Watching the one you love die slowly is no joke. Perhaps that sounds flippant, even callous. Some might expect something more passionate, the rhetoric cranked up, each line a howl. There’s howling all right, but others supply it, exactly as we do, watching King Lear or reading Ginsberg – although his ‘best minds’ were simply his close friends. (Lost the thread there for a moment; distraction, even for an unforgiving minute, is welcome, including the time it takes to type this.) Because the howling in here never stops. The howling’s no use, but it never stops. Let me turn up the volume. Is it audible now? Watching the one you love die slowly is no joke.
Harry Ricketts is a poet, biographer, editor and essayist. Born and brought up in England, he lives in Wellington, Aotearoa, New Zealand where he taught for many years in the English Programme at Te Herenga Waka Victoria University of Wellington.