I received some inordinately sad news this weekend from the United Kingdom. The independent literature community has lost an immeasurably talented voice and, for many of us, a dear friend. Sean L. Macro has passed away.

If you follow this blog, then you know that I have been a fan of Sean’s writing since 2014; I began corresponding with him just after the publication of his book, Happy Hour At The Misery Bar. Sean was an exceptionally gifted poet, with a mastery of stream-of-consciousness narrative that was absolutely enviable. His winding poetic lines ensnared the reader within a poem’s point of view, and then wove them into a complex examination of his chosen theme. The reader was truly drawn into Sean’s writing, and he employed this gift to effortlessly convey both beauty and a sense of loss.

Sean and I occasionally shared our work with one another, bridging the vast gulf of the Atlantic through the Internet. And I grew to admire him as much for his character as for his poetic faculties.

I think that he was one of the few truly good souls that I have ever met — for whom kindness and generosity were every bit as natural as breathing. There was a gentleness in him that I have never seen in anyone else. He was far, far too modest to appreciate his own abilities, and consistently overgenerous in his praise of others. He was polite in a way that seemed … old-fashioned, to me, anyway. He sometimes seemed like an anachronism, or a man out of time — like a visitor from some long past generation in which thoughtfulness was the norm, courtesy was the rule, and men and women were truly gentlemen and ladies.

Sean’s gentleness — that rare sensitivity of which he seemed completely unaware — was unique. It makes his loss unique as well.

We are going to miss you, Sean.

“Eastern Star,” Shahrzad Shirazi, circa 2007