Twenty Years Stardust- Remembering Tom Natell

 

It’s twenty years ago this week that Albany poet and activist Tom Natell passed away, after a long dance with throat cancer. The day of his passing, he was scheduled to take the reins of a new open mic at the Lark Street Tavern, a favorite hangout for artistic types around the city. Word got around, and the reading took place anyway, evolving into an impromptu memorial. His ex-wife and son were there, as well as his partner Maryann. The back room was packed, and poet after poet took the mic to express their appreciation for all Tom’s work promoting local poetry.

I first encountered him, I believe, when I was newly single and eager to drive anywhere to read. For many years he hosted Readings Against the End of the World, an annual event that was briefly revived pre-Pandemic. I was pleased that I managed to find my way to Willett Street and the old 8^th Step Coffeehouse location all by myself, and that I was able to take part in what I considered an important event.

Later, I moved to Albany for a year, ostensibly to complete my MA in English. I learned more about poetry and life at Tom’s QE2 reading than I did in any of my UAlbany classes (no offense, UAlbany, but the Ivory Tower turned out to not be my thing.). He showed me what a good host does, leaping on and off stage, offering information about other events, and mainly keeping the show moving along at a brisk pace. Although my years there was brief, it was a rich and varied experience, and the poetry scene was a big part of it.

For years after, I tried to keep up. I would work my miserable shift at Cosmodemonic Communications, leap in the car, and head up to the Lark Tavern, or the QE2, or to any one of the various readings held each week. I was stronger, and somehow supernaturally motivated to exhaust myself attending these events, in addition to whatever was being offered here in the Kingston area. It was an exciting time.

Even 9/11 didn’t slow the pace, but these things go in cycles. There are times when  a poet can’t possibly keep up with everything going on, and other, leaner days when one a month anywhere can be a blessing. And then there’s love.

I can’t blame everything on love, except my survival, my sanity, the fact that a good fit is to be prized more highly than even a well-turned phrase. My Beloved moved in in July 2005, just a few months after Tom’s passing. The three years before, in addition to frequent dashes to Albany, also included weekends in Central New York to spend time with my boyfriend. The move was made, and suddenly I had almost no reason to leave the house. In the days before Door Dash, we shopped and cooked and loved like crazy. Did my writing suffer? Not in the least.

I’ve been so lucky to have landed here, and so lucky that the poetry community has welcomed me so sweetly. I couldn’t have imagined as an awkward teen on Long Island that my life in the future would be so full, so completely satisfying. Granted, the path here has not been without its potholes. But at this point the old cliché applies—I would not change a bit of it. I’ve survived, worked hard, written hard, and created a home and life for myself to the best of my ability. Thank you, Tom, thank you, Albany poets, for showing me how it could be done. I learned what my priorities should be, and proceeded in the correct direction.