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
"story
"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.
“Very pretty.”

& then he took a snap of me w my
little Kodak Instan-matic.

“In THAT LOW DOWN CHAIR
“SHE
“& It was many years ago

“& lots of poems-into-books came
“afterwards.”

“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
who
knew his ways & means

made Love with spoon in chowder

Ed Baker

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.

2. MAYBE SONG

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.

To age

and move uneasily

to become

adventuresome

in mind (assuming

the necessary

foolishness,

the course

and curse of it)

despite macular de-

generation and

the falling

to ground, then

abed,

and the final jit-

tery track of

being

what you always were,

Ted.

David Giannini

A poem and a photograph of Theodore Enslin by John Phillips:

Photo courtesy of John Phillips

LETTER

for Ted Enslin

The daffodils are

just

coming into

bloom

Still

a number of

croci

& a kind of blue

scilla

I found

years ago

in an

abandoned garden

a swallow just

fluttered in

23.4.05

John Phillips

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
goodbye again.
I do not leave you--
land behind me
in the land ahead.
I step the curve,
and curve enough
returns.

Theodore Enslin