tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550215358490478814.post6335362116626488350..comments2014-04-20T07:17:01.245-07:00Comments on Milorad Krstanović 1950 - 2011: What's Your Memory of Milorad?Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02376509369863295776noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550215358490478814.post-6491433846252976962012-01-12T02:10:03.902-08:002012-01-12T02:10:03.902-08:00I met Milorad in 2004. He was sitting beside me at...I met Milorad in 2004. He was sitting beside me at the Royal Festival Hall at Poetry International. As we chatted we discovered that we were both poets and would both be publishing books shortly. He suggested we swap addresses and send each other our collections. I remember his kindess, and sense of camaraderie so clearly. And yet, with time and travel and youthful selfishness, I don't know if I ever sent him that first book. I know we exchanged brief emails, and then I didn't think of him for a long while. Two years ago perhaps, a book arrived for me at my address in Suffolk. My mum rang and told me the title and the name, but I couldn't place them. It bothered me off and on for a while, but I couldn't connect the words with the man I met. When I was at home last April, I came across the book in a drawer and sat down to read it. I was astonished; here was a real poet. The poems were incisive, beautiful and genuine. And they spoke to an alienation I had begun to feel as an emigrée. When I reread the author's name, I finally connected it with the kind man I'd sat next to in 2004. I vowed to email him to tell him what I thought of his work. I made a note. I went back to Italy. Life carried on. And then, I came across the news of his death. I felt terrible. I'd left it too late. There's no doubt in my mind that an exceptional man and poet crossed my path. I wish I had told him.Sally Readhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14623127903444150025noreply@blogger.com