Willa Cather once wrote, “Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.” This is a thing I’ve been trying to do in my poetry, I think. Refining that “sense of truthfulness” is really all about asking whether I’m dancing around blathering bullshit or actually standing there, flat-footed, talking true.
At the beginning of 2014, a colleague and a friend was going through some rough. He had developed throat cancer, and after months of struggling with it, he made the decision not to continue the treatment . He was a humble, private man, quiet and self-sufficient, and he did not want a lot of hoo-hah about it. He chose to go quietly into the long night.