Kal Kalmanoff

For Kal 9-28-43 to 8-1-2019 Crying in the kitchen, listening to Allen G read Kaddish, I know I am going to entitle this poem You have to laugh It's your voice I already miss And have always remembered, How it could be gravelly and soft At the same time, Just like you! A listening and sharing voice Complete With whole-mind-body hearing, A unique resonant instrument, With a breath, lip, and tongue noise That a clarinetist makes between phrases, Kal is not just listening, But digesting your words and feelings, Watching and thinking, thinking,questioning, smile or laugh, Kal felt true astonishment That bad things happen, Even though he could anticipate them, With his side grin and high chortle, That joins you in wonder, "No! How could you miss that?!" That's a this will pass laugh, "I hear you!" he would say, like an appreciation as his voice rises, It's that roller coaster brain at the top, And you know the Big Dip is coming "You're in a lot of pain. I hear you, But you'll be fine," as he'd ask me What I thought about the 25 possibilities That could make everything better, The scary ride was Kal, Telling you the truth you may not want to hear, And then, He blithely gets up and makes everyone an omelet to some loud music And all is well, As you are sobbing and laughing. Direct as well in dislikes, Lightning learner, Fierce friend, Irritatingly adventuresome, Pragmatism? That's just a little challenge, done with quickly- Heart, are you kidding? No heart, not the old beat up one, Not the new one, Could ever be big enough For that spirit... Kal wore optimism instead of clothing, No, not optimism, But a nice shirt of confidence, No, not confidence, But good old levis of strength, Like can't wait, can't wait To show you his new outfit Of solutions, Devours problems for breakfast And takes Agamemnon and Achilles, Spitting bile and seething, Out for a lunchtime spin on his boat, All are laughing like brothers By dinner, Kal's pressed shirt Is the Guide-see Kal fussing in the kitchen So everyone eats To the heart of the matter, It's Kal laughing with you, As the story unfolds, Kal's magic 3-D chess game, With geometrically increasing outcomes And a desire not just to learn, But to feel learning, discouragement, success- "That's life," he would say, "It's beautiful! " Exhausted at the end of a day Us mere mortals Would have considered a lifetime... You were tired Kal, When I came to say good-bye But I write no envoi, sing no Kaddish. Seeing you at the Hillegass house, (Man, I'm sure I rented a room up there once, But the two engineering students made eggs and onions fried with a whole bottle of oil, So I left after one week), There you were in action-mode, Directing last chores in the breakfast nook, Papers spread out, Cellphone ringing, You get up wobbly, & take me on a garden tour, Caution me to not fall, You, with your chemo fog, But I have an inkling how bad you feel, Anyway, You show me the cress in the pond, Proud that we had it in the chicken soup, Because Kal has always known That little things like a cress Are pure joy in a garden of miracles, Joy when he kids with Triana, Or FaceTimes Candice... I ride the joy back to Raymond Street, To the Alameda house, To the cantilevered house up high, Exploding with pink petunias That only the cat, Not the rollodex survived- And if course, Kal survived, Who never just lived in a house, Ever, His house was a whole functioning, Unfolding world, Because no house could ever be big enough to contain him, Like his heart... I'm laughing and riding those eyes, Scary how much they take in, Back to your Raymond St corn, surrounded by cosmos almost as high, Crazy high in that strip by the driveway You are high in the old Willys, Bounding to a halt, loaded with mulch, Hopping down with the world's largest Bunch of fresh flowers for the table- How did you end up here? Married, lots of friends, Like the popular high school kid you never were, Dancing at hime like it's a prom you never knew, I see you lurch instead from handrail to handrail Loving the ship on the waves of the Atlantic, Away, away from the suburbs way too small and wrong To contain you, that family, No mere Freudian subject for you, After all, it's the early 60's, You're on your way to the French New Wave life, To Big Ten football life On the way to law school To ride shotgun in Oakland, And damn, ride on the backs of every fool Until they see what's what, Now I see what's what, waving good-bye to Kal, Only too late, I'm a fool, Too sad, holding back tears as I turn, Smile, and wave again, As Kal disappears behind the high gate, And the bamboo, Like those elephants We startled along the road to Mt. Kenya, How their huge feet Left prints in the red dirt, Then they turned, Silent and deliberate, So quick they disappeared completely Behind the thin stalks of bamboo... I loved you, Kal, Your footprints are all over the place In my life, though I moved away, Sad, losing time we could have spent, Together, Watching and helping each others' lives unfold, Lives we finally made that made sense, As if any life or any thing makes sense, When it's all so quick and never finished-We have to laugh.