Obituaries, alas

 

 

2,

If moral indignation, beautifully rendered, could set a bookstore into orbit, The Red Wheelbarrow in Paris still circulates this earth over 20 years later, after a reading by Alice Notley, who set her (nearly literal, ballistic) sights on W. and the neocons. "Was it too intense?" asked a friend, when I described that evening. Well, I still sit there some evenings, and watch deep space outside the window. Thank you for your constellations, Alice.

 

 

 

1.

I was hoping to visit Ken Quilantang when I got home, but he died last night. I can't say enough good things about him, as person, as writer, as devoted family man. In the early 2010s, he was going to take my documentary poetry class, which had an emphasis on personal and public histories. He wanted to write about his baby brother, Jonathan, who had died not long before. I was happy to have him in the class, but understood when he told me he was going to drop, because his grief was too fresh. He leaves his wife, Gail, his son, Jonathan (yes), and so many former teachers and students. Ken, you were a good man, and that matters. So much.