thisnewday

I alleged that I would surely know it when I saw it, Gallagher's poem. But this morning, sitting, trying to calm myself, to reach equilibrium after a fit of coughing, I opened her book and, reading the second poem, realized that I had found it.

Why is it that remembered things are never as they once had seemed? Do we idealize, vilify, and for what reason?

Perhaps it is that what's remember is not the thing itself, but the wave on which we had once ridden when we first encountered it, the wonder, the electric current from wherever, that lights our senses with new discovery.

Then, after taking the necessary readings, recording the proof of my fitness to endure the surgeon's insult, I read her poem again. And the one before it and the one after it.

If not ecstatic, I was pleased. And my soul, having found its equilibrium, knew within itself that it was ready for the moving on...

LPK
Dreamwidth
2.14.2019

It's snowing outside and the letter carrier left tracks up the walk and across the driveway because I'm unable to shovel a path for her as I normally would. And so I knew that there must be something out there for me, in the box that's mounted beside the front door.

And, inside of it, after I'd brushed an inch or two of snow from the lid, was a small, cardboard box with the Amazon smiley on it. So I figured it must be the two books I'd ordered the other day but hadn't expected to receive so quickly.

Which, in the case of one of them, was a bit of a concern since it was for the book club meeting that's only 16 days from now. I'd been passing the time, still immersed in Carr's biography of Carson McCullers, and had let too much of it slip by me.

The other book was one that I'd been reminded of by a recent post by our friend bluecatartist, Tess Gallagher's Moon Crossing Bridge. I was pretty sure I still had a copy of it, at the house in the city, from many years ago when I was deeply involved in the life and work of Raymond Carver and that of his lover, and then wife, Tess Gallagher.

In particular, I was reminded of a poem in Moon Crossing Bridge which is the moving and tender collection of love poems written by her following Carver's passing. But, you know, it'd been so long and so much had happened in my own life that I couldn't even remember the name of the poem.

So I went back to my old journal, at LJ, hoping to find it there because, in those days, I had often quoted entire songs or poems, as well as shorter passages, of things that I'd found, been touched by, and wanted to share. And I was sure that the MCB poem had been one of them.

Unfortunately, also in those days, I was not in the habit of "tagging" entries so that they could easily be found by typing in a key word. And I was ultimately unable to find this one.

And the feeling of loss that came with this realization just wouldn't let me alone, would not be tolerable, I knew, until the next time my daughter and I made it into the city and I could search for Gallagher's book in the myriad boxes now stacked in the house.

And so, when I belatedly ordered my book club selection, I also ordered Ms. Gallagher's Moon Crossing Bridge.

When I began to tear open the box, my first thought was about the club selection. But when I caught a glimpse of the book underneath it, I was startled to find that it was a hardbound edition, with one of those nice, library-style sleeves over its cover.

And then, as I slid it from under the book club selection, I noticed a bright orange sticker on it which said, "Autographed Edition."

And I was just stunned. Hurriedly, I leafed through to the title page and there, scribbled across the by-line, was "Tess Gallagher, 4/30/92," the year of its publication.

And suddenly, as I was trying to negotiate the stairs up to my office, my eyes welled with tears. Because in my hands was a thing which I knew had been written from the very soul of one who had suffered a prolonged and difficult loss and had poured her heart out on these pages for the one she had loved so deeply.

And had then signed it in her own hand before sending it off to be placed, eventually, in mine. At least, that's how it felt. And, in fact, still does.

In this way, I'll always be grateful to her for sharing this gift with the world and, for a second time, with me.

And maybe, when I'm more composed and have had some time to search it out, I'll share the poem here that sent me on this quest in the first place...

LPK
Dreamwidth
2.12.2019