Peter Gizzi

The Present Is Constant Elegy

Those years when I was alive, I lived the era of the fast car.

There were silhouettes in gold and royal blue, a half-light in tire marks across
a field – Times when the hollyhocks spoke.

There were weeds in a hopescape as in a painted backdrop there is also a face.

And then I found myself when the poem wanted me in pain writing this.

The sky was always there but useless – And what of the blue phlox, onstage and morphing.

Chance blossoms so quickly, it’s a wonder we recognize anything, wanting one love to walk out of the ground.

Passion comes from a difficult world – I’m sick of twilight, when the light is crushed, time unravels its string.

Along the way I discovered a voice, a sun-stroked path choked with old light,
a ray already blown.

Look at the world, its veil.

The photo I share above is from a brighter moment, it’s from the week in 2004 when we first went through the five Spicer archive boxes that Robin Blaser had sent to the Bancroft. We were so filled with mind-blowing joy at the many treasures that were to be found and were almost breathless as one of us would hold up a sheet and say, “Oh my god! The unfinished letter to Lorca about sounds” or, “Holy Shit! There is an entirely new and longer text to the ‘Oliver Charming’ notebooks,” and it went on like this moment after moment for a full week. We have both said to each other, more than once, that it was one of the best weeks of our lives. How fortunate to share a deep love and regard for a writer. How lucky, in the moment of discovery, to share this affinity with someone I loved. This is fun: Kevin being Kevin, he invited many people to come by to witness the gold we were unearthing. At one point there were six or seven younger people standing around in awe. He transformed the stodgy hush hush of the Bancroft into a happy hour! He made magic and fun out of his life. A major part of what it was for me all these years working in this queer archive compiling My Vocabulary Did This to Me, and helping out with other documents to come, was always to be sharing it with Kevin; it will always be this way. And all the myriad emails and squibs over the years about this or that piece of gossip, lore, or discovery in the ongoing Spicer archive. Kevin’s search never ceased, he was always discovering new things and sharing them. He was willing to share the fruits of his rigorous research and scholarship with anyone, i.e., everyone. He was the most unselfish and unproprietorial person I knew. His generosity and thoughtfulness in every aspect of his life were legion. And his hunger and curiosity were a constant source of wonderment. He was voracious and giving. With his passing we lose an incalculable knowledge of the San Francisco scene and its histories.