RIP Paul B. Janeczko

So Peter Tork died.  I bet you recognize his name.  "Hey! Hey!  We're the Monkees!  We just monkey around.  We're too busy singing to put anybody down!"  (That's how I remember it.  Don't mess with my youth.)

Someone else died.  Paul B. Janeczko. His name - I always spell it wrong. The "z" and the "c" sometimes change places.  I drop the "e" or stick it where it doesn't go.  But his writing, ah, his poetry - and the poets he introduced to hundreds of thousands of young people - well, I will never forget those.

His poetry is what we think of when we remember Paul B. Janeczko. Even in his obituary, written for Publisher's Weekly, his non-fiction works on spies and spy craft get little or no mention.  I found them fascinating and fun to hand to that kid - the one who wanted to write in code, or play James Bond.

Still, it is his poetry that stands out.  His anthologies introduced me to Naomi Shihab Nye and J. Patrick Lewis.  So I bought their books as well.

And now he's gone. 

You won't find Janeczko's obit all over FB - unless you're a friend of mine.  I doubt that people my age will gather at a tribute band concert or a poetry reading to mourn his passing.  That's a good idea, though.  Anyone want to join me?

I hope that Paul and Peter meet up in the Big Beyond. Maybe Peter could use some help with his lyrics. Paul's got the beat but a little bass accompaniment never hurt.

Another voice silenced. I am grateful for books.