I reread the story and thought, "Who has a friend like this."
To answer a different question, "Having a friend like this felt like being always alert for danger, if not personally, at least for that friend. If part of my grief is about feeling I failed him, I was never able to keep up with my friend, only enjoy him.
Arta
You've captured what I didn't have words for, and is so true about loving Clyde Forsberg. He spoke truth to power and that feels like such a dangerous choice. I never got to hear him whisper his truth. I only got to hear it shouted from the roof tops, as it were.
ReplyDeleteClyde wrote, "... his real crime was 'aiding and abetting poetry.'"
ReplyDeleteDamn, he had a way with words.
Yes, Clyde did have a way with words. "Aiding and abetting poetry" indeed.
ReplyDeleteWhen Clyde was searched, and CD's were found, his interrogator asked, "What shall we do with these."
Clyde said, "You should listen to them."
The disks were Clyde's music.
I don't want to say that it was the sass of Clyde that I enjoyed, though I did enjoy that.
It was really the metaphors that he left with me that lingered. I was worried, when after COVID, Clyde said he was not getting his breath back.
Another metaphor for me to think about. In my case, I am always asking the question, what am I doing with the breath I do have and expel.