We never met face to face, but over the last couple of years Dick
Allen's poetry and emails meant a lot to me. I was very grateful for and encouraged by his comments on my work. And I loved both the skill and humanity, and the wisdom, in his poems. I felt he had a true, deep ear for the lives of others and the song of life we are all part of. And a wonderful touch with the registers of the American language.
Dick Allen suffered a heart attack at his home in Connecticut on Christmas and died the next day, at age 78. He was poet laureate of the state of Connecticut from 2010 to 2015 and one of the regular contributors to Verse-Virtual.com, the online poetry journal and community I became a member of two years ago.
I don't know how many poetry books Dick published. In his bio on Verse-Virtual, he notes the last two, "Zen Master Poems" published last year, and "This Shadowy Place: Poems," published in 2014 and awarded the New Criterion Poetry Award for works concentrating on traditional forms. He described his life this way: "Now, my wife and I quietly write poetry by the shores of Thrushwood Lake, in Connecticut, and struggle daily to find calm in these surreal days."
I didn't know who he was when I sent him a note pointing out what I liked about a poem he published on Verse-Virtual. If I had known, I probably wouldn't have taken the initiative. Clearly Dick Allen did not need to hear the virtues of his poem explained by me. Nevertheless, he responded in a collegial and kindly manner, and so I made it a habit every few months of initiating email exchanges about our poems.
I didn't realize that everybody else who published regularly in Verse-Virtual was likely doing the same thing. Somehow he found time for all of us.
Verse-Virtual editor Firestone Feinberg has solicited comments and tributes from poets who knew Dick Allen or, like me, developed an email relationship. He plans to publish these in an upcoming edition of the online journal. Here is what Firestone had to say about Dick:
A brilliant poet and an extraordinary person, Dick was good, kind, wise, compassionate — and so much more — a man full of love and care not only for his family and friends but for humanity itself.
A letter written by Dick Allen's daughter about her father was published by the Hartford Courant. You can find that here:
http://www.courant.com/opinion/insight/hc-op-insight-allen-poets-daughter-finds-solace-in-his-words-1231-20171228-story.html
Finally, a poem, originally published in "Poetry" magazine and later in Verse-Virtual.
Almost Nowhere in the World, as Far as Anyone Can Tell
It is pleasant, very pleasant, to sit at a wooden booth
surrounded by parrots, wheels, right-turning conch shells,
the victory banner and the endless knot,
the lotus, the treasure vase, the golden fishes--
is this not so? Is it not pleasant
to sip Tsingtao beer, or Zhujiang, or Yanjing,
and tap your fingers on the bamboo mats?
After we’ve drunk enough, there will be Buddhist Delight,
Mongolian beef side dishes, a whole host of sauces,
even some pizza and chicken wings if children are present,
as well as the small ice-cream machine, lotus paste, pears,
smiles and bows all around. It is pleasant, is it not,
to linger outside the door that opens to the parking lot
of this small strip mall beside this secondary road
and look upon the scattered cars all come to rest here
After the Newtown school shooting in Connecticut he wrote a poem titled "Solace." The final stanza reads:
No voice once heard is ever lost
In the snow lightly falling.
In the snow lightly falling,
No voice once heard is ever lost.
Many other poems can be found at Dick Allen's website and blog: https://
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