From Jack Foley just received this from Laura Eden: Dave died today at 2:30pm. His daughter Kathy and her husband Eric were here with me. He just seemed to gently slip away. We will be having a memorial in a few weeks but we need to work out the details with his family in Oregon. Please pass the word...This time it is true, sadly, but at least he is out of pain. Adelle and I visited him yesterday: he was clearly failing. My radio show tomorrow (3 p.m., KPFA) is the first half of a two-part tribute to this wonderful poet. There will be a memorial, but details have yet to be worked out. Some years ago I wrote: The poetry of H.D. Moe is an enormously refreshing production of a mind which interests itself in everything. “Passage to more than India,” wrote Walt Whitman, “...are they not all the seas of God?” They certainly are in the poetry of H.D. Moe! In its brilliance his work is capable of illuminating not only the “world”—what Ron Silliman called “the onslaught of disconnected and often horrifying details that make up our experience of contemporary life”—but its own processes as well. As we read through Birth to Birth and enter into its “certain unknown” we become aware again and again of the wide variety of ways in which this poetry presents and fashions itself with extraordinary vim, verve and accuracy: “embellishing just forever an Irish vibecode.”
Posted on: Wed, 21 Aug 2013 02:18:27 +0000
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