Monday, June 25, 2012

You're So Vain

You probably think this play is about you.

One of my dearest friends, Soozie Luftig McMeans Richardson Ginsberg died suddenly, though not unexpectantly, from lung cancer.



I'm in Santa Fe where she lived, married to Jerry, down the road from her son, Willie Bo Richardson, his wife Kimberly, and their 4 yr old daughter, Audrey. I left as soon as I learned of her death. I wanted to be with people who knew and loved her.
Though she and I had lived together many years ago in Rancho de Taos in Dr. Dominquez house, we had remained very close through the years.
Almost immediately upon arrival in Santa Fe, I began to hear and learn things bout Soozie as an artist I had never known or never known thoroughly. I knew she had been a potter, a photographer but then people told me she had written a play, "Just Like Marilyn Monroe" which had been produced. I wanted to see the vhs tape that had been done on the play.
My host and old friend Bob Richardson from Bard College days handed me a copy of a poem Soozie had written for me on my birthday in '06 which I (was so self centered) I never read:

to eric

my old love
of
sixty years
thirty six of them i’ve known you
your voice comes to me via advanced cellular
technology
and yet
keeps breaking up
coming and going
like love

my old love
tells me about duchamp
and chess and art, not art
descending a staircase
(didn’t we see that show in new york at the whitney or
moma?
1970?)
you move out of cellular range
but call back
not a ring, but miles davis polyphonic ringtone
your voice again.
lancaster?  did you say you’re in lancaster?

we both remember miles
his lusty eyes fixated on my
transparent silk blouse
rusty cocaine voice and red ghetto walls
matched the roses from yoko ono
oh no
you took her note to him
didn’t you?
“love, yoko.”
have you sold it on ebay?

you fade away
and return again
something about kinko’s
and robert is driving?
something about four more hours?
it is one in the morning now
and so i see you
driving down the coast
from your san francisco 60th happy birthday, baby.
two thousand bucks on chinese takeout
for sixty friends
a prison tatoo of our virgin
on your daughter’s once perfect arm.
what’s that you say?
not fade away
not fade away
not fade away
my old love.


________________________

beautiful as was she. more later after I take a Bucky Fuller 5 minute nap.










No comments:

Post a Comment