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Apr 2018
There's a myth that when you finish
a good book, the author dies for you.
At least, I often feel a sense of loss.
I was near the end of a fine book of essays.
I heard the author was dying, incurable.

Famous mass media man, favoured
by the more selective viewers, journalist,
interviewer, novellist, cultured critic,
humourist, philosopher, a thinker's man.

Ought I to have read that final essay,
defy the myth? Next day I scanned
the papers. His death was not reported.
I trust we both breathed normally again.
Best wishes to Clive James.
Written by
Tony Luxton  Runcorn
(Runcorn)   
  400
       ---, Pradip Chattopadhyay, ---, xy, PoetryJournal and 1 other
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