Two days ago, Marc Estrin died after a long illness.
Marc was the mastermind and guiding spirit behind Fomite Press, an anti-capitalist, literary publisher based in Burlington, Vermont. He was much, much more than that - accomplished musician; internationally known novelist; political activist; bibliophile; theatre artist; not to mention his personal life, rich with friends and love - but I knew him mainly through his literary work. We met at a series of poetry readings at which I was unveiling In Dante's Wake one canto at a time, as they were written. He began a lengthy and ultimately successful campaign to become my publisher. An even more lengthy and rewarding friendship ensued.
Now is not the time for a eulogy, and anyway, I'm not the best person to write it. That would take someone who knew Marc more intimately in more of his many aspects. But he was a large presence in my life and in that of many others, so I can say for sure that he will be broadly and deeply missed.
When he knew the end was approaching, Marc told those close to him that he wanted "a good death that wouldn't hurt anybody." The expression is quintessential Marc, as is the extremely benevolent but not-quite-realizable ambition. His death could not help but cause pain. But it is the good pain of having known such a thoroughly decent, talented, intelligent, multi-faceted, fascinating, forcefully humane person.
