We attended John Oliver Simon's literary memorial at Jered's Pottery, a warehouse in Emeryville next to the railroad tracks. Sarah Kobrinsky arranged the event, which was fairly well attended. Tobey Kaplan was emcee: Jack Foley, Rafael Jesus Gonzalez, Clive Matson. Lots of poets from his Poetry Inside Out program, Sophie Dahlin, Lilian Autler, Temina, I took photos. Somehow I expected more people.
The day before was John's birthday, and judging by the amount of people who wished him a happy birthday on Facebook, I'd say that some of them aren't aware that he is gone. I was going to say, gone from this planet, but even when one is cremated, one is still of this planet, even in the form of ash. But having a poetic send-off on Earth Day was fitting. No stardust need apply.
I read a poem I found among my Emerson papers, I'm not even sure when I wrote it, as I can't find the original, nor is it on my blog—and two short poems, RACING DARKNESS, and Camping in Baja a prose poem I wrote in 2017. I closed with the long version of HORSEFLESH, something I hadn't sung aloud in public since John and I broke up so many decades ago. My entire reading was under 5 minutes.
I hadn't practiced singing Horseflesh other than muttering it to myself under my breath a few times before John's memorial, trying to reestablish the musical links. Funny, how music is hardwired. I remembered it without much trouble, and sang fairly well. It is a poem, after all. I am forever grateful for Jorge Luján for setting it to music so long ago. I never dreamed that I would be singing it as a tribute to John on his death.
I am still grappling with the idea of John's passing. Part of me still can't believe it's true. Anyway, I got on, got off early, with little preamble. Something John taught me. I didn't say much about my relationship with John as his fianceé Susie, more than adequately covered that fertile ground. Other than Alta, and Susie, I think I was the only other ex- at the reading.
After the reading, a stranger, an older woman came up to warn me, she told me to watch my back, that Susie, John's fianceé, whom she was sitting next to, and whom she also didn't know, was very angry when I was reading. She said, She means you harm. Watch your back. Apparently Susie left while I was singing.
I was circumspect, and said that my time with John dated back to the 1980s, it was a very long time ago, no worries there. But, apparently my reading upset her. Augh! Jealousy over a dead man? It made me fell a bit ill. Ironically, I never did write my own eulogy to John for the anthology, partially in deference to John's fianceé's feelings. My time with John was in the past. A good thing I never mentioned all the times he asked me to marry him.
John's fianceé gave a long tribute, reading several of John's 40 sonnets to her, and her replies. They are good. And I feel for her. She fell for him hard, as we all did. But that kind of intensity never lasts. That's why there were so many women. I was number 16 on the list. At least Susie was spared that aspect of a relationship with John. The falling off. I can't even guess what her JOS ranking is.
John kept a running score of all his women, sort of like Bill James' baseball ranking bible. And it was fitting that yesterday was Opening Day too. Play ball!
Then there was the alternating relationship status. Olivia, in Mexico, was my alternate long-distance relationship, or, rather I was his transition out of that relationship, and before that, Olivia was his transition from Karin Faulkner, who was his transition from Sharon Rose Cheadle. And so on. At least he was monogamous with me, TG. Something he was very proud of. A first.
Alas, my transition woman was Katherine Graves, a former student, who left him for another woman. Another first. I'm sure there were many other women before he hooked up with Becky Parfitt, a Swarthmore connection, and his longest long-distance relationship. I'm guessing that happened in 1989, at his 25th Swarthmore reunion. He made a chapbook for it, Oldest Living Inhabitant. By then, I was thoroughly expunged, my name erased. But the poems of that journey are what survive my relationship with John. Even if I'm reduced to a single pronoun.
from DROPPING THINGS AT NIGHTAnd from CHAPARRAL PEAK
I drop things in the night
and you get mad
knowing that tendencies are close to final.
we explore the architonics of Machu Picchu
on a recurring map of dreams.
John Oliver Simon, 8/13-14/1988
Cusco, Peru
I walk around the mountainIn his poems Caminante (1995) he revisited many of our old haunts in Chiapas, Mexico and Arequipa, Peru, I am thoroughly expunged, a ghost of the past. Other than the fact that I witnessed his watercolor painting that is the cover of the book, it was as if I never existed. But I know he thought about me, sending me postcards which I refused to even read. I was still too raw, too wounded. Interesting that he avoided going back to the darkness that was Guatemala. He later apologized to me for what he had done wrong. Or not done right.
arguing in my mind
with the little boy
who's afraid to love
because he might get lost....
He argues with me.
What if she leaves, he says,
what if she clings.
Then what. I'm scared.
I'm all alone in the dark.
John Oliver Simon, 1985
Confronting the Empire
I did not stay for the rest of the tribute reading to John as we had a party of our own to host. Chetana Karel was very surprised to learn that John was my ex. Someone she once knew from the poetry readings at Cody's Bookstore on Telegraph a long time ago. It's a small world, after all.
After I gave John a blue lapis heart, which he always wore on his vest, he used to say to me: if I love you am I trapped forever? Yes, John. Love is forever. Even when I left. I had to. And still you loved me. All this time. No matter what. Such endurance. There was no prison. I never left you, even when I left. Not really. At least at the end, we were able to say unreservedly, I love you once more to each other, and mean it, no holds barred.
Goodnight, Sweetheart. I give you back your blue lapis heart, lost so many years ago in the wash. You are not alone in the dark. You were never alone, and unloved. Safe journey. and may your ashes enrich those secret desert oases you loved so deeply. Right up to they very end. Poetry was your alternate mistress. The desert was your real lover. Perhaps that blue lapis heart is somewhere on the trail whispering deep secret words of love to that pale desert sky.
Earth Day 4/22/18
More on my travels with John Oliver Simon
Andes
Baja
Cabo San Lucas
Chiapas
Ecuador
Falling to Sea Level
Galapagos
Guatemala
Machu Picchu
Mexico
Nazca
Oaxaca
Peru
Tikal
Yucatan
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