POETS CORNER: THADDEUS CONTI

“A great poet from New Orleans, Thaddeus Conti died on Tuesday, August 31, 2021, at the age of 45. The visible footprints of his life’s journey have vanished and all that remains are his words and the memories.”

It appears death is surrounding me. A post on social media, the news, the dreaded phone call at 2am in the morning. Someone has died. With each passing I question my mortality. I can’t escape the thoughts of my demise and the day Archangel Azrael will separate my body from my soul.

Life is fleeting and we all have a number that will be called. I often contemplate when I have lost someone dear to me why it appears that the good ones die too soon and the evil morally bankrupt among us live on as if they are never going to pass. For some hell is right here on Earth and they self-medicate to subside the inner turmoil with a daily ritual of alcohol and narcotics to soothe the troubled soul. A slow suicide of choice for the comfortably numb: medicated and sedated.

The waking life is over, and the reality of the dream state is the new normal as the demons run rampant feeding on sickness, sadness and addiction.

Does death then offer peace? Are we free to begin again, to be forgiven for sins of the flesh that torment us every sober moment? For us that are still breathing, what remains? What are we to do with the in-between? In between life and death. In between this World and the next? In between today and tomorrow. Why am I on this road? What is my purpose? What gives my life meaning? How will I be remembered? Thaddeus will be remembered by me for his words, friendship and good times we shared.

I’ve met many so-called poets in my life: social media poets, poet posers, poet wannabees, poet pseudo intellectuals, and poet fashionistas.

I loved and respected this man because he was fucked up, unafraid, beautiful, and talented. He was an old soul, a vessel that was carrying his demons in plain sight for all to see. Thaddeus was a great poet. A troubled and tormented soul that was in search of life’s meaning and purpose. Unbeknownst to him, the writing on the wall revealed he was at the threshold of his final chapter, the end of life.

My friend, you were loved, and you are missed, but we have your words that will never die as long as they are spoken, read aloud or silently.

The Poet Is Dead, Long Live The Poet.

Below please find a poem by Thaddeus Conti and a Video we shot together at the Turtle Bay bar in New Orleans.

on the translation of proper names into cartoons

this is the morning of the dream
the morning

after so many hiding places
where the scariest thing was fear

fear of being found
out of our pajamas

not in front of the television
counting our pennies

life is the cruelest of all theories

life is the cruelest of all theater

the dream defines us
in half-lit memories

when memory is a house
which would not pass code

a button in a room full of buttons

and one is accidently pushed

when a board

with lights

reveals

the leaves that block the drain in an upturned pen that is out of ink

rainy day

rainy summer day

the rainy summer morning

into the evening that found
another
morning

and us without report

such is our perception

the night had come

and I was fresh from the bath

the baby sitter entered with my mother

and in their castrating nonchalance

with the attitude of duty beyond awe

they dressed me

I was

Arabic naked and scared

I returned to the undiscarded bath

undressed and

descended into the water

this was the evening of the morning of the dream

and I was

then

foregoing the confines of clothes

I walked

down stairs

by the time I reached the door

it was opened

and

I was out of it

I turned the banal curve of the cul-de-sac
only never to return

Home

REST IN POWER MAESTRO

Thaddeus Conti filmed at the Turtle Bay bar in New Orleans by Terrence Sanders-Smith.