Elegy for Paul Squires

Elegy for Paul Squires

A Poem by Alessander
"

It's longer than my usu stuff, but broke it up into parts.

"
He's dead.

No deep metaphors
No sly allusions
No masking imagery

He's dead.

No theological conjecture
No philosophical consolations
No poetic catharsis

Platitudes are necessary lies
He's dead.

It's science
It's math

Life ≤ Death

Even Pi is more eternal
Its unfathomable tail
Trailing into infinity


He doesn't.

Some will counter

'His dreams live on'

I don't.

His dreams parish with him
Like all sustenance inside
A broken fridge

His unique blend of passion
Humor and insight, joie de vivre

Gone.

No other way to put it.

No euphemisms to deceive:

"passed away"
"moved on"
"rests in peace"
"crossed over"
"departed"
"returned home"
"dwells in the bosom of God"

He's dead.
He's fucken dead

Paul is dead.

Now we only have left overs
A tribute albumPictures of boats
Relics from Troy

No, the person Paul is dead.

His beauty exploded
Like shrapnel, it's lodged
Inside our minds

His essence diluted
Like a once vast shimmering ocean
forking, forking into manifold
rivers, creeks, brooks

Rushing, flowing, trickling
Through our trembling body

Then


II.

He fell from a great height, literally
Dreaming to his death

In his journey, he flew high
Above his beloved Australia
Crossing shadowy plains and dusky hills
Until finally he whisked over
An aqua-blue undulating radiance
Seemingly gliding beneath him
He graciously moved, a torrent
Brushing his craggy scruffy face
Towards that bronze haze
Of setting sun
He converged on its illumination
Not some artificially constructed
Light at the end of the tunnel
Not synapses snapping
And neurons desperately convulsing
He swam through that soft sky
To the imminent sun

The jagged rocks cracked his skull
Awakening him to a new being

Where the body no longer writhes in interminable pain


Where the light and warmth far-flung
Across the dark empty boundless universe

Coalesces

III.

There's a stoic in me stirring:

Do not weep, for death is inevitable
The cessation of sensation, thus, suffering
It should be endured magnanimously
As if it were just another autumn day

There's a monk in me murmuring:

Death and Life are one, it is a cycle
Perpetual as the four seasons
Weep not, for you do not weep when winter
Numbs your limbs or frosts your lips

But I am not wise enough to remain unmoved
I am not a stone or a grain of sand in a zen garden
I will sob in spite of protestations
No one rebukes the clouds for raining
Nor the rose for wilting when it snows
I will grieve selfishly and dramatically
I will pound my chest and yank my roots
I will wail like a madman in a padded cell
I will be inconsolable and pitiful
I will be the lowliest creatures, forlorn
I will wear black, smoke and swig all night
I will brawl for the slightest of provocations
I will stay aloof from those closest to me
I will be judged and scorned by martians
Poking and prodding, but never understanding
Truly, they will retort 'it's not the first death'
And I will either nod silently or spit in their faces
I will make no apologies for my tears
I will store them in a glass jar and exhibit them
Like an urn on the mantle, there, next to the tv
For everyone displayed while they're laughing at game shows

IV.

Death adds another layer
Of meaning to facts
An extra wave
That resonates
Through the body
Like a bell - rung
It is like discovering
A new interpretation
Of an artwork
That deepens understanding
That some how amplifies
Our humanity
Then one wonders
How can I have gone
So long in ignorance?
How can I have staggered
Like a cripple?
Feeling only the echoes
Of songs, the texture
Of dry brittle leaves
Hearing only the howling
Of the whipping wind
Seeing only the shadows
Of passing birds
Touching words
Like an illiterate fumbling
His fingers over braille
The fullness of life
Ripens only with death
Death is the space
That frames a statue
Without it, life is
Simply 2-dimensional
An object perceived, half-felt
Not a subject, wholly
Encompassing
For this gift bestowed
I thank you, Death. Death.


V.

Here lies Paul Squires
Matador of desires

Chugging with the crew
Writing for the few

Like his three-legged mutt on the street
Shadowing the drunk in retreat

Back to his piss-soiled alley
Not some green blossomed valley

Not some mansion up hill
Nor some beach house to kill

But on the high perilous mast
He sings, roars, thunders full-blast

Here lies forever forever Paul Squires
Sailor of fires

© 2018 Alessander


Author's Note

Alessander
Paul Squires, AKA, Paul Gingatao, AKA Ghost of Pauls, died, and this is my tribute to him. He was an awesome person and poet, and deserves a better elegy, but here it is anyways.

Me rambling about the person, poetry, and background of the piece



Me reading it to Beethoven's 7th, 2nd Mov (Allegretto)



In case you want to know more about him, I strongly recommend you click on this link: paulgingatoa Or you can just hear the podcast on my profile to listen to his talent.

Here are two reflections on him here that I know of:

Narnie

GFranklin


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Featured Review

i visited the link, wow, wish i knew this man before hand.

critique: "Pie" mathmatically is "Pi" that is all for editing
content: a bittersweet eulogy, an honest one, and i love the dig on those obligatory euphamisms on death. so many times, and well meant, these idiots clammer to wish you well and sometimes make you feel worse. i don't care if "god called them home" or if "they're in a better place" or any of that bullshit. dead is dead. a finality for the living. sure they may go on somewhere else, but they're not here and that's what matters most to the survivors.

honestly an excellent write, my new friend, i felt the tears, heard the teeth gritting, and felt the warmth you felt for him.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

wow....I hate that word and yet it-is what it is. Painful-=angry..laced with emotion --a hands tied anguish-----no control. And yet we wordsmiths are indeed the definition of arcanum ascendency.....your tribute though filled to the brim with dolour is an ardent lament to Pauls......"muchness".

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


Reading this reminds me very strongly of how I felt after two of my friends died-the way they just suddenly aren't there anymore and there is nothing that can soften that absolute reality, the way it reminds you of the fragility, the transience...you put it into words in a way I never managed at that time.

Sophia

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


i haven't been on here in an age and this came as a shock - i worked on a few projects with paul and he was a great guy and a great writer and thinker who pushed at the boundaries and really was very generous.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

ahhh this is a beautiful tribute to someone i never knew. your descriptions brought the memory of him to life, however.

i also am one who dislikes euphemisms for something that feels so stark. no need to couch it inside flowery terms to "soften the blow". no fripperies or cliches. it is what it is. heartbreaking. that alone is enough.

each part is wonderful, unique and full all on its own merits, yet as a whole, express and explore the many layers of grief one feels at the death of someone who has touched one's life so indelibly (as he obviously has yours).

(one error - "perish" not "parish")

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


Alex, the review of Pauls that you quoted, had me laughing out loud. Only Paul could be so honest to say it. I think your poem stands perfect as is.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


Because I wasn't introduced to paul before reading your tribute I think I can critique it objectively. I wouldn't change a thing. Not one word. I loved it. I reallly loved how it passed thorugh phases. Each section could have been written by a different poet, but it still read like someone -one person- writing at different stages of reaction. It made me reflect on when I've lost someone close and how I certainly passed through stages on how I felt about it/understood it. Not nessasarily the stages of grief, though you could tease that out if you wanted to, but perhaps various modes of comprehension/ reaction to our experience with death...
Very well done.
I rarely read poems more than once or twice, but this is one I will revisit...

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


One of the most astounding tributes to a life that impacted many and will live on through wonderful words..........every reviewer before me as said all that needs to be said. Absolutely struck with awe.


No euphemisms to deceive:

"passed away"
"moved on"
"rests in peace"
"crossed over"
"deceased"
"returned home"
"dwells in the bosom of God"

He's dead.
He's fucken dead


This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

A different kind of tribute to someone you respected
Death is not the end but merely a translation to a different form of being.
inevitably bodies wear out and die or are killed accidentally. Of little importance we go on.As I believe reborn again as someone else somewhere else

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 2 people found this review constructive.

I must say this is the deepest and the most incredible eulogy / tribute I've ever read in ages... You sure written it so perfectly well, which I'm pretty sure that Paul would be enternal grateful for your thoughts toward him, his life, and his death...

Overall, it sure is nicely done and I'll bet after people see your works, they sure as hell will hire you to create the eulogy for them... I know that, because I would hire you, too as well...



This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Each part of the poem had a moment or two which were like finding different hearts giving each a vital pulse to the poem. I did like the repetition of phrases in the last part of "there's a monk..." because it seemed like a litany. The repetition of dead, he's dead, in the first part was hard to get used to, but I think I know where you're going with it. There are parts that are too fleshy; you could cut some words out or condense. But over all, I think it was a great moving (both sentimentally and pacing-wise) and shifting peace. The subject ran through out like a silver thread, but each poem was different, refreshing. Reading it felt like playing with a Rubik's cube, the last part of the poem being when the colors aligned.

The part about death being the space that frames a statue when it's not there rang true to me. I had my own theory about not just death, but about uncanny effects in poetry and fiction. I interpret that feeling as a cutout of, let's say, a star on paper. The star is not there, but but the shape of it's absence we know what was there beforehand, leaving clashing sentiments of recognition, assurance, loss, and melancholy. That was one of my favorite parts of the poem (I also liked the jars on the mantle, and the essence diluting like ocean into rivers through our bodies...and the list could go on for a while).

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on July 30, 2010
Last Updated on July 31, 2018
Tags: Death.

Author

Alessander
Alessander

Los Angeles, CA



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