For Norman Goldstein 1925-1994 By Jack Foley
Grown accustomed to elegy
in this rainy weather,
I think about your warmth and dry wit,
the way you could say “woo woo”
and make it funny and pertinent at the same time,
the jokes you spoke to waitresses
with your smile and beard,
reminding me that the word “satire” comes from “satyr.”
Norman
I rented The Secret Life of Plants
so I could see you in it
What can I rent now to see you as you are
“Is it really you or did I get an especially good recording?”
I was not easy to reach by telephone
“Shall we dim sum it?”
And we did
often at your expense
“How about that Japanese place in Montclair?”
The secret of your life was food and wonderful talk
You knew much and always took the risk of learning more
You loved:
the American Movie Channel, Bravo, and musical comedies
Now when I hear again Kurt Weill and Gershwin I will
remember you and your kindnesses
“I've got it, I'll record it for you”
“Lou Harrison–yes, I knew him in the old days.”
You knew Duncan and Varda too, and you put on a poetry reading
Mais c'est un rêve
you would recognize that I think
une folie
It’s a dream a
madness
Il n’y a pas
There's no such place
de Youkali
as Youkali
But it’s a dream
a fantasy
There's no such place
as Youkali
And now,
dear Norman,
there’s no you either
In that near, far, totally other place
what lunches will you have? what companions?
I can say anything to you
and know you will understand me
with that thoughtful, intelligent, witty, compassionate, Buddhist mind of yours
(and is that scattered?)
You chose the moment of your death with courage and determination
“It's enough,” you said, “enough”
There is a restaurant in Montclair
where I will have lunch
and hope your spirit
comes to me
All lives are secret
or, as you might have said, loving puns,
sacred
It's not a dream
We lose those we love
but we love
anyway
