“If not you,”
Excerpted from a book review written by Mairead Small Staid:
Isn’t this how we grieve, after all? Not solely for the person gone, for the immense and irreplaceable multiplicity that he was, but also for the fine strand that ran between us, the connection as singular as either of its participants. “Dead is dead, I know that,” writes (Dorothy) Gallagher. “But where does that leave me? If not you, who will ever know that once I summered in Yalta?” It seems essential that someone does know that– for once, someone did. How is it that they are there, we here? Once, the line was not so thickly drawn. Once, our every tossed-off word was caught, returned.
“Memory is where the living may rejoin the dead,” (Benjamin) Taylor writes. “There they anoint us.” Standing in the rubble of a fallen theater, we can still hear the benediction of the vanished audience demanding our best. The thick line that divides us from them grows thin as an eyelid, as a page, thinner and thinner. A light shines through.
You can read her whole review online, HERE.