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
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:
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.
You are not wrong about this being hard to critique, but I will try. It feels like it flowed exactly as the implications and affects upon your soul of this poets death, manifested in you. I liked every piece, first the sheer shock of the finality of death, as it hits us, then the 'how' which is an amazing piece of writing in it's own right. You make it sound as it should have been for this fine poet.(checked the link too!) next you deal with the differing sides of our personalities battling through logic. The stoic, is what society expect of us. Never show your feelings...etc etc x damned if you do ect. I loved the monks view! How can such a spirit just vanish? We are not mere machines that break down, we have individual personality? who decides that then? No! Our spirits/souls walk on. I believe.
The added layers in fourth section, are our god given inspiration that comes along with trauma and grief, to somewho compensate us for relentless pain of losing someone we love/admire. YOu describe this essence of the poet so well, I cannot think of a thing to crit. You end this section in complete understanding of of the whys and wherefore of death itself.
As you say, without it, life would be uninspiring and flat. Sorry for your loss, it seems like he is a loss to us all, big BUT his Poetry lives on.
A fine free flowing tribute to a fine poet.
Take care of you now, do whatever grief prescribes.
the beginning is solid..and it gets more hard core infused w/ intense poetry as it moves along..it's hard to read, only because I've had 3 friends die in the past few years....[TMI omitted..]
it's an amazing piece you've got here
I'll be re-visiting this periodically as I strengthen myself w/ creative/productivity and self-hypnosis and feel a little stronger.
Peace
I don't know how to express it.. but I can relate to it completely. The feeling of loss and the pain while writing such poems is unexplainable.. the words seems inadequate. The overwhelming feeling of grief makes us focus only on the facts, no beautification in vocabulary or rhyme. The truth seems too enormous. I don't want to "review" it you know.. just like to say it's the only thing you can do for the lost ones.. a genuine, heartfelt tribute. I will not forget this poem for long time.
You may wonder why I can relate to this poem immensely.. because man, I recently lost my best friend and even I wrote a poem for him. I also named it by his name. It's titled "Kamalesh..". What a coincidence, you know he was also great poet himself..
I am really sorry for your loss... (though these consoling words don't work in reality).
For you I'd like to say:
"Souvenir the sweet memories of those who are left behind,
And move on with a brave-heart; loving everyone who is left around"
Peace...
First of all your tribute to Paul was amazing. As I read it, I kept thinking that he must have been an amazing man and talent to inspire such a writing from someone. I'm sure he's looking down pleased with your write about him.
I did go to his poetry website, his work was brilliant. He died at a very young age it seems. I was curious what happened to this very talented man. As I read his poetry, I wondered if he had an idea that he might be dying very soon. A few poem that I read lead me to wonder that. His poetry was beautiful and his creativity very refreshing.
'Where the Light and Warmth far-flung
Across the unfathomably dark empty universe
Coalesce.'
'The search for space is finally over, and I smile.' I don't know who wrote that but it seems to go with your words above ..
This is, without doubt, the most beautiful of all tributes to a man. And, somehow, goodness knows how, you've shown your grief without self-pity or melodrama - your words are poetically vibrant because - and i can only assume - of Paul's extraordinary force and being, just being. He switched you on in life, and in death has shown you a light-filled meaning of existence.
'Do not weep, for death is inevitable
The cessation of sensation, and therefore, suffering
It should be endured magnanimously
As if it were just another autumn day'
. moved to tears ... this is brutally stunning work ... and i'm sure it's for someone who was absolutely brilliant and sensitive ... i shall visit the links mentioned ... i find it impossible to accept death ...
Life equal to and greater than death...i plaintain loved...
and am very sorry for such a great loss...the euphemism,even while writing an elegy you haven't lost your sarcastic taste...Paul must be very proud.
Si se puede
I'm doing more multimedia stuff. Engaging. Experimenting. Expanding.
Check out my pieces below; It's 2020 not 1820. Time for change.
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