This morning I lost a wonderful inspiring friend, Allan Kornblum. Ive never known anyone more totally alive than Allan Kornblum. No one was more energizing to the independent publishing world. His wife Cinda reports that on his last night she played John Coltranes A Love Supreme for him, and read him this great poem by William Carlos Williams, The Descent, (which Ill post here, though FB removes all the open-field formatting): THE DESCENT The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned Memory is a kind of accomplishment a sort of renewal even an initiation, since the spaces it opens are new places inhabited by hordes heretofore unrealized of new kinds— since their movements are toward new objectives (even though formerly they were abandoned) No defeat is made up entirely of defeat—since the world it opens is always a place formerly unsuspected. A world lost a world unsuspected beckons to new places and no whiteness (lost) is so white as the memory of whiteness With evening, love wakens though its shadows which are alive by reason of the sun shining— grow sleepy now and drop away from desire Love without shadows stirs now beginning to awaken as night advances The descent made up of despairs and without accomplishment realizes a new awakening: which is a reversal of despair For what we cannot accomplish, what is denied to love what we have lost in the anticipation— a descent follows endless and indestructible —William Carlos Williams
Posted on: Sun, 23 Nov 2014 17:52:21 +0000
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