After Peter Carlson and his wife Mary Jane McConville moved to France in 2008, he still kept in touch by posting almost every day to our class Discussion Group.
“Peter regaled the DG for many years with his genius daily haikus – in matching French and English, no less!” says Randy Alfred. “They were a delight and a marvel, evincing a Zen-like existentialism that expressed emotional and spiritual insights that were sometimes specific to our generation, but more often eternal to humankind.”
Alas, on November 5 Tom Devine posted this to the DG: “Peter Carlson, my dear friend, passed away on Monday, November 4, at 2:30 a.m. He had been hospitalized about two weeks ago, and his condition started deteriorating rapidly. He had been battling non-alcohol-related cirrhosis of the liver for some time, and when I spoke to him last week he thought that might be the cause. But it was a shock to everyone that he passed so quickly.
“He was lucid till the end, and when I spoke with him he spent a good deal of time talking about Shakespeare. He was marveling at how a couple of lines could often be a kind of hologram of an entire play. Shakespeare, he thought, must not have constructed the plays in any merely mechanical way; the dialogue must have flowed through him the way music flowed through Mozart or Schubert, with an inevitability that no one could produce through deliberate effort alone. Not that craft wasn’t involved, but that there was also something ineffable, what we call genius or inspiration, which we can’t explain or imagine fully. Such were his thoughts, and the topics his mind was dwelling on, in the week before he passed. Peter was a close friend of mine for over 60 years. I will miss him sorely, but his memory is a blessing.”
Charlie Carter says, “More than many, I think, Peter lived life to the fullest, and we all should celebrate that. Indeed, none of us can ask for more. Somewhere I have a photograph of Peter and Mark Princi sailing on the Seine, perhaps in a boat Peter had built. I even think that I shared with him something of the same tendency to reach out for the fruits that lay just beyond his grasp, as when he reported to us on recovering from his fall from an unstable ladder in his orchard, and to be grateful each time that reach brought a new fruit to us. These are some of the things Peter meant to me. We all will miss him desperately, but his inspiration outstrips my profound sadness. My gratitude for these memories does, as well. His poetry awakened something in me that had lain dormant over most of my life. Peter filled me with a deep appreciation and inspiration at how he had lived his life, faithful to values I shared one way or another – pleasure at knowing his neighbors, the dedication with which he and Mary Jane followed their dream to live a new life in France and become French citizens, his dedication to Bruce Springsteen’s live appearances across Europe, and his devotion to his life-long band mates resonated with me in ways I’ve yet to figure out.”
“Me too,” says Barry Chase. “Some of his poetic expression was very moving to me.”
Tom Maynard notes, “Peter had not been sending us verse at his usual prolific pace in recent months. They reflected keen observation, quick wit and wisdom. What a loss!” Bob Lehrer agrees. “As Tom says, Peter’s verse was a testament to his powers of observation, his wit, and his wisdom. Also, his compassion. I know that many DG participants had urged him to try to have his verse published. So far as I know it was never published, except on the DG, the privilege thereby conferred on DG participants being substantial. A great loss.”
Andy Delbaum says, “I did not know Peter at Yale, but I got to know him through the DG. Cheryl and I also had the pleasure and privilege to visit and stay with him and MJ twice at his place in France. They were welcoming and comfortable to be with – and great cooks. Memorably added Pain Perdu to my repertoire. I was amazed by his carpentry skills and work; he was an artisan. I do not have the sensitivity to have truly appreciate his poetry, other than to recognize it as a manifestation of a sensitive soul. And, of course, he was loving and joyful with his wonderful dogs. Shocked and sad to learn of his passing.”
(Andy isn’t exaggerating about Peter’s carpentry skills. He spent many happy hours playing a gorgeous bass guitar he built from scratch.)
“Having been with Peter so recently when, age adjusted, he still was in good fighting shape, the loss of this truly exceptional and multifaceted person is, yes, not only a real surprise, but a very great blow,” says Adrian Misarti. And Jay O’Brien adds, “Even though we were both in TD, I really knew him only through the DG. Why we did not become friends at Yale is beyond me, but through the DG I found that we shared a similar taste in music. His spirit was kind and his sense of humor was enjoyable. We are less without him.”
We’ll let Peter have the last word, courtesy of John Dillon. “Peter’s passing is a great blow. May the earth lie lightly upon him. Among his many gifts to our class is a poem printed on pp. 225-226 of our 50th Reunion Class Book. A monologue, it affirms its aging speaker’s persistent attention to the ‘touch and feel of life,’ however negligible he may consider his own life events to have been. Separated from that context the poem’s final lines can apply with equal accuracy to Peter’s continued presence in the memories of those who knew him: ‘I am here. I may be distant as an echo, transparent as the breeze, but I am here.’
“Stay here, Peter. You’re always welcome.”