April 4 (Bloomberg) -- Poet John Ashbery sits in the parlor of his 19th-century house in Hudson, New York, with collages scattered around him on the sofa.

In one, a 1950s-style pinup girl dangles in front of a cactus. In another, a face fuses into a canyon, while a third depicts an angelic schoolboy holding a blackboard that, on closer inspection, displays a woman's exposed breast.

``You think it will be his homework,'' he laughs, ``and look!''

Ashbery, who won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1976, is considered a modern Walt Whitman, a man who writes in many styles and refuses to be cubbyholed. What's less well known is that the 79-year-old poet assembles more than words.

A selection of Ashbery's collages recently appeared in the first volume of a new magazine, the Sienese Shredder, produced by artist Trevor Winkfield, an old friend. Ashbery is also planning to exhibit some of his collages late this year at the Tibor de Nagy Gallery in New York City.

Ashbery doesn't fit the stereotypes one associates with poetry. He's neither professorial nor pretentious. I've known him for almost 20 years, and I always remember him as a charmer with a glint in his eye, not as a renowned poet.

The man I know talks knowledgeably about sitcoms and happily produced a video clip for MTV, in which he appears as the channel's ``poet laureate.'' He has a taste for telling bad jokes, too, including one in which a doctor tells a patient that the ``good news'' is that he has Alzheimer's disease.

Time Machine

Ashbery and his partner of more than 30 years, textile specialist David Kermani, divide their time between New York City and this town several hours' drive to the north. They've restored the house here, a yellow stucco affair with a rusticated stone porch. Walking through the front door is like stepping back in time, into an age of William Morris wallpaper and rich oriental rugs.

``Seems strange that an avant-garde poet lives surrounded by antimacassars and ferns,'' he says, looking around and laughing at his refuge. ``I don't go out, I don't like to drive, I don't socialize,'' he says. ``I like to write in the city and read in Hudson.'' It's a far cry from his youth, when he was by his own admission ``a party animal.''

Above the upstairs fireplace hangs a large Winkfield collage. Most of Ashbery's own collages, by contrast, are the size of postcards, which is what they once were. He shows me his favorite: a Raphael portrait spliced together with a snowy scene from a ski resort. Under the coffee table sits a whole box of cards he has collected over the years, waiting to be turned into new works.

Landscape With Decapitation

Some of his collages are spare in concept. One is simply a postcard that looks untouched until you peer more closely and see the word ``Bob'' printed on the bottom. Another shows a man sitting in a landscape that appears benign, until you realize he's been decapitated.

For his show later this year, Ashbery is preparing more collages. They won't all be postcard-sized. ``No, I'm thinking of doing larger ones,'' using old game boards as backgrounds, he says. Kermani springs up and shows me the collection they've amassed from games such as Parcheesi.

Though Ashbery spent many years working as an art critic, he says he never enjoyed it. ``I'd rather write poetry, but no one would pay me for that,'' he says.

In the corner, tiered shelves are covered with pottery shoes. The walls are hung with paintings, prints and drawings by the likes of Jean Helion and James Bishop. Taken as a whole, the collection has become as beautiful as its parts, which have been knitted together to create different viewpoints. The house has become something of a collage itself.

(Karen Wright is a critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are her own.)

To contact the writer of this story: Karen Wright at karen@karenwright.org

Last Updated: April 4, 2007 01:43 EDT