In Memory of Ralph B Ellison
Ralph, who died suddenly at the end of September, in his flat in Didsbury, was my friend. A lover of literature and music, he was a regular at concerts and readings in the city and a long time member of Manchester Poets.
Diagnosed schizophrenic in his early twenties, this wonderfully intelligent, cultured man became imprisoned by a cocktail of drugs and therapies which kept him subdued, drowsy, and so slurred his speech that even those who knew him well struggled to understand. Such was the unflattering presence that cloaked a personality which was resilient, witty, caring and without anger or self pity. Always concerned for others, his own disability he bore with equanimity and in silence. But the artist soul was still there, still intact, still able to soar with the notes and the words, still capable of a childlike delight, and grateful for that. Grateful too for friendship and loyal, but above all generous. My bookshelves came to be embarrassed by his constant gifts, but he couldn't be dissuaded, and always the dedication was the same, From one poet to another. Yes, Ralph was a poet and although the drugs inhibited its full realisation, he rejoiced in it.
Discerning too and always eager to learn, Was that poetry? he would sometimes ask on our way from a reading. It was a measure of his humility that he alone among us could ask that question without implied criticism. And when he had to repeat his questions, as he most frequently did, he never became impatient, or frustrated.
The last time I saw him, I was reading and he was in his usual place in the front row. I thought a comment he had made had some political point, something about the Irish Taoiseach and so we talked at cross purposes for several minutes while the audience looked on amused or embarrassed. Finally, I realised he was commenting on my T Shirt. No, Ralph, I never mastered it, always remained cloth-eared, but we got the silences right, warm and companionable and now missed.
After your death, I found your pen in my car, the red one you spent whole meetings searching for, between naps and alarms. Near the tip, the colour has been gentled away by a large, engrossed thumb. It is a perfect fit.
magazine list
- Features
- zines
- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
- ARTEMISpoetry
- Atlas
- Blithe Spirit
- Borderlines
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Candelabrum
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Equinox
- Erbacce
- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The