Vincent Ferrini
After Reading Yeats
I am at Loblolly Cove washing his rhythms out of my Ear
the salt drying my hair and lips
The wind has given me its clothes
fitting me back into my bones
My fire drives me
the world has my flesh on
Vincent Ferrini
In my twenties I was introduced to Vincent Ferrini by a friend who was living in Gloucester, Massachusetts. We became instant lovers — not of the flesh (though anyone who knew Vincent knows that Vincent tried!) but of the spirit. For several years we corresponded and exchanged poems and thoughts. He addressed me as “Lady of the Camelias” (no doubt he addressed others thusly!) and took me under his giant and passionate poetic wing, never once giving up on trying to get me into his bed and yet staying on as a steady and profusely generous friend and champion despite my refusals. One night at a dinner party we danced an hour-long tango-esque beatnik improvisation in our black clothes and silver buckles and bangles. We were both completely entranced. It was our defining moment together.
Thanks Vincent. You poured a fire into my life that still warms me and I am grateful.