Oh, I am just distraught. I just found out that Reginald Shepherd died almost two weeks ago, and we hadn't even known he was ill. I will come out of the anonymity schtick sufficiently to say that he was an old friend of S's, a complicated friend and friendship, and they have been out of touch for a while, but knowing he existed, living his difficult life and writing his incredible poetry, was just, well, it wasn't even something one thought about, just something that was. The world was a better place because Reginald Shepherd wrote poetry in it. And now the world is a worse place.
And S is asleep, and in the morning I need to tell him.
This is Reginald's last
poem.
I am unspeakably sad.
2 comments:
I'm so sorry, Becca.
I'm so sorry for your loss, and for ours-- there's some really beautiful writing on that blog, so I can only imagine the power of his poems and essays.
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