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      April 30, 2025David KirbyThe Queen of Quirk Says Goodbye to Her Not-Me

      You need some mothballs so you hurry down to the Dollar Tree
      even though it’s about to close, and there’s just one register
      open, and you’re the last person in a long line, and there’s a guy
      sitting at a window waiting for the cashier to end her shift,
      and just then your phone goes ba-ding and it says Shelley
       
      Duvall just died—oh, no! The same Shelley Duvall whom
      The New York Times called the Queen of Quirk
      for her offbeat looks and even more offbeat performances
      in some of the best movies ever made in the seventies
      and eighties without ever having taken a single acting lesson
       
      and in that way serve as a hero to everybody who
      ever wanted fame and fortune without having to put in
      all that hard work we were told is essential by our parents
      and teachers as we proceeded from one stage in life
      to the next, which group of people includes everybody,
       
      and as you get to the register and put your mothballs
      on the counter along with a couple of other things
      you didn’t need but bought anyway, the guy catches
      your eye, and he looks exhausted, like maybe his helper
      didn’t show up and he had to unload his truck by himself,
       
      so you ask him how he’s doing, and he shakes his head
      and says It’s another day and when you say you hear
      there’s one scheduled for tomorrow as well he says
      Hope not. Shelley Duvall is best known for her performance
      in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, in which she plays
       
      the wife of the Jack Nicholson character who slowly becomes
      unhinged and eventually tries to kill her and particularly
      for the scene where Kubrick did 127 takes of Shelley Duvall
      backing up some stairs and swinging a baseball bat
      at Jack Nicholson. Your body does not differentiate
       
      between a perceived threat and an actual threat
      said Shelley Duvall at the time, so while Mental Shelley
      knew that Jack was just playing, Corporeal Shelley was sure
      he was going to bash her brains out. Emerson called
      the mind the Me and the body the Not-Me in that
       
      the one knows what to do and how to do it while
      the other can barely get itself out of bed in the morning
      and may do something splendid that day but is just as likely
      to be lazy and stupid and will fail us in the end by becoming
      slow and forgetful and maybe even incontinent and certainly
       
      dead, as is now the case with Shelley Duvall. Why can’t we
      be more like honeybees? you think. When a honeybee
      colony needs to find a new hive, it sends out waves of scouts
      to search for a new site, and when they return, they dance
      for the other bees, each scout’s dance signaling a possible
       
      location, and as new waves of scouts go out and return,
      the new scouts align themselves with one old scout or another
      until a single dance becomes the most popular, and there
      you have it: follow those bees to the perfect oak or elm
      and you’re all set, whereas we have to think it through,
       
      work it out, frame it up, break it down, start again.
      Later, Shelley Duvall said she realized Kubrick
      was trying to bring out the complexities in her character,
      and you wonder if she believed that or was just trying to make
      herself feel better. Either way, it worked. You guess.
       
      On your way home you remember you forgot to do
      your pushups that day, so you go to the park even
      though it’s dark now, but the Little League field is all lit up,
      yet when you get to the spot where you always do
      your pushups, there’s a man and a woman about to
       
      go at it, but you figure what the hell, it’s your spot,
      so even though the man is saying You done so-and-so
      and the woman says I ain’t done shit you get down
      and start knocking them out: twenty-three, twenty-four,
      twenty-five, and the man says Hold on, how old are you
       
      and you tell him and he says Damn! and You doing good
      and you say I can’t turn back the hand of time but I figure
      I can slow it down and the man points to his mind and says
      I’ma keep that in my mind but at least he and the woman
      aren’t fighting any more and as you head for home
       
      you think about how when you said Have a good evening
      to the guy who was waiting for the cashier he smiled
      but didn’t say anything and you said Have a good evening
      to the cashier and she said Have a good evening, sir
      and Be careful out there and then Enjoy your mothballs.
       

      David Kirby

      “Man, some days it’s hard to get it together, isn’t it? That’s true whether you’re a movie star or a guy whose helper didn’t show, so he had to do all the work himself. But that’s not how this poem started. It started when the cashier said, ‘Enjoy your mothballs.’ I realized that casual comment was the perfect ending for a poem that not only hadn’t been written yet but should probably be colossal in scope. How to live your life has been the one big question from Aristotle to this day. And then I read that Shelley Duvall had died. And then I ran into the quarrelsome couple at the park. And that’s when I figured that the one big question doesn’t have one big answer. It has a million little answers, most of which come down to some version of ‘life is hard, so be kind to others and be grateful for what you have.’ As the cashier said, enjoy your mothballs.”