I have a dear friend who lives in New York who shared this with me recently. Richard wrote:
Chris Hondros, one of the photographers who was recently killed in Libya, was a longtime friend of a friend of mine, from our journalism days. There was a front-page story about Chris’s work in the Times on Saturday: (May 8, 2011)
Kacy wrote about Chris:
” I know Chris believed in the importance of his work. He hated war and wanted people to see what it looks like. He was such a decent, involved person. One story that always touched me: This is the photo that got him a Pulitzer nomination:
“The photo was taken in Liberia. Chris kept in touch with the man in the picture, and when he gave up being a freedom fighter, Chris paid for his education. I saw this poem in an online tribute. The poem wasn’t written for Chris, but it seems so appropriate to me, after years of seeing his photos and hearing his stories:
by Wislawa Szymborska, translated from the Polish.
It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened earlier. Later.
Nearer. Farther off.
It happened, but not to you.
You were saved because you were the first.
You were saved because you were the last.
Alone. With others.
On the right. The left.
Because it was raining. Because of the shade.
Because the day was sunny.
You were in luck — there was a forest.
You were in luck — there were no trees.
You were in luck — a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,
A jamb, a turn, a quarter-inch, an instant …
So you’re here? Still dizzy from
another dodge, close shave, reprieve?
One hole in the net and you slipped through?
I couldn’t be more shocked or
how your heart pounds inside me.
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