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a Sasquatch tribute to
To
summarize events, during the afternoon of Monday, March 13, Juan began
experiencing difficulty breathing. Not one to take chances with his health,
he then called an ambulance to take him to hospital. Upon arrival at the
Heart Institute, he suffered a heart attack, and went into
coma. Although the staff managed to resuscitate his heart, as
per a cat scan, the prognosis was grim, the staff indicating that
he would not come out of the coma. Between then and Wednesday morning, Juan
remained on life support, however his heart once again began to experience
difficulty, the medical staff choosing to discontinue life support.
The following day, a non Eucharistic religious ceremony celebrating
Juan’s life (Spanish music included) was held at 12 o’clock noon at |
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Photo of Juan and friends in the autumn of 2004 at
the Royal Oak II Included
here is a scan of a related article
printed in Thursday March 16, 2006’s newspaper, courtesy of The Ottawa Citizen. In
addition to the above, here’s a scan
of an article on Sasquatch in general, which ironically appeared in
the paper the week before Juan passed away, again courtesy of The Ottawa Citizen. Special thanks to
Linda Mondoux for writing the article, and to Maureen Glaude for providing
the scan. Photo which appears with the article courtesy of Tribute link to Juan on the Ygdrasil site, as well as Juan’s translation of Macchu Picchu by Pablo Neruda, courtesy of Klaus J. Gerken. Messages of Condolence
and Poems for Juan O’Neill
It was only last month that I visited all you dear friends and read poetry with you. As usual Juan was his charming self. Don and I was so delighted to join you all for brunch and an afternoon of Sasquatch which I will never forget. Needless to say I am heavy of heart while I write to you. I struggle with these words as I have never been good at facing these kind of things.
When I first received the news of Juan's heart attack and subsequent coma I was dismayed. I felt sick at heart and sobbed. Don and I went for a long walk and we talked about him. I asked "What are we going to do without Juan? What will the poets do without him? He is so giving. He is so encouraging. He builds us up. What are we going to do? I feel like I cheated myself by moving away and not being able to associate with the Sasquatch bunch for the last four years. I could have been there enjoying his charm and talent and now I may never see him again." Then today I get the news that he has passed away. I am so heartsick.
Juan was like a lion. His roar was his poetry and
song. His den was the cellar at the
One thing I don't regret. I had that bit of time with him last month and he hugged me.
Love, Julie (Loper)
Ominous but
Juanimous
for
Juan O’Neill 1933-2006 © 03/17/2006 Author's Note: for my (and so many
of ours in town and in this country) dear friend, first and long-time host of
poetry, Juan O'Neill who passed away March 15th, 2006 (the Ides of March).
I'd just heard the Ides mentioned on my radio, when I got the dreaded call
about his demise that day. I'll be giving this at his tribute reading Sunday.
The first of many poems I'm sure about him post-mortem, but not my first with
him in it. It is with the greatest of regret and our
profoundest grief that we announce the passing away of Juan O'Neil, Director
of Sasquatch Literary Performance Series,
Richard Vallance Chairperson Canadian Poetry Association
I was very saddened to hear of Juan's passing. I have recordings from years back at the Sasquatch. He always seemed to me to be a wonderful, 'exotic' literary soul with a great deal of depth and heart. This Thursday evening I will be sure to do credit to his important place in 'our' literary community. Best wishes, Jane (Crosier) "Dear Juan,
Leonard Cohen sings a song dedicated to Irving Layton, and the Byronesque phrases remind me of you.
"Though the night was made for loving And the day returns too soon, Yet we"ll go no more a roving By the light of thee moon."
Dear Juan, our paths crossed only once. You were the friend of a friend. Yet your spirit touched me. You were kind, articulate, literate, smiling and still a sexy man.
Good journey,
sb"
Just below
Where ancient Indians are entombed
We met at poet Rob
Craig's place
For the first time. When time was so bounteous and we fashioned it Into a long snaking safari of parties, And poets , and
"Sasquath" . by the antediluvian rivers of Bytowne And under the sledge hammer of life We tried so hard to be free Running, when we could, like happy children on
benzedrine Evading the true heart of our demons Though chanting our pain like antique clerics I playing Freud You Plato I, a Jew, with
crippled tongue but powerful ears You an Oscar Wilde who could never keep quiet We were the perfect pair Until I grew an appendage between my lips. And bitterness began its swell in our aging veins. But never did the hot throbbing sun of mutuality And understanding quit us. It sat there in the pale blue sky seemingly forever. And you ran the ship of "Sasquatch " With a captain's fondness of craft Always the good shepherd' caring for his flock Counting, nursing, prodding, encouraging Myself and all the other hopefuls. So, in memory of our life together Let us laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh The way we always did (No one laughed with such gusto as you, except maybe
me) And let us squat in the desert of the Sierra Madres Watching our hard -earned gold dust Vanish into the storm To the four corners of the earth But before that we'll trudge to the mine site And repair the mountain's wounds And I will say I'm sorry, and Hemmingway Will say he's sorry and Fidel will say He's sorry, and you will say you're sorry And everything will be ok. Me packing my bags for And you bundling trowels and shovels into yours. Where now?, I ask. To that garden well above the Ensenada de Gaspar And I can see it now among your grandfather's
elegant roses The most exquisite, tender lemon tree Like the one you planted many many years ago in your
Laurier Bachelor Apartment Whose baby, mint winter -sunned leaves you caressed
so touchingly with child's fingers... Like the abundant bountiful delicate magic you
planted for all of Us For a sumptuous great multitude of seasons At the humming crossroads of Sandy Hill. © 2006 Phil Mader, Nelson, BC Below are two quotes that I deeply feel relate to Juan O'Neill. The first expresses his will to absorb the wildest of energies, in the early years, especially. The second refers to his desire not to be stuck into someone else's uncompromising mold. They could be, if you so wished, incorporated in the memorial.
“The
only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to
talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who
never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous
yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."
"Don't let the bastards grind you down". --
"Saturday Night and Sunday Morning" (
best, Phil (Mader), Nelson, BC
LET IT BE... He is now this beautiful angel that will help us to be more loving with each other and life... "
Lina xxx
It
is a shock! I just saw him full of - as usually! - energy, love to poetry,
love people!!! He was a Great Poet, the best example of loyalty to HIS
EXCELLENSY ART OF POETRY! I really will miss him! he was very friendly to me.
Once, he invited me to participate in stage production NA DNE by M. Gorky. He
played with the same determination as making poetry! Then we came together to
cafe on Laurier and he offered me a bowl of soup...I feel a bit guilty of
some cases where I wasn't up to his standard...We all learn from these kind
of people! I wish his "child" - Yours trully, Misha Levitin (his voice when he called me still in my ears...) The measure of a Man To the memory of Juan O’Neill, Founder and Director of Sasquatch Literary & Arts Performance Series in 14/4/1933 — 15/3/2006 John Woodsworth O, kneel before the memory of a Man And feel this precious gem’s true worth and measure! For sometimes in the great Divine’s birth plan We find a Man whom many hearts may treasure. A Man where we see more than just the sum Of life’s sporadic portions strung together: Parts swell to form an integrated one — A one who dwells in
poets’ hearts forever… Who felt his own free native Midst Criss-crossing seas with a rose from Blazing his rows of words filled with endeavour. To every Jack and Jane he bobbed in greeting. More e’en than that, in fairness he stood tall. His scarlet moments flaring, but soon fleeting, A generous jewel, sharing with one and all. For learnèd Spanish tongues he was translator, To rally sons of Muses he was heard. His songs and poems were such that none was greater, A touching love-light shone through his every word. His hairy eloquent beast feels very lonely, He’s missed at every meeting of the clan. O, feel the measure of this one
and only! O, kneel before this memory of a Man! © 25 April 2006 John Woodsworth Although my acquaintance with this vibrant,
kind and gentle soul was brief, I will be forever thankful for
it. His warm, sincere welcome and his encouraging words after my
first public read at Sasquatch a few weeks ago meant so much to me (and
the kisses sealed the deal!). I can only imagine how much you and
his many long-time friends must feel. It was apparent within seconds of
being in 'his room', that he was a man full of compassion
for life and living things -especially the poets he took under his
wing. On this beautiful afternoon, I will walk to a clearing in the sun and set a handful of feathers free to ride on the wind in his memory.
I am deeply saddened to hear of Juan's passing yesterday after reading the wonderful account of last Sunday's Sasquatch in the Ottawa Citizen and of Juan's founding of Sasquatch, and then boom! to read of his death yesterday from your e-mail to Sylvia, and again in today's arrticle in the Citizen. He always came across as a most personable and charming man and generous in his contribution to furthering the importance of poetry, language, music, and other related arts. His scope was international, and he was barrier-free. It will be hard not seeing him at Sasquatch any more but somehow, I am sure he will always be there as an unforgettable presence. While I feel I have not been on the poetry circuit for very long it has been a privilege to have met one Ottawa Poetry icon in Juan O'Neill. Yours sincerely, Betty (Warrington-Kearsley)
We
either met at Timothy's or the often
amazed me with his wide reading and accurate recall. I also encouraged
him to complete his memoirs which he was working on for years. He held
off with this project, hoping to extend it as long as possible. Alas, he
waited too long and that important work seems to have never reached full fruition.
He was taken away too soon--from us and his manuscripts! Gong In
memory of Juan O'Neill The shock of the gong in His heart that set off the last vibrations!
Dear Chris, I wanted to send along my condolences about Juan. I'm pretty sure you knew him so very well and that his passing has left quite an empty space with you. He was certainly a dear man and one who gave so many people an opportunity to bring their work into the public, who might not have otherwise. May he be blessed and may Sasquatch carry on in his name. Sandra Howard
Mid-march on the prairie, Amidst a long awaited snow swept landscape, Winter having finally arrived in the west After five months of bleak grassy farmland
Post-return
from After having rescued Fergus, After feeding you tortilla chicken soup In Sorrenti’s kitchen, pouring out wine and soul
After sitting up all night curled into you On the sofa sharing our adventures in living Since last we sat across one another, After falling asleep together, you, Fergus, me
I hear you singing softly In the maroon lavender of the early morning, Your eyes twinkling in earnest Once more offering to give me a child.
We had that conversation once On
a sunny Drunk on spirits and farewells When I came to see you before I left again for the west
Perhaps you never knew then Just how deeply you touched me, How you reached into the heart of me And gave me what no other man ever had.
“You’re a sublimely fine woman, Bonnie, and while I might not be around to help raise a child for long, it would be so meaningful to me to know I gave the world a child with such a fine woman”
And while that never came to fruition, I will always hold that unrealized creation Close to me, a talisman of a strange sort, A comfort, a knowing that age is irrelevant when a heart is true.
We spoke about that. Often. We got to the meat and potatoes of things. Very much Aries, we two, cut to the chase, Mean what you say, say what you mean.
The world is full of would be poets. Sharks cleverly disguised by medium. A true poet lives their words, You, mon cher, epitomized this.
Here on the prairie Miles
from where the After the thaw, I’ll look up into my night sky I know I’ll see you dancing with the Aurora Borealis
Magnetic storms. Surely after leaving the physical form, The dance continues, the song, Your voice, so beloved, we’ll hear with our eyes. © 2006 Anita
and I were very saddened to hear about the passing of Juan O'Neill. Were it
not for Juan and the other founders of Tree, I would never happened upon the
series in 1999. I also would not have directed Tree for six years, an
experience that I cannot easily measure. I was so sad to hear of the
passing of Juan O'Niell. I was fortunate enough to meet him while attending
Sasquatch and he was one of the nicest gentlemen I have ever met. To those of
you who knew him better than I did, I pass on my deepest condolences. I am
unable to attend on Sunday afternoon, but I will be thinking of
him. God bless Allan
K Watt Dear Jarkko, John was a dear friend of mine at
college, and although our paths crossed rarely, a
strong fraternal bond endured. Please accept my sincere regrets for not being
there among you to celebrate the life of Juan O’Neill. I am leaving for When I learned yesterday of Juan’s death, I was
shocked and saddened. It took me several hours to absorb full the realization
of it. Oddly, this past week, I have thought of Juan several times. He had
written a wonderfully evocative introduction to the Tree Anthology last year,
which brought back a flood of memories of the dedication of poets, such as
the late Marty Flomen, Juan himself, Marcus, Rob and James, to name a few of
the directors. These people have committed themselves to promote and nourish
the poetry scene in I first met Juan back in the early 1970s, at one
of the readings of another poet who has single-handedly done so much for Some of that group have fallen away from poetry,
turned to other forms of expression or simply no longer inspired to metaphor;
others continue to struggle to capture and transfer that beauty, spoken by
our interior voices, onto empty pages. Juan too had that struggle. But he
went one long step further than the others did. He put considerable energy
and effort into nurturing poets, to finding spaces for beginners to
test-drive their first creative drafts; or, for those who had sufficient
quantity of poems to celebrate their latest publication. It was selfless of
Juan to do this. He inspired so many of us with his unwavering dedication to
ensuring we did not lose our way, as is all too easy for the world does not
burn with the same zeal for poetry as we, its practitioners do. In writing this, so many memories of the three
decades since I met Juan crowd in – long evenings of fun, frolic and drink at
his house on Cobourg Street, heated conversations on street corners,
camaraderie with well-known Canadian poets in the small and intimate
locations he found to hold for their readings. It is ironic, or perhaps
poetic, indeed that Juan had such a huge and compassionate heart and that, in
the end, it was that very heart that would cease his life. I send my deepest sympathies to Ariel, Larry and
Hugo. Whenever I met Juan, the first thing he spoke to me about, after the
poetry, was Ariel. Partially, it was because Ariel and my own son, Aaron, are
of the same age and they shared many an evening as children played together
while their fathers dedicated themselves to the business of poetry. But more
importantly, it was because he was so damned proud of her and wanted nothing
but the best for her. I can imagine he had the same pride and love for his
new grandson. So, Juan, where ever your spirit is on this cold
March day, I raise my voice to say out loud this too-late thanks. Here is the
e-mail I should have sent last year. Adios amigo. You have left us but you have left behind a part
of you, that considerate and considerable generosity, your legacy that will
continue to encourage and developed the poetic community in THE
MURDERING CROWS a premonition for Juan O’Neill April 14, 1933 – March 15, 2006 Five months now the black birds have gathered not in pairs or even a dozen but by the hundreds In a small grove that reaches up from the twists of a semi-polluted stream about a quarter mile south of Despite a steady coming and going rain ice and snow will not dislodge them from their ambivalent perch as one can only imagine what feeds an army that does not migrate? Yet ever onward they roost quietly eyeing one another in their multitude as if knowing something in the world around them is about to change Why is it then I am the only one to see them? on the bus to work and the train coming home they practice for miles around their ornithological epicenter spaced apart yet close enough to project squadrons of six twelve eighteen and further still beyond the ‘scrapers Fellow transiters lost in newspapers and conversation do not see them while others like me stare out the window yet their expressions body language do not speak of birds When in winter seems only I can marvel at how the branches of elm and
maple have sprouted leaves that suddenly launch in waves © March 11, 2006 Chris Sorrenti thank you chris you were a truly charming host, both in the poetry farewell and the st.joe's going away celebration.
i can see how sad and lonely this has left you; but where there is a hole in the heart, love comes.
i knew juan, for 25 years, working in the cafe business together; we had our friction, but pure love, always shone thru, as we both really dug babies, and bright colours; and good eating.
a very empathetic man, and a passionate, and paradoxical thinker, he has left us his joy in all the things he loved; for that we shall be happy.
may your heart soon heal. also known by dawn; close friend of mr. mader. I did not know Juan very long; but a few
weeks. He was a warm person,
Juan was a lovable carmudgeon and I felt the sharp edge of his tongue a couple of times in our short acquaintanceship. I had only read at Sasquatch two or three times in the weeks preceding his death. Juan was the sweet anchor of the proceedings and at the appropriate juncture - during every Sasquatch event he would suddenly decide the time had come to sing a song of love, loss and longing - generally cast in an exotic locale of yore. Perhaps his ghost will haunt the basement of The Royal Oak for some time - cuffing poets unawares if they slip inadvertently into solecism or sloppy scansion. be
well Juan, old boy!
when you listen to the wind i see, your face alight with beauty and tranquility and golden rays in flight
you light the places seldom journeyed and surrender there your torch of knight
to light the way of little children who walk, the stairs of night. - Bette Davidsong A Tribute to Juan
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