Page 29 - Litteratteur Redefining World December issue

Litterateur redefining world December 2020

On June 27, 2016 Adelle died as a result of
stomach cancer. It was a terrible blow and
I might have gone on for years grieving SANGYE
and bursting into tears on a daily basis
had I not met an extraordinary young
woman: Sangye Land.

That arose in magic

I think grief might be defined as the simultaneous

absence and presence of the loved one. To some
extent we feel this with anyone who is not around,
but the stunning fact of death intensifies the
feeling beyond belief. We don't "get over" grief: we
subsume it, it becomes a part of us.Death as a life-
changing event! I felt that Adelle's death turned
me--no matter how much joy and laughter I have
left--into a man of sorrow. That, I think, is really
what Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner" is about. The
"moral" at the end--"He prayeth best who loveth
best"--is just icing on the cake for 19th-century
readers. It's really about the stain of death.
Jack and Sangye
I met Sangye Land, daughter of poet Julie Rogers, stepdaughter of poet David
Meltzer, on December 28, 2016. I came to the house Sangye and Julie shared with
David to pay my respects to my old friend, who was on his deathbed. I wanted to say
goodbye and to tell him what I would say about him after his death--which I did. The
full weight of grief was still upon me and I appeared with that dark shadow hanging
over me. I hardly expected to fall in love, but that is what happened. I had seen
Sangye once before--at a distance--and thought her astonishingly beautiful. Today,
her mother was grieving and less visible, and Sangye, though grieving also, was
greeting visitors and escorting them in to see David. I had come to the house with my
friend Carl Landauer, and there were several people there. As I entered, Sangye
walked over to me, hand extended, and said, "I don't believe I know you." I was
stunned. What do you say when a beautiful woman indicates that she would like to
know you? You tell her about yourself, you ask about her. As I waited, and as she
rose to greet people, Sangye and I spoke. I don't remember exactly what we said--
though I recall something about Yeats (I was surprised to discover that she hadn't
read him), about her interest in the Irish, about a poem of David's that was a mutual
favorite ("I love that poem!" she said), and about Italians who pinch. But the words

were all like music accompanying a scene that goes beyond words. I was certainly
falling in love but the situation seemed utterly impossible: she was far too young. I
was not even very clear about her name, which I had never heard before. It was some
time later, through Facebook, that I discovered how to spell it. (It means "Buddha" in
Tibetan: like some of my heroes--Allen Ginsberg, for example--she is Tibetan
Buddhist.)

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