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96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
Memory UnsettledNow here's a complicated trip into memory land. Pre-queer, post initial GR dive, where I assumed my interest in a work such as this was as impersonally vague as was my commitment to that long ago engineering track. Now I come to this piece at the close of queer pride and the beginning of disability pride, which is as fitting a time as any to meditate on a collection of poems where AIDS is as Hamlet's father's ghost. Once again, excuse my lackluster appreciation of the more metered side of reading, but after how well Ted Hughes went, I may just be selling my extremely particular tastes short. It's not as if I can't sympathize, especially with the past year of cancer continuing to wring out my heart's blood, but Gunn does come equipped with both Wiki page and father figure swathed in blue upon it, and the manner in which he accessories his Bright Young Things with the non-white and the non-sane smacks of the same self-idolatry as do the tech town buses winding their way through the Tenderloin. It's not quite the scene in Netflix's Tales from the City spin off , but there was enough for me to dwell upon it. An ungrateful viewpoint, perhaps, but these days, it's better to practice biting the hand that feeds, lest you get front row seats to watching the other hand choke the lights out of your neighbor right in front of your dinner plate.
Your pain still hangs in the air,
Sharp motes of it suspended;
The voice of your despair —
That also is not ended:
When near your death a friend
Asked you what he could do,
'Remember me,' you said.
We will remember you.
Once when you went to see
Another with a fever
In a like hospital bed,
With terrible hothouse cough
And terrible hothouse shiver
That soaked him and then dried him,
And you perceived that he
Had to be comforted,
You climbed in there beside him
And hugged him plain in view,
Though you were sick enough
And had your own fears too.
Some of the poems in this book refer to friends who died before their time. For the record — for my record if for no one else's, because they were not famous people — I wish to name them here: 'The Reassurance' and 'Lament' are about Allan Noseworthy; 'Terminal' and 'Words for some Ash', Jim Lay; 'Still Life', Larry Hoyt; 'To the Dead Owner of a Gym' and 'Courtesies of the Interregnum', Norm Rathweg; 'Memory Unsettled', 'To a Dead Graduate Student' and 'The J Car', CHarlie Hinkle, lines from whose Poems are quoted as an epigraph to Part 4. Two more, Lonnie Leard and Allen Day, enter less directly into other poems.