Pat O'Neill is dead. With that, a
fierce voice for the Northwoods and stalwart champion of its young folk has
passed. The poet Patrick O'Neill wrote:
Death is life.
It's why we're all here,
because of the dead.
Our homes, our clothing, our food, our compositions
are donated bodies of the once living -- gifts.
The dead are our primary caregivers.
But does a writer ever really die, so
long as their words can be found? At any rate, I know some writers who hope
not.
After a lengthy, productive life, poet and
teacher Patrick O'Neill is gone. The Northwoods are the poorer for it. Pat
didn't want any fuss. Far as I know, there won't be an obituary. I'm told
there'll be a gathering tomorrow night at Nora's in Hurley, you'd best call before showing up. I'm far away from
the Range, where news neither travels particularly fast nor necessarily remains
sound over distance. Things change.
Should you care to read what I've
written of Pat, go here. Should you like to honor him for a life well lived, click here and order Snake Spit.
Teacher & poet, Patrick O'Neill spoke for himself, for
the Northwoods and its many children about as fiercely and well as anyone I've
met. So he gets the last word here.
Save Godspeed,
old man…
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