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.
I found both sorrow and comfort in your stages of grief...I too followed the link...feel kinda deprived of not knowing his person. Thank you for sharing!
Posted 6 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
6 Years Ago
I appreciate you taking the time to follow the link. He was pretty awesome.
Thanks a.. read moreI appreciate you taking the time to follow the link. He was pretty awesome.
Thanks again. I know it's a longer somewhat dense work.
6 Years Ago
I think that it needed to be to express the relationship it takes one to deal with grief.
I'll admit its a rather long read but I read all of it, several times.
What made you organize it in that way? I'm trying to understand how to make sense of all your emotions I guess. Hard to pin point when you're speaking about a topic, such as death.
My absolute fav. is section III.
"No one rebukes the clouds for raining
Nor the rose for wilting when it snows"
It moved me. I recently loss a friend and this made me think about how I was feeling the day we laid him to rest.
Acceptance is a b***h to capture. You did a good job in capturing that in those two verses.
Hope you find the review helpful. Sorry for your loss, glad you can honor your friend with such profound emotions.
Posted 6 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
6 Years Ago
Yes, I think it's somewhat all over the place. But perhaps that mirrors the initial shock.
I .. read moreYes, I think it's somewhat all over the place. But perhaps that mirrors the initial shock.
I suppose art could frame it, or put it in a narrative. And it is kinda long.
I just went by instinct, TBH, for better or worse.
And sorry to hear about your friend. Condolences.
And thanks reading this. Longer poems don't typically get read and reviewed, so I really appreciate you doing both.
odd things bring our friends back to us, an old joke, a toast, to be loved means we are not lost
Alessander and Paul and Ed . . . and maybe even Emily will all live on through the words that they leave behind. They exist because we remember how they made us feel when they were alive. It's the only monument I will ever need. And like me, it will moulder, the minds will forget, the persons who carry my legacy will pass into dust. As it should be. As it should be.
a moving tribute to someone that touched you deeply. the eulogiam (when read aloud)
was a mathematicians formula that approximates the value of the factorial of a very large
life. And you did it very well.
This a very moving tribute and eulogy Alessander.
I can't imagine changing a darned thing.
Death is tough thing to swallow and you expressed yourself beautifully and done right by your friend.
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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