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In Memory of Tom Wiloch 1953-2008
Sep. 16th, 2008 11:03 pmThe Now Is Fragile
There is no childhood, except in our memories, and
there is no super man, except in our dreams.
All is memory and imagination. We remember a past
now gone; we imagine a future we will never see.
The now is fragile.
We sit before a sheet of blank paper. We lift a pencil.
We charge this white pulp with meaning.
This poem is by Tom Wiloch, the person who trained me in my very first editorial job, taught me the value of using the Chicago Manual of Style judiciously, and was one of the two people to introduce me to Marvin's in West Bloomfield, MI. He passed away earlier this month, which I found out today from one of my editors who also previously worked with Tom. I didn't know until searching for his obituaries that he was such an accomplished writer.
The poem above I borrowed from an obituary written by Tom Ligotti's website. I hope neither Tom will mind.
There is no childhood, except in our memories, and
there is no super man, except in our dreams.
All is memory and imagination. We remember a past
now gone; we imagine a future we will never see.
The now is fragile.
We sit before a sheet of blank paper. We lift a pencil.
We charge this white pulp with meaning.
This poem is by Tom Wiloch, the person who trained me in my very first editorial job, taught me the value of using the Chicago Manual of Style judiciously, and was one of the two people to introduce me to Marvin's in West Bloomfield, MI. He passed away earlier this month, which I found out today from one of my editors who also previously worked with Tom. I didn't know until searching for his obituaries that he was such an accomplished writer.
The poem above I borrowed from an obituary written by Tom Ligotti's website. I hope neither Tom will mind.
