Leonard Irving led a double life—one in Vermont, another in San Francisco. When in Vermont he was a husband. When in San Francisco he was a poet. Not that he didn’t write when he was with his wife. They got married when Leonard turned 89 because Randy his wife didn’t want to marry a 90 year old man. When Leonard was in town he had a single rented room in downtown San Francisco, took the bus, went to readings and lived a pure poetic existence. I met Leonard at the fateful Sacred Grounds. He had Scottish roots, white hair , blue piercing eyes, spoke with a musical accent.
Many of Leonard’s poems were about city life. Many bus poems–the waiting and waiting of it. But when his first book came out it was all about birds. Published in 1995 in Vermont, it included Randy’s drawings of wildlife. The book was dedicated to Finnegan.
Leonard stopped coming to San Francisco about three years ago. He had invited me to Vermont. They live in a farm. I like to imagine myself snuggling beside a fire while the outside is blanketed with snow. He and Stephanie Manning correspond from time to time and Stephanie would read his letters to us. Well into his nineties now, Leonard is still jolly.
