for Stewart Warren, now in hospice
It was the early 2000s. I was in Del Norte as an emcee showing movies for Telluride Mountain Film on Tour. From the stage, I could see in the dark audience a man who was almost beaming. He had “that light” about him. Did I know him? I wanted to. After the show he came up to say hi.
“Are you a poet?” I asked him. Why? Some hunch.
He nodded and tilted his head to the side. “Yeah.” That’s a word that when Stewart said it had three syllables.
Over a year later, Stewart Warren admitted to me that he hadn’t written many poems at that point. He was a drummer, but he had a poet heart. That was easy to see. At the time, I needed poets who were willing to travel and teach in the schools, and he was gloriously game. I invited him to Telluride, and he had the kids drum on the desks and write. He was equal parts goofy and glamorous, childlike and ageless, playful and profound.
After that he came here many times to teach, to perform, and many times just to help me with programs. He’d dress up in a sport coat and jeans and he’d be my right hand man, helping with details, making everything easier, smoother, more fun. One tricky thing: I’m a tea drinker and he disliked tea, called it “pond water.” After many visits, he finally showed up with a new coffee maker, the one I still have. “I know that all the poets who visit here in the future will be grateful,” he said.
And isn’t that Stewart—the one who jumps in with a devil-may-care grin and a plucky “yeah.” The one who, when given a big pair of shoes, finds a way to grow himself into them. The one who turned his own difficult story into a life out of helping others share their stories. The one who relentlessly continued to learn, to push himself, to inspire. The one who thought of what others would need, and then gave it. The one who brings out the best in others because he dares to bring out the best in himself.
*
September cottonwood
just before the barren time
turning itself into gold
*
Stewart, poet, drummer, partner, friend, web-master, tech-guide, word-sharer, heart-opener, I am a much better me because of you. Thank you. Thank you.
Nothing can swell the heart of a dying person with feelings of worth about his life like the kind of message you have written. It was truly a gift.
Carol, I hope he can read them, and if not, I hope he can feel them. And at the least, I hope I can remember to live my life as well as he did. xoxo
Love you, Rosemerry, as well as anyone who has made you what you are. xoxo
Thank you, friend … I am grateful for you
May his beaming light and poet’s heart live strong in every life he touched.
Amen!!