America’s Man of Letters
He died sufficiently satisfied,
but unfulfilled; unable to answer
the crucial question of his life: “Why
am I me?” But the only way out of life
was through life, which my favorite
author tried to do by giving the mundane
its beautiful due, in poetry, short stories,
novels, and other genres; but it wasn’t
enough to see him through the darkness
of life that obscured his light. “For life’s
a shabby subterfuge, /And death is real,
and dark and huge,” he wrote in his
Endpoint poem “Requiem,” just days before
dying of inoperable stage IV lung cancer
with the song of life still longing to be
sung. RIP John Hoyer Updike.
Composed in Tiny Beaches,
Georgian Bay, Southcentral,
Ontario
Thursday, October 9, 2025
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