Write something
Don’t rush me
I need time to come alive again…
–H.D. Moe
It’s been a month now, and it is still difficult to write another post about another death. 2013 has not been kind to poets. But for H.D. (David) Moe, we were able to celebrate his life achievement and hear him read before he stepped into the blue beyond, and that, I felt, gave some comfort to those who knew him.
David published my first book of poem, Mystique, under Beatitude Press. He took me through the process, even though at that time he was physically weak from hepatitis treatment. Sometimes at readings David looked like he was sleeping. But one time he raised his head after I read and told me to reconsider the word “fly” in one of my lines.
“It sounded too much like a fly, the insect…but that’s not what you want,” he remarked, and dropped his head back on his chest again.
High on poetry, David wrote every day even when he was in hospice. He left us volumes of poetry, some yet to be published. After his death, poems and tributes came pouring in. Jack Foley and I put together a volume titled A Medal For H.D. Moe under the imprint, Poetry Hotel Press.
Date for the memorial is Sunday October 20 from Noon to evening at the Humanist Hall, 390 27th and Broadway, Oakland. It is a potluck event because David loved potlucks. David’s poetry books will be available on that day.
Blessed Beatitude
Blessed Beatitude
deathday is birthday
Shooby-doo tiddlywinks
Baby Beat in a stammering rocket
latitudinal attitude
the world a pease
Syncopated synchronicity
Go gentle, Eros
in a Japanese silk Kimono
giggyup from word pools
sand pearls mirages charades
deepburp bleep blink
Thinking dreams
waking blackouts
we tread
on thin vapors
wild roller-coasters
Moe’s translations
