| Beatitude
Poetry Contents: "Wonderful, true as Bobkauf on a jazzy night"... M.Boleyn, editor, beatitude poetry CRAIG MOORE ___________________
|
Night of Saxophones (1) for Bobby Kaufman His name was carved outside in the cement, permanent eighty-six he appeared out of nowhere I knew his old Beat friend, Harry poet of poets, Bobby black Rimbaud his disappearing words, appeared out of thin air their nuance talked that way of talking, without saying anything, he gesticulated the essence that said so much more then the words themselves, their silent resonance floated on the thick air, said so much more and hung their voodoo like jazz glyphs on black night, the smoky atmosphere of his tricky transcendence, his Buddha eye Harry Monroe and Bob Kaufman kicked the gong around, downed a lot of vermouth torpedoes Bob did a sort of drunken war dance hop like part ghost dance part bebop shuffle I swear he winked at me in the jazzy alley between Vesuvios and City lights, I swear he spun around and almost fell on the concrete discreet as was his want to do, and there he was like a wild black Jewish indian with an elfin grin, his poet's eyes sparkling and laughing at some mysterious joke, I swear he seemed to vanish and reappear in his tipsy jig I use to see him bopping down by Broadway dig? |
