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The Magician of Sandy Hill by Phil Mader

(in memory of my friend, Juan O'Neil - old friend of Leonard Cohen)

Just below Cobourg Park
Where ancient Indians are entombed
We met at poet Rob Craig's place
For the first time.
When time was so bounteous and we fashioned it
Into a long snaking safari of parties,
And poets , and "Sasquath" . by Bytowne's
antediluvian rivers .
And under the sledge hammer of life
We tried so hard to be free
Running, when we could, like happy children on benzedrine
Evading the true heart of our demons
Though chanting our pain like antique clerics
I playing Freud
You Plato
I, a Jew, with crippled tongue but powerful ears
You an Oscar Wilde who could never keep quiet
We were the perfect pair
Until I grew an appendage between my lips.
And bitterness began its swell in our aging veins.

But never did the hot throbbing sun of mutuality
And understanding quit us.
It sat there in the pale blue sky seemingly forever.

And you ran the ship of "Sasquatch "
With a captain's fondness of craft
Always the good shepherd' caring for his flock
Counting, nursing, prodding, encouraging
Myself and all the other hopefuls.


So, in memory of our life together
Let us laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh
The way we always did
(No one laughed with such gusto as you, except maybe me)
And let us squat in the desert of the Sierra Madres
Watching our hard -earned gold dust
Vanish into the storm
To the four corners of the earth
But before that we'll trudge to the mine site
And repair the mountain's wounds
And I will say I'm sorry, and Hemmingway
Will say he's sorry and Fidel will say
He's sorry, and you will say you're sorry
And everything will be ok.
Me packing my bags for British Columbia
And you bundling trowels and shovels into yours.
Where now?, I ask.
To that garden well above the Ensenada de Gaspar
And I can see it now among your grandfather's elegant roses
The most exquisite, tender lemon tree

Like the one you planted many many years ago in your Laurier Bachelor Apartment
Whose baby, mint winter -sunned leaves you caressed so touchingly with child's fingers...

Like the abundant bountiful delicate magic you planted for all of Us
For a sumptuous great multitude of seasons
At the humming crossroads of Sandy Hill.

I am certain that I am poorer for not knowing this person, may he rest in peace, and not being knowledgeable of his work, but I am richer having read your words for him. And may you be well and comforted by memories, and have many properous years. I humbly offer this for all mourners.......

Compassion

Again, my Lord, from my fragile soul
A chain of dewy diamonds drip
And cling to my trembling chin
And adorn my neck,
Where You’ve hung
A choker too tight, too heavy
With rubies too great to swallow
For all to see.
And is that an emerald,
Large as a stone?
I cannot tell.
(Perhaps it’s just as well…..)
Would I not be seemlier
If this weighty, precious mass
I did not wear?
Or if I simply did not care?
Yet, as Thy beneficiary
I will
In due time
For this lovely gift
Thank You, personally.

Oh, dear, Phil. I didn't realize that this man was your friend, as well. I am so sorry for your loss. Your words for him are so evocative and rich with detail and memory ~ such a fine tribute. I only wish that when I were mourning, I could do even proportionally as well... for the most part, I seem to numb into virtual silence. Yours is such a beautiful and robust tribute. What a friend you've lost... a fellow adventurer embracing life. He obviously brought so much to yours. Your mutual respect and friendship remained despite the many changes the years bring. I'm only sorry he's unable to comment to you upon your poem. He is no doubt appreciating it from anear or afar. Such a being.

I loved your 'packing' scene... and this one:

To that garden well above the Ensenada de Gaspar
And I can see it now among your grandfather's elegant roses
The most exquisite, tender lemon tree

Like the one you planted many many years ago in your Laurier Bachelor Apartment
Whose baby, mint winter -sunned leaves you caressed so touchingly with child's fingers...

He seemed to have been touching it with his childhood memories, through his fingers... and you were finally able to see it and understand why.

This is such a beautiful tribute to an obviously beautiful man, one who embraced and loved life.


Love,
Lizzy

Thanks Nightstalker and lizzy for your caring words....and for that "seer's "poem, Nightstalker.

lizzy, the packing and gold dust scenes are inspired by the movie,
"Treasure of the Sierra Madre", which I recommend to any person trying to find solace after a great loss.

Ensenada de Gaspar (Gaspar's Cove) is part of the coastline along Santiago de Cuba where Juan was born. His father was Irish Canadian and his mother , Cuban, whose own father was a German immigrant to Cuba who prospered for a time in coffee wholesaling. His grandfather and grandmother, the Fromms, grew and tended a gorgeous garden which Juan enjoyed immensely as a child, a discovery that no doubt
gave him his green thumb and love of plants.

"embraced and loved life" . Yes , he did indeed. He experienced great highs and sometimes great lows , but no one I know could speak about the small joys of life with such great zest and enthusiasm in their voice.

lizzy, your loving words impress me, and comfort me , thanks.

Btw, lizzy , I posted my reply to the letter I received from the CBC after complaining about that nauseous literary obit. for Irving Layton by Marche. (news...Layton).

and thanks again Nightstalker for taking the time to fashion that "seer's" poem...yes, the paradox... . btw, I much like your signature statement "For the captain had quitted the long drawn strife And in far Simoree had taken a wife." (R Kipling)!


Hasta la vista to you both ...very soon
- Phil

Dear Phil ~

I'm gratified to know that my words have a positive effect with you in your loss. I know how much it means. Sometimes it barely matters what anyone says, as long as they express genuine caring, and don't dismiss or try to talk you out of how you feel. It sounds like that movie has a lot to offer in this kind of situation, with the way you've incorporated it. I also appreciated what Nightstalker wrote, but wanted you to be able to respond first.

He experienced great highs and sometimes great lows , but no one I know could speak about the small joys of life with such great zest and enthusiasm in their voice.

It must have been wonderful to listen to him. That really is what life is all about, isn't it? For all the lows, it sounds like Juan made such very best of the highs that he brought his own awareness and appreciation, of all that life has to offer, to others. What a gift. I hope he's been successful, as he hoped, to help someone else avoid some of his own pitfalls and mistakes. I'm certain he has been, and will continue to be. We learn from our poets. [I finally found my way to the photo/word tribute to him. Beautiful. Again, such interesting looking people in the photos.]

Yes!! I read your letter and then responded to Red Poppy's comments, via Layton's own words. You are oh so right, in what you're saying! What grievous oversights! Excellent response you wrote. If only the eyes could see and the ears could hear... unbelievable.


Love,
Lizzy