Sixty-Seven Poems For Downtrodden Saints. Jack Micheline. Editor: Matt Gonzalez. (FMSBW, 1999 www.jackmicheline.com) Dist. by The Jack Micheline Foundation for the Arts. POBOX 30153 Tuscon, AZ. 85751 No
Price. 238pages.
I
guess I am privileged. I know, have published, have interviewed and exchanged
letters with a well-known North Beach poet, who harks back to the days of
Kerouac, Ginsberg, and others of that ilk, A.D. Winans. Winans, poet and friend
to the late, great Beat poet, Jack Micheline, sent me a collection of
Micheline's poems, "Sixty-Seven Poems for Downtrodden Saints." Charles
Bukowski said of Micheline in a letter to A.D. Winans:
"
Jack loves the sun...and the horse and the streets, and he loves the strong and
the common people. Jack is the last of the holy preachers sailing down Broadway
singing the song...He's fought hard...sleeping on people's rugs, sponging,
playing the clown for a night's sleep, a piece
of stale bacon..."
From
reading Micheline's work it seemed that the Buk hit it right on the head. His
work is generously laced with booze, "broads", the horses and hounds,
the down-and-out, the gone-to-seed, the neer-do-well, the wail of the sax and
sex, in short, a long funny/mournful Blues
song.
Micheline
was concerned with the plight of the common man. He was in the tradition of
Kerouac, living as the vagabond-bohemian bard. He never pandered to the
academics, and his poetry lacked any hint of pretense.
Jack
Micheline (aka Harvey Martin Silver) was
born on Nov. 6, 1929 in the Bronx, N.Y. During the 1950's he spent years traversing the country and
working Blue Collar jobs.
He
was everything from a dishwasher to a street singer. His first poem published
under the Micheline name was STEPS in Le Roi Jones' magazine YUGEN (1958). He
was included in two early Beat anthologies, THE BEATS by Seymour Krim and THE
BEAT SCENE edited by Elias Wilentz. He had several collections of poetry
published including: I KISS ANGELS (1964) and NORTH OF MANHATTAN: 1954-1975. He
self-published his first collection of stories: IN THE BRONX AND OTHER STORIES
in 1965. In June of 1997, Micheline's book, SIXTY-SEVEN POEMS... was published
by FMSPW in San Francisco, his home for many years. In 1998 Micheline died from
a heart attack on a Subway in the same city.
The
poems in this collection have a stong sense of setting. They take place in
mostly urban settings, where the working-stiff and the marginal
characters tend to hang. Micheline constantly celebrates the outsider looking in
at the absurdities of the mainstream. In POEM TO THE FREAKS, he writes: "
To live as I have done is surely absurd,/ in cheap hotels and furnished
rooms,/to walk up side streets and down back alleys,/talking to oneself/ and
screaming to the sky obscenities.../ Drink to wonder/Drink to me/ Drink to
madness and all the stars..."
Contrary
to popular notions, Micheline raises a defiant cup and embraces the life of an
often-indigent poet. IN CHASING KEROUAC'S SHADOW, Micheline again sets himself
up as a downtrodden bum, only to come back and celebrate the fact:
"
I am the gray Fox some schmuck
The old pro chasing the mad dream
The crazy Jew himself,
I only know when the cock rises and the crow howls,
To eat, to drink, to take a leak,...
Let's sing a song,
For those who chase the night
For those that dance with light...
The road
The vagabond
The dreamers,
the dancers,
the unsung,
Fuck the Gung Ho!"
The old pro chasing the mad dream
The crazy Jew himself,
I only know when the cock rises and the crow howls,
To eat, to drink, to take a leak,...
Let's sing a song,
For those who chase the night
For those that dance with light...
The road
The vagabond
The dreamers,
the dancers,
the unsung,
Fuck the Gung Ho!"
It
seems evident in every poem that Micheline knew where he was from, and would not
let the reader forget it. He was a street kid from the Bronx, a stumble bum from
'Frisco, and a snake oil salesman. In SOUTH STREET PIERS, the poet describes the
setting in where he hopes to have his ashes scattered to the wind:
"...the
red brick warehouse stands
the stevedores haul the rigs to the masts
the kids fight in the streets...
the cleaning girls are scrubbing Maiden Lane,
the smoke pours stacks from the Brooklyn shore--
the fog horn tickles my belly
I hear the drums beat
throw my ashes from the pier when I die."
the stevedores haul the rigs to the masts
the kids fight in the streets...
the cleaning girls are scrubbing Maiden Lane,
the smoke pours stacks from the Brooklyn shore--
the fog horn tickles my belly
I hear the drums beat
throw my ashes from the pier when I die."
This
collection of poems (many of them unpublished before), are not all stellar.
Often they are raw, violent and vulgar. Yet, they are a fitting tribute to a man
who represented a vanishing breed of poets. Throughout the book are photos of
the poet and his friends, and samples of his prolific body of artwork. It is
also an important historical and artistic document of an era and a movement,
that will be a great interest to scholars, students, and readers in years to
come.