BILL BERKSON R.I.P.

Poet Bill Berkson had movie star good looks and a true gentleman's manners. Every encounter I had with him from the almost fifty years we knew each other was a pleasure. Our backgrounds couldn't have been more different, and yet we shared some things in common despite that. Others knew him better and were closer to him, but no matter how well you knew him, if you knew him you will miss him. Condolences to all his family, friends and fans. And here, from a book of his I randomly plucked from my shelves is a poem from his 1975 book ENIGMA VARIATIONS:

Poem

Like angels, I can only arrive
On the point of your admiration,
And what kind of thing is that
For a grown man?
                             But what I really want
Is to do what I can
For nothing in particular,
Letting the black holes rip,
As they may, through your lives,
And golden light on the stones
just before sundown, anywhere.



And I've had this quote in my head since I wrote down from his book RECENT VISITORS back in 1973:

Buddhism says it is possible to get your
mind together like the wings of a butterfly.
It is also possible not to get your mind
together and still exist like a butterfly
but with no wings.