So many people die, it is often hard to keep track. Two lesser-known figures in popular culture were recently the subject of obituaries in The Guardian: Michael Gough and Mark Tulin. I met Gough once years ago after a play in London - he was very kind. I knew him best from Brideshead Revisited and, later, the Batman films. Mark Tulin was the bass player for the greatest American garage band of the 60s, The Electric Prunes, one of my favourite bands. They heavily influenced some of the music my brother later played, in Montreal, as a bass player in the 1990s. Both talented men will be missed.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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