Photo courtesy of Ed Baker
This post contains some poems and photographs in tribute to Theodore Enslin, by fellow poets and friends Ed Baker, David Giannini, and John Phillips, as well as a poem by the poet himself. In addition, there is also a link to a brief obituary (and an excerpt from same) and a recording of Brahms Intermezzo, Opus 18, No. 2, which Theodore Enslin requested be played in lieu of a memorial service or other type of observance.
“let me tell you a
"about that chair you’re sitting in
"I call it The Low Down Chair
“it was many years ago now.
“She was a Catholic girl.
& then he took a snap of me w my
little Kodak Instan-matic.
“In THAT LOW DOWN CHAIR
“& It was many years ago
“& lots of poems-into-books came
“and the cane?”
“It’s one that I made.
“I make them. Sell them.
“That’s how I got to be so rich.
“Selling canes. Selling poems.”
a short time later
we walked his property to that Old Pine
“There’s a story in that Old Pine
“You sure take a lot of pictures.
"I’m hungry. You hungry?
“I know a place in town. Great Haddock Chowder
“Ever eat a Bloomin' Onion? Big as a basketball.”
At the diner he flirted w the cute waitress
knew his ways & means
made Love with spoon in chowder
Here are three poems by David Giannini:
THREE POEMS to TED (THROUGH the YEARS)
1 1. AUDUBON SANCTUARY, WELLFLEET
Beyond sanctuary the sea
“so quick to feel surprise and shame”
of waves at crest that suspense
suspension where the soul feels
the soul feels its mirrors mirrors
of salt of our bodies of our blood
of instants of the moon of the tides
spreading us to grains and with
“The earth under our feet we are
not asked to begin nowhere”—
we stand on belief and sand
then step this way to the marsh.
Maybe if you tell it the wind will stop maybe
the long wind if you tell will stop banging its
bells. Maybe the wind will stop if you slip
into the wind silence that wants in maybe
bell longing will come. Maybe your silence
lives inside the will of the wind maybe in
long bells hiding from ruthless interims
of eye. Maybe if you spy them the bells will
stop maybe the long bells if you spy them
will stop if you will. Maybe if you slip into
the silence the wind that wants in will spy
a forest being maybe many still trees. Maybe
if you feel it being tall pine air maybe the
being will be silent ruthless interims of ear.
and move uneasily
in mind (assuming
and curse of it)
despite macular de-
to ground, then
and the final jit-
tery track of
what you always were,
A poem and a photograph of Theodore Enslin by John Phillips:
Photo courtesy of John Phillips
for Ted Enslin
The daffodils are
a number of
& a kind of blue
a swallow just
Here is an excerpt from an obituary in the Daily Bulldog, in Farmington, Maine:
Anyone who knew Ted will be familiar with his desire to have the last word -- so here it is:
"In lieu of a memorial service or other observances, I would prefer that concerned friends in thinking of me might listen to or perform, the Brahms Intermezzo, Opus 118 #2, whenever it might occur to them as appropriate. To me, that one short piece sums up what I might have hoped to achieve in a life in art."
The Way Desideratum
Goodbye, but not
I do not leave you--
land behind me
in the land ahead.
I step the curve,
and curve enough
Photo courtesy of Ed Baker
from the thin curve
of the sickle moon...
one leaf falls
translated by David G. Lanoue
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