Jack Spicer

To satisfy the odd urges of RP Thomas in Phoenix I have set in motion a plan to deliver a video of Dooley reading Jack Spicer, the voice of the San Francisco Renaissance.

Ed. Note:  Thomas called Dooley's book, People, Polemics and Pooh-Pah, "splendid."

Spicer, who spurned the "Beats" after co-founding the Six Gallery with a group of painters; who argued intelligently that poetry does not come from writing but rather from Martians and other "Outsiders."

This is the poem Dooley shall tackle, with visuals I have yet to complete while risking nothing but the fucked-up fate of my dreams to relate:

A Poem For Dada Day At The Place April 1, 1958

I

The bartender

Has eyes the color of ripe apricots

Easy to please as a cash register he

Enjoys art and good jokes.

Squish

Goes the painting

Squirt

Goes the poem

He

We

Laugh.

II

It is not easy to remember that other people died

          besides Dylan Thomas and Charlie Parker

Died looking for beauty in the world of the

          bartender

This person, that person, this person, that person

          died looking for beauty

Even the bartender died

III   

Dante blew his nose

And his nose came off in his hand

Rimbaud broke his throat

Trying to cough

Dada is not funny

It is a serious assault

On art

Because art

Can be enjoyed by the bartender.

IV

The bartender is not the United States

Or the intellectual

Or the bartender

He is every bastard that does not cry

When he reads this poem.

TS