And by the way, while Dante’s comedy is more divine than mine, my comedy is funnier. To me, anyway.—Harvey
A poet neglectorino in the classic sense rising up out of the fecund Seattle underground wisely irritated with the stupid Republicanized world but lucky enough to remember the 1950 Memphis dreams that Little Richard, Gandhi and Elvis promised us all.
Remember this if you don't remember anything else: Harvey gets pissed if you compare him with Bukowski. He'll tell you right off that Bukowski is dead. He doesn't bet on the ponies but he does like women. Very much he likes women. Can you like women too much, Harvey wonders? Harvey doesn't drink either. Instead he hangs out at AA Meetings, the ones populated by Indians and the broken-down. He doesn't like to listen to yuppies whine about their sad lives, although he does drink a Starbucks.
So what does Harvey believe in?
Harvey believes in the resurrection of Bert Ringold. Poor Bert. In 1960 he left the Mississippi Delta and went off to college with Harvey in Memphis. Short and chubby with curly hair, Bert was like the world's sweetest guy. He and his friend Drago were probably the first white guy members of C.O.R.E. Bert's dilemma was that he wanted very much to be in love and to be loved. To make a long story short, one day Bert went home to Mississippi and swallowed his father's double-barrel 12-guage shotgun. His naked big toe was the trigger finger. Harvey believes if God had any sense He would resurrect sweet Bert Ringold.
And Harvey believes in the magic of poetry.Jack's DayGlo Time Warp Chair
The 70s, 80s and 90s were
such a bummer; and the new
millennium's creeping forth
even dumber, so I'm warping
back to the 60s. Will you
come too?" Jack said, sitting
backwards on his chair.
But let's do it right this time:
no drugs of any kind, no pro-
miscuous sex, no jungle jabber jazz,
Stones nor Grateful Dead, no pigeon
politics, no Zen, no Hin-
doo gooroo razzmatazz."
"What's left?" I said, scratching
my old bald head.
"Well, there's travel, hos-
pitality, patchouli, gen
erosity, DayGlo poetry,
long hair laughter and
Ravi Shankar records."
"Alright, Jack, I'll go,
but on one condition—no
Ravi Shankar records!"
"OK, man, fuck a bunch of
Ravi Shankar records—
Copyright © 2007 by Harvey Goldner. All rights reserved. No part of this poem or book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations for reviews.