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Toomey carves out his character in Family Reunion
By Laura-Claire Corson
Library Communications
Posted 1/30/2007
MADISON, Wis. – The collection of poems by the late Robert Toomey in “Family Reunion: Reflections Carved in Stone,” reveal his humor, love of jazz, and the anguish he feels when close family members pass away.
Ken Frazier, director of UW-Madison's general Library system, dedicated the chapbook by writing the well-liked Toomey was “perfectly in character” when he died. At the time he collapsed in the library, he was bringing bakery goods to share at a party.
Toomey’s partner, Jane Cooper, and sons Robert and Daniel, edited the 30 poems and chose pieces that represented Toomey’s character—one that was generous and known for evoking laughter out of friends.
The poems are organized thematically and chronologically, beginning with Toomey’s youth. Then, Toomey makes musical and comical observations of life.
In “Jazz: A History,” Toomey describes the joy of jazz music. “Just jazz, and a whole lot of singing / And dancing with (or without) wine / And /or women. No salvation. No Army.”
The last three poems reflect on the inevitability of death and remembrances of those who died. When Toomey’s son Michael dies, he expresses his sadness: “Here now lies no one / Who once was my son / Who is no more / But will always be.”
The chapbook’s title is derived from its final poem, “Family Reunion”—which Toomey wrote while at a family reunion in 2004 and encompasses the entire collection. “We drank the breeze and tasted the water, / Marking its slow decline: our own / Reflections carved in sand and stone.”
Toomey studied at John Carroll University in Ohio, Oxford in England and UW-Madison. He worked at Memorial Library until his retirement in 2001.
The Parallel Press is an imprint of the University of Wisconsin-Madison Libraries. For more information, visit http://parallelpress.library.wisc.edu/chapbooks/poetry.
Orders may be sent to:
The Parallel Press
372 Memorial Library
728 State Street
Madison, WI 53706
Phone: (608) 262-2600
A selection from the poem sequence "To Jan:"
Piano played past midnight
I heard from where I sat
The keys were black and white;
Then slow-sounding chords past midnight.
It never entered my mind to ask
What song it was he played, the changes
Arriving like some dark and distant
Past event remembered now.
The night wore on and he played
With sure abandon and control
A concentrated soul composed
Of craft, created, improvised.
We paid attention to the songs
We might have overlooked if sung
Some other time when we were young
And unrefined, but now defined.
Sounds floated in the air long after
They were heard, much like a chapter
In a book you can't forget, ever
And we listened as never before
Unbothered by the din from the room
Where drinks were served at the bar to men
Too young to die or live alone
Without a song sung with passion
By a singer whose voice soared
Above the noise and clamor that roared
Outside the lobby and the desk
Where guests were ushered in and out
To spend the night in rooms that looked
Alike, the buildings open to the sea
And mixed with the music being sung
And played, the tables like counterpoint.
