Tribute for Marvin Orbach by his Daughter, Ariella

On the 27th of September 2015, the Orbach family is unveiling Marvin's tombstone. This is a part of the Jewish mourning rituals, the first time family and friends will see the tombstone. In recognition of Marvin's lifelong passion, the stone cites Leonard Cohen: “There's a blaze of light in every word”.







NOTES FOR MY FATHER


Ariella Orbach


[1. Notes from a Pacific shoreline]

The almost incomprehensible vastness of the open ocean speaks of the legacy a person can leave behind. My father never spoke to me of legacy, but it was always quietly there, like the floor-to-ceiling wall of books next to the tiny TV. (My parents always had their priorities straight.)

It was there in his decision to donate that wall of books, in his strict requirement that the wholeness of that collection of volumes remain intact, accessible to all, his contribution and tribute to the cultural wealth of the country that accepted his immigrant parents and that he called home.

My father's humble quietness never hinted at the great things that he achieved. He didn't do it for the recognition (although who doesn't appreciate some recognition from time to time?). He did it for the vocation. His collection of poems and of poets was always there, a natural and integral part of our everyday life as a family. Never did it seem strange to me that he would talk about his books not as numbering in the hundreds, but in the thousands. Or that he would come home from one of his secret spots in the city, dragging bags of forty books from the bus stop, joy radiating from his eyes. How many of us have the privilege of living such passion?


[2. Notes from the sky]


I recently read that curiosity is best cultivated early in life. Raise a child to question the world around her, and she will likely grow up with that insatiable desire to learn and to live. Could my farsickness then be a direct and conscious gift from my father?

Early memory 1: watching documentaries together, on any subject sufficiently different from our daily reality. Different places. Different cultures. Different species. He would quiz me – what is the capital of that country? the name of that bird? The sparkle of pride in his eyes when I got an answer right was more than reward enough.

Early memory 2: the typical weekend family outing would usually centre around a walk in the woods or a stroll down a marsh boardwalk with binoculars in hand. I would spot turtles sunning themselves, frog peeking out among the lily pads. He would look for birds through those binoculars or identify them by their song. Aside from poets, his other passion was birds. He was fascinated by all things that rose above the ordinary.

Early memory 3: when my mother and I would accompany Marvin on book-buying outings, I would be treated to as many old National Geographic magazines as I wanted, those that collected dust in towering piles at the second-hand bookstores. What was surely one person's opportunity to clean out the basement was my bottomless treasure chest. My eyes would devour the glossy pages and larger-than-life photographs of people and places that I never could have dreamed up. I don't remember whether I had the patience to read the texts, but I knew that one day, I would travel 'there', to meet those people and see those places for myself.

So when the time came for me to walk my own path, the choices I made were not much of a surprise to him. After years of exploring his slides from Machu Picchu, hearing his stories from the jungles of South America, I began heading out myself to such exotic places. I could see the pride in his eyes as he became able to learn and live through my learning and living.
When my father passed on, someone who had never met him wrote me to say that he must have been a wonderful person, judging from how he raised me. How right.


[3. Account of a visit to the Marvin Orbach Collection of Canadian Poetry]

I had not seen my father's books since they were taken down from their shelves on the basement wall of my youth, and shipped in box after box to the University of Calgary. At the time, I felt a not insignificant pang of sadness. That wall of books was a fixture of my childhood. When nobody was around, I would sneak a look at a book, picked randomly off the shelves, carefully flipping through its pages, breathing in its odour, and would then place it back in its spot as if my hands had never held that precious treasure. When the collection left, despite no longer being a child, I felt loneliness.

Years later and the Marvin Orbach Collection of Canadian Poetry at the University of Calgary began taking on a life of its own. Forever the collector (until the day he left us, and I mean that literally), Marvin continued adding to his collection as if it were still there in the basement. It grew in size and scope and depth and significance, but our only physical contact with it was the increasingly thick bibliography that he used to keep track of what he had added and what was yet to add. Although once seven years ago, my parents visited the Collection during a trip to Calgary, I had never seen the books in their new institutional home.

Until August 22nd, when I had the opportunity to visit the Collection with my mother. Housed in an impressive new library building, the books now take up a full movable stack in special collections – a floor-to-ceiling tribute to Marvin's passion, obsession, vocation, legacy. However one calls it, this gathering of poets and their verse has, according to my mother, nearly doubled in size since she saw it seven years ago. There are books still to be catalogued in a several piles next to the stack. Many of these were sent to Marvin while he was in the hospital. In good times and bad, he collected.





Thanks to the warm welcome we were given by Annie Murray, head of archives and special collections, my mother and I were able to dive deep into the Collection, to be surrounded by it once again – and with it, by Marvin's presence. The hour we spent among the books reconnected me to that childhood wall of poetry, and to the man who couldn't restrain his love for books, for poets, for words, for learning and for living.






Hi Chris,

Thanks for sending along the copy of Envoy, and for overall keeping us in the loop about all these wonderful tributes.

We had discussed posting in your blog about our visit to the collection in Calgary. I've attached some reflections on that visit and other thoughts I've been collecting since February. Gathering these thoughts has been a longer process than I ever could have imagined. My reflections are fairly personal, but it is the best way I know to pay tribute to my father. I hope the text is blog-worthy.

As I mentioned in our last correspondence, we are unveiling Marvin's gravestone this Sunday (27th) and I thought that this would be an appropriate moment for a tribute. If you could post this on Sunday, that would be great. Or if Sunday isn't the best time to post on a blog, today or Saturday would be fine.

We intend to read Marvin in Biblioheaven during the unveiling ceremony.

I've also attached some photos taken during our visit to the collection.

IMG_7073: Annie Murray and Gaby Orbach discuss in front of the Marvin Orbach Collection


                                
                                                 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~



On 2015-09-28, at 1:53 PM, Don Gordon wrote:

So deeply touching dear Chris,  you and I were there, I am so grateful.
Thanks for posting.    Katherine.
 
                                                              .   .   .   .   .


On 2015-09-28, at 2:47 PM, Terry Ann Carter wrote:

thanks for this!! hugs from the rainforest ta




                                                             .   .   .   .   .


On 2015-09-28, at 10:25 PM, bill bissett wrote:

dere chris hi thanks sew much 4
sending me ths abt marvin orbach
i always remembr him he is sew
xcellent
love n thanks bill