Only on a true return could you find that you'd never left

[sovay]

On the first of May, my mother told me about a poet who loved volcanoes and Persephone and had just disappeared on a small island in Japan. It was his passionate belief, she said, that poets should go to dangerous places and bring them back in writing; by the time she heard about him on the radio, he had been missing for three or four days, but they were still hoping that his story would end like one of hers, the goddess he cared so much about, and he would come back with pages like pomegranate seeds in his hands. My mother couldn't remember his name, so I looked him up. Craig Arnold. This afternoon, I found out he has been declared dead. Somewhere I hope someone who knew and loved him is writing him a poem in which Persephone and Pele and the kami of Kuchinoerabujima are listening to their praise singer, or making him into something that can slip into the earth's burning heart and back again. I don't have the right to. I just liked his words. The severed head of Orpheus kept on singing, afterward the way poets do.

Comments

[adaorardor.livejournal.com]

Hi-- I sometimes swing by your journal via Catherynne Valente's friendslist, because, well. Your words are just pretty. (can't fault me for that)

I knew Craig; we were friends through my uncle, and we'd sometimes meet at workshops or poetry slams. I last saw him in the summer, shortly before I left for St. Olaf. We spent the night in a local restaurant eating congealed artichoke dip and talking about my school plans. As memories go, it's a good one. But I keep thinking about how living on the Hill cuts me off from everything at home... I didn't speak with Craig all this year, and then I find he's died. It's disturbing.

So...

Somewhere I hope someone who knew and loved him is writing him a poem in which Persephone and Pele and the kami of Kuchinoerabujima are listening to their praise singer, or making him into something that can slip into the earth's burning heart and back again.

That was good to read. Good to think. I don't feel half so heartsick.

[sovay]

That was good to read. Good to think. I don't feel half so heartsick.

Thank you. I am glad—however oddly—to have helped.

Maybe you should write that poem.