In the new issue of jubilat, alongside work by Dara Wier, Natalie Shapero, Tomaž Šalamun, Randall Mann, and other established and emerging voices, you’ll find “Alter / native,” a poem by the poet Jason Bradford. It ends:
I [can]not splash in the waves,
or scatter the neon dust
without someone’s hand holding my head
above the water’s gray grit.
Instead I imagine
myself floating
in the constellations swirling
through the waves as they recede
back
into the vast space
of sky.
On Facebook on January 9, Jason posted a photo of his contributor’s copies, writing:
super excited to receive and read this electric issue of jubilat . . .
jubilat has been one of my dream journals since i can remember wanting to publish poems, so
i’m swimming in stars!
I, and so many others, hit “like” and cheered a little cheer for our friend, as his words received some of the recognition they deserved. Under his post, my Facebook algorithm still lets me know that “You, Katherine Johnsen, Mary F. Coats, Marc Rahe, and 120 others like this.”
Ten days later, Jason Bradford passed away on the evening of February 19. The next morning, Jason’s mother Shirley Niedermann wrote on his Facebook wall that “[s]adly I need to inform you . . . Jason has decided to explore more of the universe . . . He would want you to move out of your comfort zone to see and explore new possibilities.”
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I imagine
myself floating
in the constellations —
(I imagine myself floating in the constellations of friends and strangers reading Jason’s work again and again, thinking of him, celebrating his life, mourning his loss.)
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I’ve been reading and rereading Jason’s poems, and reading and rereading our too-brief correspondences, immersing myself in the incandescent beauty of his poetry and the warm, everyday beauty of his caring for and connections with his friends and acquaintances.
After I pull my back and can’t attend an event, he writes, “I did miss seeing you last night, but I am pleased you took Danny’s advice. Thrown backs are serious business. My mom has injured her back a few times, so we sympathize!” After I post an online conversation between myself and the poet Michael Leong: “Ahhhh. I wish your conversation with Michael Leong went a few more rounds.” Jason’s unprompted kindness and empathy was something else. When he reached out to me, he reminded me without saying it that I should be doing the same for someone else. Scrolling through the past few years: there’s Jason defending his MA thesis… and embarking on an amazing interdisciplinary collaboration (more on that later)… and publishing a beautiful chapbook through Final Thursday Press… and reading in the River Styx Hungry Young Poets Reading Series in St. Louis… and heading off to earn an MFA from the UNC Wilmington Department of Creative Writing.
We first met when I gave a lecture on “Poetry’s Incantatory Roots” for the Iowa Summer Writing Festival’s Eleventh Hour Lecture Series in 2010. We talked then, and continued to talk about magic, spells, poetry, the occult, evolution, science, and pseudo-science. He told me about Eugene Thacker’s In The Dust of This Planet: Horror of Philosophy Vol. 1. He told me about David Rothenberg’s Survival of the Beautiful: Art, Science, and Evolution.
This past October, he got in touch to let me know that he was still thinking about magic, spells, and poetry, and planned to write about “metaphor and conjuration . . . invocation” in his MFA exam. He was intrigued by Oni Buchanan’s “Mandrake Vehicles.” He was reading Annie Finch, and thinking about Bachelard’s Poetics of Space, looking for more book recommendations. You will understand the kind of trust Jason inspired when I tell you that after sending a long-winded list of “must-read” books, I couldn’t help but attach my own chapbook-in-progress.
Was I hoping for a kind word? I was hoping for a kind word. Was I hoping for a new poem of his in return? I was hoping for a new poem in return. Since this is Jason we’re talking about, I received both. The poem he sent was titled “After a Photo of a Dead Horse by Vivian Maier.” Here it is in its entirety:
After a Photo of a Dead Horse by Vivian Maier
it could be tired. really, it could be
sleeping there between shifts
stomping through the streets.
it could be taking a noonday nap,
resting its glassine gaze.
i’m trying to be hopeful.
it could be playing dead. pretending
like circus horses.
i used a simile for several reasons
but mostly to draw attention
to the difference
between pretend dead horses
with white crowns
in a tent, and this
actually dead horse,
black against a quiet background
in a city street. sometimes you can’t believe what you see.
sometimes you don’t believe what you see.
there is a difference.
last night gregory peck did not die when he touched the ark of the covenant
two golden eagles embracing the space
graced between them.
i’m not religious, but i understand religion
because i understand metaphor, or
i understand how
we use metaphor to say
what cannot be said.
how a dead horse is never
just a dead horse
is never just.
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In trying to find Maier’s photo that inspired Jason, I keep pausing to look at this one instead:
(I imagine
myself floating)
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I mentioned Jason’s collaboration earlier; in 2012, when the filmmaker Jason Livingston and I organized an event we called ColLAB, for which artists in different disciplines collaborated together on pieces for a final show at Iowa City’s Public Space One, Jason Bradford and the painter Mary F. Coats were paired with each other. No one knew, of course, what would come out of these collaborations. What came out of theirs was — magic. When I asked Mary to reflect on her work with Jason, she wrote the following:
Rarely before have I experienced poetry that spoke to me in the way Jason’s work did. Our thoughts and instincts were incredibly unified, giving our collaborations an ease and symbiosis that is hard to come by. I count myself lucky to have known Jason, to have shared our work and created works together as a collaborative team. In creating paintings in response to Jason’s poems, he provided me with valuable observations and insights along with an abundance of patience and encouragement. I was able to access and acquire new methods, new palettes and fresh ideas that I have brought into all of my works moving forward. We had a new collaboration in motion that is not yet completed, but even in his absence Jason will never stop inspiring me, among many others. I look forward to continuing what we started.
Mary and Jason’s “From the Inhabitants” speak for themselves:
From the Inhabitants 3, by Jason Bradford
The snow owl has taken residence in my bedroom. The silence of his eyes, the sincerity of his talons. I haven’t seen the song sparrow in days. I cough up twigs with worry. The air is thick with sun and bands of dust. Three eggs roll onto the floor. The baseboards scream. I nail them quiet.
From the Inhabitants 2, by Jason Bradford
I can hear the hum of wasps beneath the whir of fluorescent lighting. I suspect Orion is dancing tonight. The air is throbbing with familiarity. I trace the grooves in the brick. Water pools on the floor, and nostalgia screams from the baseboards. I suspect I’m being watched by a snow owl. All I can do is press my face against a window.
From the Inhabitants 1, by Jason Bradford
Beneath a gray mosaic of branches, the sky is a windshield shot by a BB. The cool air on my cheeks is a reminder that I have no fur. Light pushes through thin areas of cloud, and I am alarmed. Why did I come outside? The universe is melting. The universe is trying to break in, and I don’t know how to push against the rain.
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Mary’s art also graces the cover of Jason’s chapbook, The Inhabitants:
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My heart is with Jason’s mother and loved ones, particularly the classmates, colleagues and friends who were with Jason in his last days in our little corner of the universe. Here is the information from the memorial page, where you can make a donation to help with final expenses:
Jason Alexander Bradford, age 28, of Center Point, IA passed away on Tuesday, January 19, 2016, at New Hanover Regional Medical Center after a lifelong battle with Muscular Dystrophy.
Jason was a member of Wilmington’s literary community, and was entering his final semester at UNC Wilmington as an MFA in Poetry candidate. In addition to his graduate studies, he taught two sections of Creative Writing to undergraduate students, and was the Poetry editor for UNCW’s literary journal, Ecotone.
Along with his mother and caregiver, Shirley Niedermann, he was a constant presence at readings and an invaluable part of our community.
There will be two Celebrations of Life: one in Wilmington for his UNCW Department of Creative Writing family, and one in Iowa for his family and friends there.
We are asking for any help possible. Our goal is to ensure that the costs associated with his passing do not have a catastrophic effect on his family. If we exceed this goal, we plan to establish scholarships (both to UNCW’s Creative Writing Program and to Camp Courageous in Iowa) in his name.
Please share condolences and memories with the family at wilmingtoncares.com
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Jason’s aesthetic and personal reach extended beyond even poetry and visual art. Read a beautiful tribute from Jason’s online metal music community here.
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The air is throbbing with familiarity . . .
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All I can do is press my face against a window . . .
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. . . I don’t know how to push against the rain.
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Jason Bradford (1987-2016)