So my brother, Phil, one of the true blessings of my life, did a reading in North Beach earlier this week: he is always ALL himself in his poetry with a sweet and subtle taste of Ferrlinghetti, Ginsberg and Whitman in the stew - and maybe just a bit of Tom Waits going on, too? What does it taste like to you?
I wish I could've been at that gig: a gallery in North Beach - the Emerald Tablet - the HOME of the Beats, baby! And even though it has become more gentrified and pretty - what hasn't (have you seen Times Square of late?) - and he and Jules now live on the edge of the Castro in the Mission - the groove of the streets still pulsates in his veins. And, damn, but I think I hear a litte something of the Saloon and Johnny Nitro, too?
He is a freaking amazing man ~ looks like Moses in the wilderness to me - and he'll be near to my heart as we wander through the jazz in Montreal. He turned me on to Tom Waits and whenever the old bard strikes up the band I can't help myself: I see my brother.
WHEN LOVE COMES TO TOWN: REFLECTIONS ON TENDERNESS IN A CHAOTIC CULTURE
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