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In memoriam Tom Clark (pictured here), 1941–2018

. . . mere excursions don't suffice on visits

To dead cities—excavation too's required,

Cries out the hungry unborn poem

Within us, demanding to exist as

If alive

—Tom Clark, "Fidelity"

I never listen to the news!

They say Vitellius is emperor now.

I slept with his daughter Vitellia.

That was before she married Libo Frugi.

Mozart put her in an opera, you know,

Called La Clemenza di Tito—

Something about Yugoslav partisans

In World War Two.

Funny isn't it how we say “slept with”

When we really mean fucked.

In fact, I hardly slept with her. She snores.

And Libo Frugi, what a dick!

I hear Vespasian is emperor now.

Don't ever listen to the news.

Envoi

On a summer evening in 2018,

the poet Tom Clark, who loved baseball,

was struck by a car while crossing a street

in Berkeley; he died the next day.

Good night, sweet prince, and flights of shortstops sing thee to thy rest.

Tuesday, October 7, 2025