Poem for Mark

We've lost a few good friends recently. This one was especially shocking and sad. Actor, director, poet and performer Mark Montinaro died on August 2nd, aged only 59. A tragic loss. His many friends and lovely family read poetry and tributes to Mark at the wake at the Dylan Thomas Boathouse in Laugharne, where he had performed so many of Thomas's pieces to critical acclaim. As I listened the words for my own tribute to Mark began to come. This is the poem I wrote afterwards.

Moments

i.m Mark Montinaro

We sat easy in the chairs in the parlour

of Dylan’s old Boathouse home

one summer Saturday

as the sea slid dark over the reaching sands below.

We chatted our comfy evening away

talking poetry, forms and frailties

and rhythm, assonance and rhyme,

just Jonathan, you, Dave and me.

And we met on my winter birthday walk

in the puddled street  beneath the Castle wall

on a dreek and windy weekday afternoon;

and again we chinwagged poetry

while rain plastered hair to our faces

and stung our eyes.

Your words rang out many nights

in the Cellar Bar, your voice large and full

to the corners of the blackdowned room.

You travelled all the way to Aberystwyth

to support our Rockhopper set on ‘time’,

and even again we prattled on poetry

and performance skills over coffee in the Arts Centre  bar;

and at our gig on Spoken Word Saturday

you were pleased to introduce me to your lovely Mam,

so proud, you and her, both together.

Now you are gone, so fast and so soon

and I listen to poets read their words about you

from the time-honoured Boathouse steps

and even more     your mother’s face

shows her pride in you.

And over and under all their voices

I hear oystercatchers keening

and curlews calling the tide

as the waters spill over

and fill the foreshore of this timeless

limitless bay.