Jack Micheline, 1929-1998

Jack Micheline

Talking to JM at Space Light Sound Gallery East 7th Street
Is like tasting raw street nerve force
It’s like a labyrinth of urban folklore and poetical bum lingo
It’s like talking to Kerouac through a medium across Death River
Half a century of “Fire and Light”
Of symphony about Crazy Horse’s brother
Wacky-Jacky girls chained by his bohemian charm
Born Harvey Martin Silver, son of a Russian Jew
Unrepeatable and unrepentant
With his beatnik heart glowing white—hat and hair white
Thousands of back-street bonfires in his eyes
A clown of the karma hallucinatory smile
I met him again in a church
Would you sign my book please?
Jack signs his name only
Minimum effort for maximum effect
H.H. Jester of Madmen of the Beatitude
Reading poems with Charles Mingus
Magician of street art, hipster
Chasing jazz ghosts in San Francisco
He was himself 24/7
Total freedom, anarchy, poverty
His tired dream fell asleep on the bus to Santa Rosa
And woke up at the Reincarnation Station
A huge garage called Stop Thinking
Destination Nirvana; one way to paradise
No more repetition in succession to boorish infinity
Open the gates of Shangri-la, beat motel for the dead poets
The maniac has arrived
Light the unknown
Because the unknown is all that he had
Because the unknown is all that we have

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