Digging one's way out of grief.

I've been bad about blogging, but for a very good reason. The death of the very gifted poet and a dear friend, Mark Brown of Louisville, KY, threw me (and a great many others) for a loop. The man had one of the purest hearts I've ever known, and was also one of the most gifted poets I've ever personally known. His colleagues at the Spalding University MFA program concur. Not only was his poetry incredible, but his insights into the poetry of others as evidenced by his acclaimed critical essays which even received national attention remain as living proof of his genius. But it is Mark himself, his laughter, his quick wit, his compassion for others (as in the poem, "Libby's Kiss") is what we will all miss.

So for over a week, I and others have staggered around in the mental ozone trying to process the unbelievable. While some folks who gathered to remember Mark on Saturday had brought pieces they'd written since hearing the news, many of us haven't been able to write about IT or about anything since his death. I suddenly understand the way the Greeks would take 12 days to observe the passing of a loved one. I have not hit the 12 day point yet, but my brain is beginning to function once again.

I first met Mark in 1988 under entirely different circumstances. When we met years later as poets, we kept trying to place one another. It's hard when years have passed and we've aged and put on weight. But finally one day it hit us, and oh what a laugh we had over it. And how many friends we realized we had in common outside the realm of poetry.

He was a multi-faceted man who will be missed by a great many people, and I believe much of our grief is for the poems he will never write.