approaching winter
You said you'd remember me
ten years ago and I know
I remember you. But it doesn't
make a true difference,
does it? There isn't any refuge
in this enormous room.
Every corner is crammed
with the detritus of a short life
still unused, but already
recorded. Another old friend
wants to know why this is,
but I'm in a permanent closet,
waiting for an extension
of years. Each of these words
is another atom between us.
I'll never see you
again — I'll never know
if you remember me,
as I understand it.
Despite the brevity of days,
this is normal.
I think this poem is addressed to Marcia Jean Froelke (Coburn). She made a point about how she would remember me, when we were dating at the end of high school. I actually talked to her in 1988, when I brought out the first Writers BARBQ, I thought she might help us along in the city. I was wrong. She mostly wanted to know who I knew and whether I was a groovy enough person in the arts for her to bother with. I never heard from her again. Marcia was beautiful in her time. I wish her well. The undertone of the piece seems to be BLF, but because of the timing, it must be Alison Clare. Well, isn't that entirely normal for Tim? Making my way out of the finger trap here.
ten years ago and I know
I remember you. But it doesn't
make a true difference,
does it? There isn't any refuge
in this enormous room.
Every corner is crammed
with the detritus of a short life
still unused, but already
recorded. Another old friend
wants to know why this is,
but I'm in a permanent closet,
waiting for an extension
of years. Each of these words
is another atom between us.
I'll never see you
again — I'll never know
if you remember me,
as I understand it.
Despite the brevity of days,
this is normal.
I think this poem is addressed to Marcia Jean Froelke (Coburn). She made a point about how she would remember me, when we were dating at the end of high school. I actually talked to her in 1988, when I brought out the first Writers BARBQ, I thought she might help us along in the city. I was wrong. She mostly wanted to know who I knew and whether I was a groovy enough person in the arts for her to bother with. I never heard from her again. Marcia was beautiful in her time. I wish her well. The undertone of the piece seems to be BLF, but because of the timing, it must be Alison Clare. Well, isn't that entirely normal for Tim? Making my way out of the finger trap here.
Labels: Alison Clare Gaughan, Marcia Froelke
posted by As Bjorn at 8:47 PM
3 Comments:
Hey Tim--Sorry to read that you think I'm snobby. Anyway, in the interests of getting the facts straight, I don't run an animal shelter. I'm a senior editor in Chicago.
As opposed to a "junior" editor? A senior editor for Chicago magazine? You got me. Marcia was always good at communicating just the very minimum number of "facts". But she does have something to do with an animal shelter, because this very blog comment came from an animal shelter blog. And yes, I left a comment there, but of course it was "removed". I'm sure she has "removed" me from her memories of her life. Ho hum, to quote that guy from NRO, Jonah Goldberg. People with no class have no respect for anyone that doesn't support their version of reality.
The thing that I have noticed and see again in this poem, is the association you make with people you know or have known at many periods of your life.
This is unusual. As you know, my mother, Jane, wrote about people in her lifetime, but she made no references to them directly. She hesitated to write about Miss Lucy, who had multi-cats. This was who mother is and was.
Writing as me, I think you have a lifetime of "unresolved's", I wouldn't say issues, but something more intangible that I can't name.
Hard to place it.
Corlyss
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