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


My Review

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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

A wonderful and noble tribute for your friend, Paul Squires,

deeply expressed with sincere and bittersweet emotions

I never knew him but this eulogy makes me wish I had

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

That was beautiful man. One can only hope that the life they live warrants a tribute of this magnitude and depth after they pass into the other life. I admire the respect you had for this man and it certainly translated into your piece...makes me wish i knew him too. He seems like a cynnical person, one that prefers to be blatantly honest rather than to lie (based on your quotation of him) and i respect that in people. Thanks for sharing bro. keep up the good work.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

It is an extremely rare thing that I read a lengthy poem like this, and wish that it wouldn't end.

This was beautiful, and incredible tribute and eulogy. It is simply said, beautifully put, and altogether filled with emotion. I almost feel like I know the man. Not his past or personality, but the feelings and thoughts he evoked in others. Great piece. Thank you for sharing.


And the review that's he wrote? I have a feeling that I know who it was to. I wanted to say something along those lines, haha.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Do you, mean the number pi? not "pie"?

I know what it is like to give in to the sorrow and weep and cry and scream....
but I can't do it anymore... and I envy you for that.

"probably deserves a better eulogy"
What would any poet want more than a heart turned into words for him?



This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

An actual review Paul gave to another poet on here, (and why he eventually left the Cafe probably) classic:

"I think the reason most people give you good reviews is because you are so popular as a result of spamming every new arrival that they are embarrassed to admit they dont understand what the hell you are trying to say. Dress it up with fonts and trickery all you like, most of what you write makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. I am intelligent well-read and vastly experienced poet and I am willing to say that it is not my lack of understanding that makes your writing impenetrable, it is your inability (or reluctance) to actually say anything. Now you can go all modernist and existential on me, but the fact is if you didnt spam the living f**k out of your work noone would read it and everyone would be willing to say that it makes no sense." ---Paul Squires

Ahhhh, Paul, you shall be missed...

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

thanks for educating us of someone that some of us like me; are not familiar with his work
all writers live on through their pieces; but not every one receives the recognition or opportunity to make a living from it
his life is a sign of hope and inspiration
its true...he's dead
but his writing lives on


This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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.

This is a wonderful tribute.

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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Shelved in 4 Libraries
Added on July 30, 2010
Last Updated on July 31, 2018
Tags: Death.

Author

Alessander
Alessander

Los Angeles, CA



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