I’ve been starting, then deleting, then starting all night. The sorrow over Kevin Killian’s passing goes deep. When I moved from NY to San Francisco, he introduced himself and then so swiftly brought me into the Bay Area poetry community. My debt is immense. My gratitude is immense. My sorrow is immense. Perhaps a regret is how I never told him just how meaningful a role he played in encouraging me to continue with this poetry life. Because it’s hard. But when you find light like his only in (or through) such an arduous landscape, you don’t depart the landscape. In progress: an encyclopedia-length list poem (or list) entitled “Dear Kevin, Thank You For Not Laughing”—here’s one line:
“Thank you for not laughing when I thought bringing a naked poet onstage must require dimming the lights."
I can only return to the poem where I have a chance of being articulate. Outside the poem, my sorrow mostly makes me speechless. For now, R.I.P. and “Thank you for…”, Kevin Killian. Love is a source of difficulty—