LOVING VINCENT IS A MASTERPIECE!

SPEAKING OF VINCENT...

Van Gogh and Grant Wood...

Are they just humble/shy?

Remembering John MacKenzie

What can you say about a brilliant artist, friend, and a great spirit -
after he has left this world forever?
I only know what I can say, and I tried to express my love and admiration for John in a poem I wrote. But it somehow doesn't seem enough.

John MacKenzie passed away on May 3, 2011. He was 89 years old. And he was my dear friend for 12 years.

John listened to me endlessly gripe (when I was in a deep depression). He designed the cover of my first chapbook of poems (for free). He fed me when I was broke and hungry. He encouraged me to make the most of life - even as his own health declined.

He believed art made life worth living. And he was still painting on May 3rd - his last day on this earth. So it's too difficult to say goodbye. I prefer, "I'll be seeing you." And I thank you much for all of your patience and love.

VAN GOGH'S CROWS

If I should die
as the sun sets
and the crows fly

will you forget me?
If I should die
as my blood drips

and the saints cry
will you remember me?
After the paint's dry

and the critics lie
and the crows die
will you forget me?

After I die
and a new sunrise
and the crows fly

will you remember me?

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

VAN GOGH’S CROWS

If I should die
as the sun sets
and the crows fly

will you forget me?
If I should die
as my blood drips

and the saints cry
will you remember me?
After the paint's dry

and the critics lie
and the crows die
will you forget me?

After I die
and a new sunrise
and the crows fly

will you remember me?

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

NUMB

Kurt put a shotgun in his
beautiful mouth: A century
before, Van Gogh's crows
scattered south when

they heard the blast from
a gun pointed at his own
unhappy heart. People put
sunflowers on his pauper's

grave. Hemingway and Brautigan
also used a gun. To save
themselves from writer's block—
ending their last sentence with

a bullet: a hole in the page
of life. But Sylvia chose to
kneel before her tiny gas oven:
one last prayer after all the rage

was written out of her. And Ariel
made her name. While Anne chose to
die in her garage. As she sat
in her car, with the engine

running. Wearing her mother's coat:
something to bring her luck, as she
gambled with Mr. Death. Wanting to
die. Hoping he would win.

They did not rage against the dying
of the light. But welcomed darkness
like an old friend. So if Dylan
Thomas was right—does that make them

insane or dumb? Or too weary to fight?
Sick of the world's beautiful lie.
Afraid of dawn with its terrible light:
Too battered and numb. No tears left to cry.

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

SOMEBODY’S SCREAMING

Walking to Safeway
Vincent's moon and stars above
Somebody's screaming

Haiku © 2010 by Dylan Mitchell

DEATH BECOMES THEM

That's the title of the book I finished reading late last night. It's all about famous and infamous suicides. Everybody's in it: Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Vincent van Gogh, Diane Arbus, Hemingway, Freud, Hitler, Kurt Cobain, Elliott Smith, Abbie Hoffman, etc. The author is Alix Strauss.

I know a depressed person should not be reading books about suicide. However, the book is wickedly morbid and oddly witty. One might even call it entertaining. How the author managed it, I'll never know. The woman is a genius. So I am not entirely to blame.

In truth, I'm grateful to have discovered this book. Suicide is a subject I have always been deeply curious about. However, I'm not terribly fond of academic books (I dropped out of college for very good reasons). Apart from The Savage God (a classic study of suicide, written by A. Alvarez), I was bored to death by everything I got my greedy little hands on. How can suicide ever be boring? That's what I wanted to know.

But now we have: DEATH BECOMES THEM. And it's an insightful page turner. I was hooked from the start. If you are curious about famous and notorious suicides, then this book deserves a long peek.

Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

- Dorothy Parker

Nonfiction
Harper Paperback Original, 2009

Reader Rating: 9 /10

Review © 2011 by Dylan Mitchell