Today is the 205th day of this 365 (July 24), and I am writing post 192 (July 11). This year is overwhelming. I cannot read. I cannot write. I cannot speak.
I am in Portland, at last, again. Tim has been here a lot, and I have been in Maryland a lot, and we pass like ships in the night.
On Sunday, while packing, I decided to bring Deloney’s book along, Songbook for Haunted Boys and Girls. Most of you know Deloney from the last 365 project. And you know that Mlle Vague died last autumn and that Deloney spiraled into depression and possibly attempted suicide and possibly is in a safe space now.
Once, when Deloney bemoaned that he had deleted his posts, I shipped them to him, because I knew he would delete them, so I had printed them out. Some of those made it into the book, I think.
And I was somewhat instrumental in getting the conversation started between him Sewa Yoleme, who published the book. So it is not my book, but I am happy to have helped.
On Sunday, I had trouble finding my copy, which flipped me out and felt metaphorical. Turned out it was on the shelf I thought it was on, just buried. Earlier in the day I had obsessively searched for a tape measurer that I was sure I had put in the toolbox. Turned out it was there, but had found its way into the inside of a roll of duct tape, where it had hidden out.
I found the book. I packed it. I got to Portland yesterday afternoon and saw the news. Shooting in Toronto, in Greektown. The Danforth. Sunday night (July 22). Deloney is no longer there, but where is he? And how could this happen in his neighborhood?
When it was published, I purchased many copies of Songbook and gave it to friends. Here is “Fanny Moons the Athenians”:
Fanny moons the Athenians across the street, then curls in my lap. It’s a long night but a happy one with winter coming. Fanny sleeps on the rads, firm and toasty, half-remembering snow. We’re so much alike, this temperamental cat and I, but she’s going to be young and beautiful forever as I slowly and inevitably begin to resemble Mr. Potatohead. I used to hold her in the palm of my hand and set her down in the big empty ashtray. The old Greeks, pissed as pilgrims, hang out at the Athens Restaurant and Bar. They see Fanny’s silhouette nightly in the window. They used to talk about her, now they sing about her as I do.
Fanny Moons the Athenians is hands-/ass-down my favourite. And I was thinking of Deloney too when I heard the news, particularly when they mentioned Alexander the Great Parkette--I believe that's where he buried Fanny.ReplyDelete
I thought I remembered that too,about where he buried Fanny.Delete
Lovely. Everything you wrote. And then I read Helen, and I'm suddenly mourning the cat that should still be "young and beautiful forever."ReplyDelete
It was shattering to read when she died.Delete
IB: I could not find my copy either even though I looked on every shelf. I was so happy to see it this morning, on the first shelf I'd looked yesterday.ReplyDelete
OK. What's going on in the universe? I find this fascinating.Delete
I want my copy in my hands. It's at Mike's. Isn't it funny how when things happen in the lives of those we've come to love online that it wrenches our hearts as if they are our own.ReplyDelete
I've just said in Dona's post that I'm not satisfied with an e-book copy any longer. I want to keep it.ReplyDelete
And yes, to all the comments. And thank you to IB, for being instrumental in the creation of this book.
I had made a glass Christmas ornament painted with Fanny's name, and Wayne buried it with her. But now, where is Wayne?ReplyDelete
I saw your FB post question with so much silence in response. I thought there were folks nearby who knew. It worries me.Delete
Funny, many years ago Deloney posted a series of monster poems that I loved so much I saved them. And then he deleted them. And then he wished he hadn't deleted them and I sent them to him. Apparently saving things he posts is a good idea.ReplyDelete
Hoping he is getting better, and thinking about rereading my kindle version of his book.
I would like to see the monster poem series. I don't remember them offhand...Delete