Thomas R. Turner, May 23, 1942 – November 13, 2014 — Image by kenne
Standing above me in Smith’s
Awkwardly looking down through a clipped hesitancy
Our lives came together.
From within, mutually canceling
Vignettes of naturalness and gender-cliche.’
She kissed through closed lips of
Pristine openness.
Innocently I loved.
After my return from the war
I stepped into a world of Kafkaesque embraces; yearning . . .
Paled with particular sensations
I was momentarily blinded.
I could taste the t.s. eliot peach that I dared to eat.
Looking at you the way you love the first person
Whoever touched you
And never quite that way again
I savored my idea of you but missed the obvious.
Paradoxes betray the limits of logic
Not of the reality, we shared.
Your “passion” was stillborn through so dame necessary.
The aesthetics of my artifice went against the grain:
Recreation, utilitarian achievements, and another
sexuality
Were hidden karmas of your soul.
My recondite preoccupations rung up as
No sale.
But let’s
Skip the arguments.
I already know how the story ends:
A not so cryptic message –
Don’t be naive
You could only gaze into the distance at my life.
— from 24 to Harwood and Cropsey — No Road Back Home by Tom Turner
######
A Brother Lost
Now that it’s daylight at five,
I am awakened by the
Soft sounds of morning doves,
Delaying for a moment
My feet hitting the floor —
Just long enough
To think about my brother
Who no longer writes,
Calls or returns mine.
There’s no reason.
He has never needed
A reason to not call —
For him,
calls need a reason,
even made up ones —
Sharing a quote,
Name now forgotten,
Need to reach out.
Now lost in the northwest,
Imprisoned by his mind,
Lacking courage to create.
Now each day, I live with
Words no longer spoken,
Words no longer written.
— kenne
So beautiful, kenne. What a portrait; love your poem, too. Tom is ‘only in the next room’ in the words of Henry Scott Holland. Keep up your end of the conversation…
I know Tom is ‘only in the next room’ and continues to be a vital part of my life. I channel him daily. I have scheduled a posting tomorrow that contains a poem by Galway Kinnell. Tom introduced me to this great American poet. As always, I appreciate your comments.
The poem “A Brother Lost” was written when he did not respond to my attempts to connect. I know now that the pain of living had overtaken him — it’s a long story.
Reblogged this on Becoming is Superior to Being and commented:
Thinking of my brother Tom on his birthday. Time moves on. — kenne
Happy Birth Day Tom. Miss you.