that only the blood of the savior

Could wash away her sins

It is a lie that brings politicians and police to prostrate themselves

at the altar of the Rose.

It is a lie to think that salvation from the streets

If salvation is even the word

Can be found in the basement of a Church

Who teaches propaganda in the Sunday School service

This is not ancient Judea or modern Tehran

We expect that in this America

On these perfectly aligned streets of Phoenix

That the X axis of Church will not intersect

With the Y axis of State. 

If we are going to stand in judgement of those

Who earn their living by selling themselves

With more honesty than those who sell their souls

from 9-5, 40 hours a week

Let us do it without God's mercy or His wrath.

Let us do it on the Z axis of people.

On the laws of men, women, 

And everyone on the diagonal line between those two points.

Moheeb VirgilVox Zara

I’m absolutely heartbroken. Bernard Schober aka The Klute has passed away. I’ve known him for 12 years and in those years he never skipped a beat in doing good service for the world. Whether it be through poetry, publishing, or helping with nature conservation (sharks). 

He was a goddamn staple and pillar of this community. He helped people find their voice. He helped nerds feel safe to express at comic conventions. 

He was just love, light, laughter, and smarts. He was also real as fuck.

I’m going to really fucking miss him. I’m just glad I got to see him one last time and finally read at one of his fan fusion open mics. I walked in for a sec and he spotted me immediately and called me out to read, otherwise my ADHD ass might’ve run off to do something else. 

I’m glad he called me up. I’m glad we had that moment. I’m glad he stumped me on a DS9 trivia question. I’m glad I got to see him in glorious action again. I’m glad I got to witness him do all the amazing things he’s done over the years. I’m just happy I got to know him. 

I’m full of grief over this but I am so grateful to have known him.

Robert Pruett

I met Bernard Schober as The Klute. He was a great poet and a man of powerful charisma. Educated and socially aware. Quick with his wit and always ready with a laugh. He was supportive in some of my toughest moments. He may not have known this, but I looked up to him in a lot of ways. I met him when I was just a boy, 16 years old at my first poetry slam in Mesa. After I had been in the community for awhile, I remember he asked me to host a poetry slam for the first time. I was so honored by his confidence in me. He encouraged me to grow and become the artist I am today. Though his connection with the physical world has ended for at least this run, I believe he remains with us in the great field of Consciousness that we all share. Rest in peace old friend. I will miss you.

Clifford Richards

Rest in peace -- after you get Richard Nixon, of course.

For me, this quote from Edgar D. Mitchell, astronaut sums up a lot.

Sean Shea

I have a memory , maybe a false one of meeting you at the Nationals when my team won and seeing you at the end of a night of victory partying laden down with prizes getting ready to take my morning flight home. I recall giving you the weed and the one hitter I had no time to finish. When I ran into you in years later you offered to give me the one hitter back, you still had it. When I got back into communicating with the poetry community after an abusive relationship, you were there to welcome me back and support me. Thank you always for that.

Elizabeth Heath

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. Rest easy, Bernard Schober. You deserve it, friend.

Patience Fones

Shocked and saddened to hear one of my favorite local poets passed away. Bernard Schober I will forever think of you when I hear "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch" or see a shark in the wild. Time to find that headband shark fin you gave me at Comicon and read a few of your poems out loud in the deepest voice I can manage.

Vanecia Xulee Boone

Thinking about life and processing the loss of two artistic giants who were influential in my life as an artist. Rest In eternal light Chhen Nguon & Bernard Schober thank you both for sharing your gifts.

Michael Shaeffer

I am grateful for our fondness of haiku, the Sarah Palin poems we exchanged, and the laughs we shared singing the praises of trenchcoat fashion.  Rest easy, Bernard Schober.  You will be missed.

Jozer Guerrero

Rest In Peace Bernard Schober you will be missed! Another one gone too soon

Bernard the Klute Schober performing at poetry slam founder Marc Smith's feature in Phoenix, maybe around 2012?

Tufik Shayeb

Bernard Schober was one of the rare few who consistently made this world a better place for others. Kylie Huffman-Shayeb and I will miss this man, who brought humor and good memories to our lives and the lives of so many others.

Kylie Huffman-Shayeb

You could always count on Bernard Schober for adventure, friendship, support, acceptance, and laughter. It didn't matter how long it had been since you saw him last, it was always comfortable to be around him. Like many others, I met "The Klute" at a poetry slam when I was 19 years old. I would sometimes help keep time or score during events, and he was always there to ease the stress of my making a mistake. I loved reading about his diving adventures and efforts to make the world a better place through conservation. He introduced myself and Tufik Shayeb to the Alamo Drafthouse, where we saw him perform poetry about sharks and watched The Meg. He will be missed in such a profound way, by so many.

Shanna Alden

I just learned Bernard Schober passed away last night and I am heartbroken. We made easy friends of one another during national competitions and in internet banter in between. The last time I spoke with him, he was dealing with cosmic horror and existential dread.

I hope he felt more comforted when he passed.

I wish we could have cooked for one another like we had promised before covid got in the way. 

He was a lovely soul and we are worse without him.

"... If Judgement is to come,

our heads will tip

port, starboard,

good, evil

let the gods, both living and dead, know

that a soul was there,

and if it needs to be carried

we will do it

as neutral as we can balance

in the uncertainty of a shipwreck

when death comes at sea.

When a sailor dies at sea

some of your kind

say they become dolphins.

Our kind believes

they become something more." - Bernard The Klute Schober

He dedicated his life and much of his poetry to Shark biology and conservation.

Jessica Ann

I am in shock. WTF. Bernard Schober is gone? A friend since the days of the Paisley, Willow House, and Essenza (circa 2000 or so). My kids grew up with his poetry. He once said he'd back me over anyone. He flew to Portland just to host the Poe Show one year, then again to perform in it. Fuck. We bonded over ocean conservation, food, and words. I still can't believe this. Friends that knew him, I'm hugging you and crying with you. I and so many people feel a powerful, aching hole where that trench-coated, dive-suited, Tiki-going, powerful presence was. You impacted so many of us, Klute. I hope you're able to find the place you believed in. Words aren't working right now. Thank you for everything, friend. 

Cordelia Abrams

Another friend gone. I have known Bernard Schober since the BBS days of the early 90s. May his memory be a blessing.

...shit.

Lauren Haas

I’ve been struggling to process that Bernard Schober passed. This human, this vibrant source of inspiration, humor, beautiful passion, with a sharp wit and a shining light for the poetry community, conservation/education communities, and everyone who was in his life. 

I have so many words and memories, but right now I’m sitting with the feelings, and the moments. 

Swim with sharks, and spin stories with the Gods. 

Rest In Poetry to The Klute.

Suzy Jacobson Cherry

I was at a Pilot Truck Stop in Pecos, Texas when I learned that a great Phoenix poet and slam champion has died. I am now at a Love's Truck Stop in Odessa, Texas and have had time to react. I met Bernard Schober  aka The Klute many years ago and have always admired his presence and his dedication to preserving the shark population in the face of climate change and other factors. The world of poetry, the world of sharks, and indeed the world at large has suffered a great loss. Condolences to his family and all who are close to him.💔

John-Francis Quiñonez

One of my greatest joys is to witness friends and loved ones' journey however near or far they might be. It was both a comfort and inspiration to see The Klute's commitment to his dreams & adventure in and outside of his art.

Without his generosity - I would not be where I am, in the way that I am. 

Without his presence & work - my home and community would truly be unrecognizable.  

What a sad and monumental loss - for my friends, for Arizona, for Sharks & the Sea. Vast.

Phil West

It wasn't that long ago that we lost Shappy Seasholtz, and now the sad news comes that we've lost Bernard Schober as well. Like Shappy, "The Klute" — as he went by for his initial nom de slam — was keenly funny and had a knack for reaching an audience, plus he was a driving force behind slam in Phoenix, which is not the easiest place to shepherd slam. I remember his first trenchcoated appearances at Nationals ("that's not an outfit you want to wear in Phoenix," I thought), conversations we had in real life and online, his presence at Nerd Slams (still among the best moments of my slam days), and telling him, "I'm glad you're still here" when he had a near-death experience a while back where he turned online to wonder if he'd survive ... and being heartened to see some many familiar friends pulling for him. He found something else beside slam to love — namely, sharks and shark rescue efforts — and plunged in headlong in a way that was beautifully inspired and inspiring. Here's hoping your hereafter involves a whole lot of water and a whole lot of dorsal fins, Klute. You'll be missed, friend.

Cylie Lawrence

Bernard Schober, I won’t get to tell you how we lovingly referred to you as Klutestopher, how you made me laugh harder than I ever thought possible at a poetry slam, how much I looked up to your writing ability and stage presence or how much I envied your insanely quick wit. To know you was to see you, hear you and love you. 

You inserted yourself so passionately and wholly into everything you did, including Ghost Poetry Show and I’m both so grateful we had the chance to get to know you and so sad we didn’t have more time to do so. 

The Klute won his first Ghost slam with us just this last Thursday, because of course he did. 

& I know there’s gotta be lots of sharks up there for you in the eternal blue.

Thank you for the reminder live life to the lees, always.

Rest In Peace 🦈❤️

Joe Snyder

The Klute was one of the few people that I wasn't extremely close with who still chose to check in on me when things got strange in the poetry world. We connected every few years about ocean stuff because Florida is a better place with people like Bernard Schober in our world. Today the world is a worse place with him leaving us. I can't wait for the FLOOD of Shark Week poems that will exist in his honor this year.

RIP KLUTE! R!I!P!

Lindsay King-Miller

Bernard Schober was the first person I met in the Arizona slam scene, before I even moved to AZ myself, and I remember exactly what I thought the moment I saw him: "Why the HELL is this dude wearing a trench coat in August in Albuquerque?!" I still can't answer that question, but I feel lucky to have counted Klute as a friend for so many years. He was kind and funny and deeply weird in the best ways. He is the only person who has ever stumped me on Buffy trivia, and I feel that should be counted in his favor in the Great Whatever Comes Next. I really really wish he weren't gone.

Maggie Eleanore Down

i have such good memories with The Klute  Bernard Schober

from battling him in our second bout at my first NPS in 08

to his hospitality while I was on tour (“drink anything but the champagne, that’s for when we land on Mars”)

his nearly killing me on a mountain pass in Sedona trying to pass a broken down prius.

to excellent hangs in my room at iWPS 2011.

if there is a great beyond I hope you’re trolling and haunting the conservatives douche canoes and reveling in it!

Amy Ball

I just heard the very sad news of Bernard Schober's passing. I want to share a story about him but my internal monologue keeps vetoing with "no, that's embarrassing for someone involved" or "that would really only be funny to us" so I will just say: he was a great friend and my life is better for having known him.

Glori Adams

My very first slam outside of Austin was IWPS in 2012. My first national event. That week, I met so many people who would become the number one reason I looked forward to national events. I remember walking tentatively into the nerd slam, late because I’d gotten lost. I didn’t perform, but I watched and enjoyed. I was introduced, after the event, to the host: Bernard Schober. 

Over the years, I then got to see him at nerd slams, haiku deathmatches, team events, and individual tournaments. He was one of the first people who I thought of as a big deal to treat me like a big deal. We would share facts back and forth about animals, share gossip about our scenes, and talk about the theory, craft, and strategy of slam. 

News of his passing has traveled fast through our community, no doubt because these experiences are not unique: he was brash, funny, and politically forceful but also kind, introspective, and fully engaged in conversation. When I was a slam newbie at my first national event, he recognized that I needed information no one had thought to give me, took me seriously, and didn’t wait around to see if I was good enough to invest attention and advice in. 

Following him on Facebook between tournaments, I learned of his other passions, for diving, conservation, environmentalism. We associate The Klute with humor and sharks, but what I came to know about him is that he took everything seriously. He saw cause and effect more clearly than anyone I’ve met. And he wanted everyone to know what he knew: that we are all of us connected to this earth, and the creatures on it. That we are responsible for keeping our communities safe and our environment healthy. That those in power must be held to account for their decisions, and subject to criticism and ridicule when they err. 

In his memory, many are suggesting making a donation in his memory to sharkangels.org - and if that is outside of your means, I have a few other ideas: go outside and pick up some trash, call your congressperson and demand protection for our oceans and the creatures who call them home, reduce your use of disposable plastic at home, refuse to allow bigots to go unquestioned in your community, and more than anything treat newcomers with welcome, respect, and inclusion. 

To my friends who know him as a local leader and friend in slam, I am so sorry for your loss. We hold you all in our hearts.

Brian Dillon

Bernard Schober RIP what the fuck man.

Dawn Gabriel

The world just lost someone who was literally the greatest shark poet of all time, a true nerd poet, and a long time slam scenester I thought would always be around.  RIP to The Klute, aka Bernard Schober.  

Wherever you are, friend, I imagine you suspended in a crystal blue ocean, surrounded by swirling schools of gleaming fish, while a perfect Great White flashes its teeth as it swims past.

(You can read more about him, his poetry, and his conservation work here: http://theklute.com/)

Duncan Shields

For a long time, I knew a tremendous amount of people. Like a LOT. First parenthood and then covid cut those numbers down but I still feel a lot of connections to people I've met through a host of creative endeavours, most of whom are the reason I still have an active Facebook account. 

But one of the drawbacks to knowing a lot of people is that you get exposed to more deaths. That's the price of having a lot of friends, I think. The more people you knew and were close to, the more you will outlive some of those unique and special people you laughed with, loved with and enjoyed the beauty of life with.

This morning I learned of the passing of Bernard Schober aka The Klute, a fellow tall nerd poet from Arizona. Also an avid scuba diver, trenchcoat wearer, and shark enthusiast. He took on life and lived it so beautifully, bucket-listing through accomplishments in a frenzy. We brought him up here to Vancouver to perform a bunch of times over the years and I loved hanging out with him. He joins a small pantheon of other larger-than-life poet friends I knew whose departures have really put craters in me. I truly feel the world is poorer without Bernard in it. You know death is coming someday at some point but I really don't like this kind of surprise. You were an inspiration, Bernard. I'm sure a truckload of testimonials and remembrances are flowing through the internet tubes today. Lots of love to you, your surviving friends and family, and I'm glad I met you.

"Trepanning for Jesus"

by The Klute

After a night of sin and rational thought

I turned on the tube

saw the TV preacher

Resplendent in polyester and brylcream 

and he told me I needed to be born again.

(Born Again!)

To accept JAY-SUS into my life

if I did't want to buuuurn in the fires of eternal damNATION!

I reached into the nightstand

read the Bible and realized...

Most of it didn't make much sense to me.

But I could feel perdition's flames a-calling.

So I did prayed on it.

Really prayed. 

Oh, how I prayed!

It came to me, 

a sharp pain,

a bolt of light,

some recovery time...

And with my lobotomy, I am now saved!

I am born again!

Can I get an Amen!?!?

I walked up to the nearest neurologist I could find

Said "Doctor! You've got to help me!

I have committed carnal sin and earthly thought!"

He took pity on me 

We dropped to our knees 

Prayed for guidance from the good Lord above

And in the form of a burning phrenologist’s bust

We had our answer. 

With my hand raised in religious ecstasy

I was strapped to the operating table

And with God as my anesthesia, 

he carved into me a path to salvation

By my missing brain tissue,

I have accepted the gospel!

Gone are the demonic teachings of Carl Sagan and Neil Tyson! 

And gone is all that astrophysics and carbon dating

That shows an complex universe

with Earth as one of a billion planets

rotating in an infinte sea of darkness.

If the Good Book says its five thousand years old

There's nothing in my head to argue with it anymore!

Hey, Carl?!?  How’s the weather down there?

Oh St. Bartholomew must have been guiding that surgeon’s scalpel

Because now the doors to memory have opened

I remember the day that I chose to be straight 

A choice that we all make before the throne of God

I remember it like it was yesterday

Thirteen years old 

in front of the class

reading a book report

That erection wasn't genetics and hormones

It was Jesus!

  

I no longer live my live my life

In the pointless charade of scientific fact 

and logical deduction,

I live in the light of superstitions,

folk tales

and outright lies

That has been passed along as the word of God

Point me to the altar call

Because with my lobotomy

I am no longer capable of independent thought!

Hallelujah!

But I must evangelize 

So if Satan is your lab partner

When the Devil makes you pick up a book

If you just can't stop thinking

Well, brothers and sisters, 

Lay back

Tilt your heads up

You might feel some pressure

Becuase I've got salvation in a hammer and three nails

But I'll probably only need one 

Piper Mullins

I am so saddened about Bernard Schober’s passing. 

I met “The Klute” in 2013 in New Mexico, and he was always kind, well humored, and here for being a human in whatever way made sense at the time.  

While we did not know one another super well, we had many moments over the years, and often exchanged care, concern, and jokes. 

He had been winning so many battles with his body recently, and just the other day sent encouragement my way that helped me immensely—

you will be missed, my friend.   I hope it’s better where you are, I hope you’re swimming and surrounded by beauty. 

I know that he supported Fins Attached, so if you’re looking for a way to honor our friend, you could always send a donation to them in his name.  I will be doing this at the next moment I am able.

Update: Seeing that Klute’s family has asked that donations go to https://sharkangels.org/

Dane Bauer Hassid

Bernard Schober met me at the train station in Phoenix fourteen years ago, picked me up, and drove me all the way to Tucson on about eight minutes' notice because my train was late and I was going to miss my poetry feature at Ocotillo Poetry Slam.

We talked the entire way down - about Jewishness and religion, about politics and poetry and the endless well of gossip that was the poetry slam community. After that, we were officially friends for life. We talked sporadically, but honestly. It had never been too long to catch up.

You could spot The Klute (his stage name) in every room - tall and broad, in a black duster that swooped behind him, Matrix-style. 

(For Firefly fans - of which he was one - I called him Wash in a browncoat. It suited him.)

His poems were loud, bombastic, and at their best, funny as hell. 

He saw himself as a protector of all he loved. Our last conversation was me asking him to find out information on a poet local to him who performed a poem who hurt my friend. That was all Klute needed to know. Who I loved, he loved. And he was a protector all he loved. 

And what he loved most were sharks.

A few years ago, Klute decided he would pour all his time, money and talent into saving sharks. He learned to scuba dive so he could swim with sharks. He talked about sharks, posted about sharks, donated to shark-saving efforts. I only know anything about sharks because of what I picked up from Klute by sheer osmosis.

Klute died yesterday. There are many many ways he wouldn't mind being remembered, but I think this one shows you where he was most at peace.

(The Klute performs at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Dec. 2011. This is my video, the quality of which is pretty bad, but it was 11 years ago. The audio and poem are good.)

Julia Allegretto Gaskill

Bernard Schober was a person whose name proceeded him. Stephen told me stories about The Klute years before we’d ever meet. My first memory of Bernard is him wearing a chewbaca onesie at the nerd slam in Flagstaff, and then also going on to do only shark themed poems in his IWPS bouts. The Klute was so kind, a beloved presence online, and an amazing poet. I’m glad I got to meet him. His family is asking for donations to this organization in his name.

Stephen Meads

Woke up this morning thinking about all the absurdly tall poets I know in Vancouver BC, only to find out another absurd and tall poet (from AZ this time) has left our scene! Bernard, this is so difficult! Few folks on the National scene offered me as much joy and assurance of weird and wonder as did the Klute. From his contributions to Nerd slam, to his dedication to shark poetry, to always wearing a full on trench coat no matter what part of the hot ass country we were in, h… See more

Kat Dean

May your memory be a blessing, friend.

Hattie Hayes

I'm shocked and devastated to hear that The Klute has died. Bernard Schober was someone who threw relentless support behind his friends (I was lucky to be in that lot) and unending passion into his own work. From poetry to conservation, he was a blessing to the communities that received his attention. He recorded this poem specifically for Our Topic Tonight, and of course, as always, blew us all away. I'll be dedicating a donation in his name to sharkangels.org.

De Emett

Bernard Schober - thank you for your friendship and comradery. I was better for knowing you, and will always be grateful for the arm you put around me that never wavered. I wish I had said this to you sooner. You are already so missed by so many people. RIP poet. ❤️

Lindsay Stone

Just heard about The Klute (Bernard Schober) passing away. That dude was a  great dude.

Aimee Bodhisatta

Pretty shocked to find out a guy I work at conventions with passed away yesterday, just worked with Klute ( Bernard Schober ) in May. Only the good die young, they say.

"The 5th Horseman"

by The Klute

The Book of Revelations warns of the Four Horsemen.

When God tips His cups upon the world,

You will know the end is nigh by the sound of infernal hoof beats:

Plague… trailing disease in his wake.

War… wielding a flaming sword. 

Famine… with its scales tipped against you.

And Death… the tallyman of souls!

There is a Fifth Horseman

One who kills with a thousand cuts

A vanguard of things to come

Lowering our defenses and setting the stage for ultimate destruction!

He rides a horse that belches Axe Body Spray from its nostrils

And drips Obama commemorative coins from its terrible maw

It leaves a Nike swoosh print in its hoof prints

And always votes Libertarian.

The name that sits upon him is - “Bad Ideas”

And bullshit follows with him! 

He carries no dark sword or pestilential scythe

But a Magic Bullet – as seen on TV.

It slices, it dices, it makes julienne fries

He wears no black cloak, no burning armor   

But an American Apparel 100% fair-trade cotton hoodie 

With Abercrombie and Fitch boot cut pre-distressed jeans.

He spreads darkness through the land when he opens his wallet - 

Credit cards with pictures of his cat Whiskers bearing high interest rates...

Roll over the balance for 0% interest for six months!

Only for a limited time! 

He dines at a banquet of processed food in fun Disney shapes in all the unnatural colors of no rainbow.

He anxiously awaits the arrival of the new Burger King Spicy BBQ Bacon Ranch Western Whopper…

Now with jalapeno mustard dipping sauce! 

You will know him from his profiles on TMZ and People Magazine

Promoting his new film starring Kristen Stewart as Anne Frank

And Larry the Cable Guy as Adolf Hitler!

Get -er-Done!

He markets beef jerky with Jeff Foxworthy

Writes books the Kardashians

And his voice thunders like an infomercial 

BECAUSE THE END TIMES ARE AVAILABLE FOR JUST THREE EASY PAYMENTS OF $19.95!!!

He can be found at the doorways of Wal-Mart

Wearing a blue vest 

With a name tag that reads:

“Hi! My Name is Shiva – Rollbacker of Prices!  Destroyer of Small Towns!”

Look upon this endcap of Flavor-blasted Doritos, ye mighty, and despair!

He can be found at the hostess stand of Grizzlebee’s 

Offering you all-you-can-eat riblets and two-for-one Oreo Martinis

And it looks like it’s someone’s birthday today! 

Oh – happy happy birthday! We’re glad that you are here! Oh – happy happy birth…

Yes, the apocalypse is upon us my friends,

And this is the way the world ends…

This is the way the world ends...

This is the way the world ends...

Not with a bang…  

But with a bargain.

Rob Sturma

Man. Klute, rest in power. Back when I got the chance to do Extreme Championship Poetry as a side event for those poetry tourneys, Klute really got the assignment every time. Sipping my joe for you today, you glorious nerd.

Zach Schrotter

It truly breaks my heart to hear about the passing of Bernard Schober aka The Klute.  He was one of the folks who truly made me feel welcomed as a slam poet.  An amazingly nerdy human being with an incredible wit, a wonderfully principled human being, a fierce proponent of ocean conservation and compassion for sharks, I'm proud to say I knew him, drank with him, and talked cartoons with him.   Just one of the things I respected about The Klute...he knew just how to piss off the right people.  A man with that big of a heart was too good for this place somedays, and he made this world better.  Hold those you love a little closer today.

Levi Phillips

Just learned that Bernard Schober passed away. Theres a lot of people and a lot of poets. But there has and only ever will be one Klute. Damn it man. If there's a heaven, there better be sharks up there. Swim good my friend.

I have to admit that when I was still doing slam I fell in to this trope quite often. I think thats why I was always so enthralled with Klute's poetry. He could take a subject that was absolutely abysmal and still find a way to make you laugh. Talking to him in person was an ever better treat. He always knew how to make you smile and heal you with his special brand of satire at the same time. I still remember when he and I did a performance at Sedona slam a few years back. We had tied for third place. So, true to slam form, the haiku death match ensued.
As we walked down the isle he leaned over and whispered; "Dude! Be nice to me. You're kind of a bad ass."

Here is this man, myth and master of his craft. Who was larger than life, telling my newbie ass to take it easy on him. Of course he stomped me out. I was never so happy to lose. When I moved back up to the PNW I often messaged him with questions about the oceanic life around here. He never hesitated to answer and get excited with and for me with every situation or encounter I had. Gonna miss you man. But I'd like to think you're out there in the sea. Fouling the props of sport shark fisherman. I got a poem in the works for you. In as close to your style as I can muster. Maybe someday I can read it for a crowd. Keep swimming friend. #theklute #sharks #waterislife

Klute and his family

Misako Yamazaki

one of my first poet friends in the Phoenix literary community was Bernard Schober. I will always remember my first Nerd Poetry Slam at Phoenix Comicon in 2015, when I was first introduced to him and the Phoenix slam community. I still can’t believe he passed. I don’t know how to mourn a friend, but today I am learning. Processing. He was so loved by so many, and will be missed by us all. My only regret is that I didn’t get to know The Klute better. But I will always consider him a good friend, and a better poet.

in lieu of flowers, donations to Shark Angels can be sent using this link:

https://sharkangels.org/...

George P Moakley

In memory of Bernard Schober, a valued friend, fellow diver, fellow writer, fellow shark enthusiast, and fierce advocate for shark conversation, climate action, and many other important causes.

I enjoyed many conversations about his conservation and diving passions, but really got to know him diving South Africa and offer these photos of Bernard doing something he loved.

"Scenes from the Class Struggle
at the K-T Boundary"

by The Klute

At the twilight of the age of the Dinosaurs

Nobody saw it coming

10 miles wide

100 million tons

With the force of a thousand hydrogen bombs

At the asteroid's final destination

The world would change

Forever.

Flintstones!

Meet the Flintstones!

They're the Modern Stone Age Family!

From the town of Bedrock

They're about to become history!

Bedrock was founded on two principles:

One: That everyone eats really big platters of food

Two: Capitalism

Real-bash-your-neighbor's-head-in-with-a-stone-take-their-shit capitalism!

Mr. Slate had more clams than Fred

Fred had more clams than Barney

Barney had nothing.

It was good and perfect and each sunrise brought a new opportunity,

And even if it was bad and you were poor,

that every night you fucked your wife on a cold slab of granite

and in the morning your best friend tried to crack your skull open 

For daring to take a bite of their delicious Fruity Pebbles

You were still better off than your household appliances.

The dinosaurs were little more than slaves.

They were the dishwashers and garbage disposals

Airplanes and construction cranes

Men wore their skins

Ate of the flesh

Pulled their tails

So their screams of pain would announce the sunset

Back at their caves

The more docile and friendly varieties

Would lick their faces and bring them their slippers.

It was the hard, menial work

But the dinosaurs, who knew nothing else other than pain

Shrugged their shoulders and said

"It's a living".

Call it Apollyon, Abbadon, Apophis, 

Call it Wormrock,

As the asteroid appeared in the night sky

the men and women of Bedrock

aaw it full of fire and endings.

Fear took Bedrock whole;

they trampled each other under foot or wheels

as they dashed home to be with family,

to Gimblestones for one last shopping spree - CHAAARGE IT!

Or to Water Buffalo Lodge No. 26 

where over the body of Sam Slagheap

they declared they were the Grand Poobah now, goddamit.

There was a bright flash, a terrible roar...

Hollyrock, gone.

Rock Vegas, gone.

Wilmington, Delaware, gone. 

Ash fell like snow over the ruins of Bedrock.

The trumpets of washing-machine mammoths

Could be heard over dwindling screams.

In an age of apocalypse

There is no right and wrong,

No good and evil,

No owner and appliance.

Loosed from their flimsy bonds

Tyrannosaurs and pterodactyls ate their fill,

Wondering why they ever allowed men to rule them,

And within the house of Flintstone

In a bomb shelter

Built during the Cubrick Misslerock Crisis

Fred and his Neanderthal family hide from extinction.

Dino, from the species Velociraptor mongoliensis,

Noticed his killing claw for the very first time,

And looking at the scared, soft, meaty family in the corner,

decided he was going to have a yabba dabba doo time,

A dabba doo time,

A gay old time. 

Klute's Last Post

Bernard Schober's last public Facebook post was unsurprisingly one about saving the ocean, linking to this story and writing: "This is HUGE.  Cigarette butts are one of the most common items of plastic ocean trash.  If you're in Florida, start asking your local communities to pass smoking bans at the beach.

"I'm honestly surprised this became law in Florida."

The Klute's Bio

The Klute is the most recognizable voice from Arizona on poetry slam’s national stage. He grew up along the shores of the Atlantic Ocean on Palm Beach, Florida where he cultivated a love of sharks to become an activist for their preservation through the medium of spoken word, and has had the privilege of sharing the waves with those fantastic fish, from the great whites of Isla Guadalupe, Mexico to the reef sharks of Egypt’s Red Sea coast. He has represented the cities of Mesa, Phoenix, and Sedona at the National Poetry Slam 10 times between 2002 and 2014 and has opened for spoken word superstars such as Saul Williams and Amber Tamblyn and has been the featured performer in such legendary venues as Vancouver’s Cafe Deux Soliels and New York City’s Bowery Poetry Cafe.

A collection of his chapbooks was published by Brick Cave Media in 2014 (Klutocrypha, Vol.1), and he has had poems published in anthologies by Sergeant Press, Write Bloody,  and Four Chambers Press. In 2016, he traveled the United States in support of his new chapbook “Chumming the Waters”, and in 2017 a full volume of work titled “Words with the Men in Grey Suits”, will be released. Both works are described as “poetry for sharks, by sharks”. The profits from both books are being donated to Fins Attached, a shark conservation organization based out of Colorado Springs.

Jesse Parent, a local curmudgeon and YouTube sensation from Salt Lake City says “The Klute is honest, loud commentary on the political condition. Just because he can be funny doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be taken seriously. His work is skewering in its sharpness and depth, and entertaining in its craft and delivery. Also… sharks,” and Ed Mabrey, a TedX Speaker and Emmy Award Winner, says “The political satire world has its Mount Rushmore: Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, Bill Maher. Using his own chisel and hammer, The Klute has climbed that rock and is etching his own likeness next to them, one insightful poem at a time. It’s no accident, he belongs there.”

Awards

2005 Mesa Poetry Slam Grand Slam Champion

2005 National Poetry Slam Team Semi-Finalist (Mesa)

2008 National Poetry Slam Group Piece Finalist (Phoenix)

2009 National Poetry Slam Team Semi-Finalist (Phoenix)

2010  Mesa Poetry Slam Grand Slam Champion

2013  Copper State Poetry Slam Team Champion (Phoenix)

2013  National Poetry Slam Team Semi-Finalist (Phoenix)

2014  Copper State Poetry Slam Team Champion (Sedona)

2017  SSI Master Diver

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A hiker called 911 saying he believed he was having a heart attack.(Courtesy: Phoenix Fire Dept.)

Hiker in critical condition after being rescued at Piestewa Peak in Phoenix

Published: Jul. 18, 2022 at 9:47 AM MST

A man [Bernard Schober] is hospitalized in critical condition after being rescued from Piestewa Peak early Monday morning.

Around 6:45 a.m., a hiker called 911 and told the dispatcher he believed he was having a heart attack. He said he was about a half mile into the Nature Trail on the mountain.

Phoenix firefighters quickly arrived and later found the man, who was not breathing and had no pulse. A rescue helicopter flew the man to the base of the mountain, where he was placed in a ground ambulance for transport to the hospital.

Fire officials say he was in critical condition at the time, but his current condition is unknown.

The hiker (Bernard Schober) was taken by helicopter to the base of the mountain, then to the hospital by ground ambulance.(Courtesy: Phoenix Fire Dept.)