Liam Rector, 1949-2007

Liam Rector (1949-2007)

The New York Times brought the sad news this morning that Liam Rector, distinguished poet and educator, shot himself on Wednesday morning at his home in Greenwich Village at the age of 57. According to his bio posted at Poets.org, Rector "was born in Washington, D.C., in 1949. He received an M.A. from the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University and an M.P.A. from the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard."

"Rector taught at Columbia University, The New School, Emerson College, George Mason University, and elsewhere. He founded and directed the graduate Writing Seminars at Bennington College, and administered literary programs at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, the Folger Shakespeare Library, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Academy of American Poets."

"His books of poems include The Executive Director of the Fallen World, American Prodigal and The Sorrow of Architecture. His work has also appeared in a variety of distinguished literary publications including Agni, Paris Review, American Poetry Review, Boston Review, and Ploughshares."

His contributions to the literary community will be sorely missed.

Very sad to hear that Liam Rector has died, apparently by his own hand. Looking at this 2001 poem of his from The Cortland Review, I suppose we can't say we weren't warned.

So We'll Go No More

So it's fare thee well, my own true love;
I'm leaving you behind. And not
For the early, for the young reasons, but

For these late, last, ill reasons. I'm almost
Kaput! Yea, you'll get no more of me....
Cancer, heart attack, bypass—all

In the same year? My chances
Are one out of two! And I'm fucking well
Ready, ready to go. To go!—how often

I've operated that way. That way
Almost the entire caper, the way
For people, places, things:

Abandon, abandon, nay abandon before
Being abandoned. But we've, we've
Stayed. You the third wife for me, I

The second such boy for you, and I love
Looking directly into you, as we look
Directly into this last get-go. We all

Have the talent for leaving, like it
Or no. And oh, how rich it is, how fine
To finally inherit!: the final thing

I was looking for, as it turns out,
The great power of leaving
All the breathtakingly brief all along.