Saturday commute lxvii: attempting heaven's coast

I'm glad not to expect

to get beyond a delight-

ed shock, on seeing in

someone's house I might

visit, the little snap-

shot framed on a night

table or a desk, of a

moment of play such as

this from the beach. My

surprise amuses me, as

I know it must mark my

years, and memories of 

times when this would

be unthinkable. Does

it take boldness to be

happy nowadays? What
would it be like, if
not?

         In a diary for Heaven's Coast, Mark Doty
         wrote during Wally's illness: 

         I have this feeling that there's a word
         behind my life I can't quite say, a word
         that's pulling at everything, a word
         that's keeping me from writing because
         it's just too hard to say it.

One recognises a fierce, tenacious
literature that's in these often
campy little keepsakes, right away.
They portray the defeat of morbid-
ity, in games with which a whole
life came into being by destroy-
ing it. I always wince, still, at
the excessive privilege of setting
eyes on private memories of Kauai
or Cape Cod, but they enhance my
respect, erasing any envy. I never
feel left out, somehow, but let in.

      

                     


















     So you saw, then,
     Hercule, that my
     shoulder framed
     this hand to be
     anyone's, not
     just mine.

     Never just yours,
     Auguste, or ever
     just anyone's. 

Mark Doty
Heaven's Coast
  A memoir
Harper Collins, 1996©