This was the extent of our e-mail correspondence:
***
ME: Hey Christian. Here's my poem. I'd love to have yours as well!
[POEM: "Time for Coffee, Sleepyhead" attached]
CHRISTIAN: Stephen, I fucking love the poem man. jesus. it's just got this incredible style. and its jesus's day to rise from the dead and he's saying jesus, what a poem. ha. what poets/writers are you really into? "Put a feverish hand on the frosted windowpane Return to the world The world of dead grandparents Of bygone lovers Of the "here and now" Of once-upon-a-time The ice cream man is shriveled..." etc. I coulda just put the whole poem in " "
But yeah, the judge's name is Joanna Solfrian, she's a poet who won the Stan and Tom Wick First Book of Poetry Prize. Part of the deal for winning is 2000 bucks and teaching a workshop to students back in oct and also judging the comp we both won for. Me and Mark, the one who won first place, took the workshop back in Oct and she was great. You should check out her book, its called Visible Heavens (KSU Press). Here's one of the poems I like
[POEM: "Response To A Lover" by Joanna Solfrian]
Anyway here's my poem too-
-Christian
[POEM: "Quiet Gutter Birthday Curb" attached]
***
I never responded, and I never saw him again.
Just last month, Christian gave his life to a train in Kent near Middlebury road.
As I barely knew him, I won't waste time with a narcissistic conveyance of my emotional response. He was a great talent in Kent's literary circle, and I'd like to share one of his very beautiful poems in remembrance. In the way you can see his passion oozing from the words of his e-mail, his performance evinces his love for and dedication to his craft. Admirable, to say the least.
