Showcasing Poets Lost to AIDS
A few weeks ago, the Poets House Showcase season came to a bitter-sweet close. A sense of nostalgia hung in the air like the parting phrase of a musical piece, its chords slowly straining towards quiet. Yet it was only after the poets began to speak that I understood the origins of these somber notes. Dedicated to poets lost to AIDS, the last reading of the series conveyed that the showcase was more than a celebration of new literary feats. Published this year, Persistent Voices: An Anthology of Poets Lost to AIDS (Alyson Books) revisits recent history that affected the New York poetry scene: the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s. Yet the reading did not focus on the sickness itself, but highlighted the lives and poetic accomplishments of poets such as Reginald Shepherd, Tim Duglos, Paul Monette and Tory Dent—to name a few . It also gave their friend a chance to muse and to mourn. Star Black, who knew many of the poets in the anthology, prefaced her reading, saying “I find myself missing so many people. I came to New York in 1978. I was here when nobody knew what was going on.” As she read Paul Monette’s work, she shared with the audience that Paul and his partner Rodger both suffered from AIDS, but while Rodger died immediately, Paul lived and wrote for nine more years. As Black told us that Paul, blind, would write as he sat next to Rodger’s grave, she contributed to the depth of lines such as “love needs no eyes”. Mortality and undying love are perhaps the two most popular themes in writing. Yet, knowing that each of the poets in the book so deeply understood the value and fleeting nature of life, the poems contained the uncanny pathos of the odes of Horace. I walked out with Jean, my friend and fellow intern. We found it hard to say anything to each other, both having witnessed something sacred in the minds of those forced to look beyond this life. Finally, Jan broke the silence: “It is just so hard to comprehend how people can suffer so much by wanting to be close to one another.” This tragic irony makes the AIDS epidemic too sublime for twenty-somethings to grasp until we hear the poetry of its witnesses. As they voiced their friends’ words, the readers in Kray Hall at the last showcase reading demonstrated the healing power of language— its ability to both acknowledge loss and mend with beauty.
-Alyssa Rapp
