On Longing (NSFW)
One day I woke up and I realized that I miss you. It was a strange realization because you had been dead for weeks. It was the way you always said my name when I called that did it, like my call was all that mattered to you.
Now I miss you so much it hurts.
My hands and my eyelids ache from being clenched tight in grief and anger, and I want to fully exhale and not breathe again so that I make myself miss the air that I breathe and that you do not.
I long for you, my friend.
It wasn’t until I no longer had my best friend that I realized I had something to say to the world. He always told me I did. He was right, and unfortunately, will never know it. These pictures are not made for him, or because of him. They do not have anything to do with him as a person, only as an idea. These pictures are simply a response to the realization that I miss him. Grief came into my house, and this is what came back out. This body of work is my “morning rose”, and my “rainbow of the salt sand-wave,” to paraphrase poet John Keats.
These are pictures are about flight, death or our lost loves, physical beauty, intimacy, and grace. They are drawn from my dreams and waking dreams, as well as existing poetry, literature, and photography. I can imagine most people longing for at least one of these things, and that is how I first approached my own mourning process: by admitting I am not alone.
As an atheist ex- Christian, death becomes difficult to deal with because I no longer have that ‘blessed assurance’. Where a Christian believes they will someday be reunited with their loved ones in a holy city in the sky, I do not know if I will ever see my friend again. If grief is longing without hope, as the saying goes, then, according to simple algebra, hope is longing without grief, and longing becomes the intermingling of hope and grief.
Somehow through all this I still hold hope, although that gets more difficult as time progresses.
Frank Rapant Nassau, NY February, 2011 Statement revised September, 2014
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You have surrounded my circumference, Inside and out I know you. The flex and crush, The push and flux The burning bloody hue. My stars stick to the ceiling, Plastic and bright and green. They pulse and glow They spin and grow, The best I’ve ever seen. I like who I am when I’m with you. How I look in your eyes. A beautiful smile Once in a while Forget I me despise. The rain drips down my window My panes have come unglued. Soft and wet But lacking yet Anything for you.
On Missing Nyack College Every time I go this way I think of you. I remember the bridge, and every curve. The ups and downs of your path. Every time I cross the Tappan Zee I look back into the hills Hoping to catch a glimpse of you. I can always see the marina Which reminds me of the church—the restaurant. But though I know I can never see you, I never stop looking.
Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched in your color. -WC Merwin
Video file
You ripped through my skin, A rake through the sand. My favorite sin– To be stroked by your hand. Your fingers leave ruts Your hand is the plow. My earth not uncut New life begins now. Your seed buries deep My breast is laid bare. Can’t dream when I sleep Unless you are there. In springtime a shoot Grows fresh, bright and new. A sweet bit of fruit With all to imbue.
Intimacy
If I had one thing I could say To your ghost: please leave me be. Take the thoughts that plague my day, Leave the memories: let me dream.
