only to keel over from heart failure in 1997, the day after his 55th birthday. A Yale-educated WASP, Matthews mocked the tight-lipped stoicism that was his birthright, while elevating it into high style. His poem "Wasps" begins with his father sprinting the golf course, "trailing a loud plume/of wasps, slapping himself, jockey and horse." But of course, the game goes on. . . .
from Mary Karr: The Washington Post: Poet's Choice
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