Elegy For Kevin Elyot* I know it’s sad, all this going, I have the English dread of change, want it always all the same— prefer to channel loss, not growing. This elegiac tone really gets my goat, everything shrouded in sentimental mist; poems written in the aftermath, the poet pissed. I think it’s time to grab elegy by the throat and shake it hard, that from its strangled cry we might detect what poetry it really has to offer. Or whether these mourning togs and poseur coiffure simply camouflage the fear to die. So when you left with ne’er a word and friends who loved to see you had no chance to bid adieu, have one last hug or dance, what use is elegy? I think what you preferred was viper wit, gossip and news of all you knew, tidings of great adventures destined to fail, anything that let you weave a tale to regale your friends, who can’t believe it’s true. There is no more of you.
*Kevin Elyot 1951-2014
