Dear Irene,
Was this picture taken in your office? Maybe at home, but I'm guessing from the style of phone it's at West Virginia Wesleyan. Frostburg used the photo for your reading in September. Did you help them pick it out? It looks to me like a black and white version is used in part by the Intermountain in Elkins, so I'm guessing your family likes. So do I.
Talbott Funeral home says they're receiving friends from four til nine tonight and it's already 3 p.m. I could drive the four plus hours to Belington and still make it if I leave within an hour, but I haven't gotten any work done today, since I've spent the last four hours thinking on you.
I haven't got any work done and they're still blowing up our mountains (Doh, of course nothing has miraculously changed since Saturday) I'm still looking for a community fund to apply for a Knight grant to train more voices in our region to tell their stories. And interest the national press in better explaining what's going on. Knight's "live chat" is tomorrow at noon, just about when they will be in the midst of the celebration of your life. I could slip out, even though I don't own a laptop. Google tells me the library over on Elliot is open all day and has net access computers. I just liked the library's page on facebook. So that makes
I could drive the nine hours round trip, meet your family and friends. Even walk around town and imagine your childhood. Ask directions to the farm. But besides the grant, Dendron needs help stopping a new coal plant and in Giles they're still dumping ash on the banks of the New. A friend in the Scott wants to complain about facebook and how not everybody has and The Guardian has published me since December.
But you're a higher priority. That song Leadbelly made famous echoes in my mind. Not the verses, mind you--the context is off--but the chorus:
Good night IreneMade me wonder what you thought of that song? It's been recorded since by so many folks from The Weavers and Johnny Cash to Michelle Shocked and Tom Waits. Heck I was just now readying that even Raffi has a version.
Good night Irene
Good night Irene
I'll see you in my dreams.
I can't ask you anymore in person or in letters or facebook unless I imagine your reply, which isn't usually my nature. Although that WOULD make an interesting writing prompt. The Gazette says they're burying you tomorrow, but not sure about the four plus hour drive. I do plan to sit shiva for at least the next week. It's not like you were Jewish, nor am I close enough kin as it's usually defined. But, that phrase comes to mind as an explanation: kindred spirits.
I thought about how I'd say we're connected, when I was looking for a photograph to use at the top of this post.
It looks like the same one the used, although in black and white. But not only did that image come up for several of your readings but also on a review of Jayne Anne Phillips Fast Lane on Critical Mob.
Looking at the page, I couldn't see why. And when I search for you on the site, there wasn't an entry. Then I saw it tucked away on a tab labelled "connections." And not on the one marked "influences." I can't claim that you influenced my writing. I hadn't read enough of you, even though you were named poet laureate years before we met in Charleston. But we were (and I am) writing from a set of common concerns, if not backgrounds.
Thanks to Vic, I'm listening to you reading three of your poems from that October when I last saw you:
- "Homage to Hazel Dickens"
- "At 24"
- "Sunday Morning, 1950"
(I hadn't noticed when Vic posted it to his blog last April, but the West Virginia Book festival posted it in a remembrance. )
I'm also listening Llewellyn McKernan interview you at the West Virginia Writers Summer Conference:
- your approach to how to start writing writing memoir, how she adapted her draft to write essays to be recorded on NPR and the feedback loop to the memoir
- your take on the status and history of the development of Appalachian literature from the times of Louise McNeill and James Still, and
- your thoughts on writing process and teaching creative writing.
Just wish I had known about it before the Book Festival. I might have asked you to continue the discussion, either when we were sitting on that bench together or during your reading when you asked for questions from the audience.
Irene, think of this as a poem for you without line breaks. Or NaNoWriMo by a poet and ten months early (Jean Larsen asked me Thursday night at Hollins, was I ever going to write a novel.) Don't know if I'll have more time to write you today. I've been sitting here now, pushing aside other things for a good five hours before I even took a break to get something to eat. The emergeny Lemon Luna Bar I keep in my purse was long gone. The Lightlife organic Tempeh tastes like after several days the last bit has turned.
Don't know if I'll have more time to write you today. If not, goodnight, Irene. I'll hear you in my dreams. Related Content






