When I saw Hunter – the first day we met – at the What’s My Line panel show, he was (now that I think of it) probaby the mystery guest. The mystery guest was famous. The others had an occupation the panel had to guess. I liked the show as entertainment, but when it came Hunter’s turn and the panel had to guess who the “real” Hunter S. Thompson was, and then he stood up (a scene that is beautiful now on YouTube), it was quite significant that the mystery about him was who he was. The more you think about it, the more funny it becomes, like a real joke.
Anyway, Rory Feehan’s new review of Keep This Quiet! appreciates the fact that I found this question significant and probed it. Indeed I did, all the time I knew him, as I’m always interested in meeting “the real” person. In this case, in particular.
The review by Rory is very insightful and well written. His pieces always are. Then I went to my ballet class and for the first time one of the songs was “When Irish eyes are smiling.”
Other news in this line: I’ve just prepared a review copy requested by a journalist. He has seen his friend Paul Krassner’s short review that will come out in High Times in May. And he wrote Krassner to ask for my e-mail address. If all goes well, that will result in another review. Meanwhile, Beat Scene should be coming out about now. I’m waiting for my copy. Will really enjoy looking at the whole magazine. It’s because of it that I discovered Charles Bukowski, whose poems you can read at http://bukowski.net/manuscripts/ and whose books you can buy at Beat Scene.
At the Bukowski site I started reading under “Words” here. He called himself “the last of the poet recluses,” and that brings to mind Mircea Ivanescu in Romania, whom I knew well. If anyone was a poet recluse, he was. He has just died and news of him has popped up all over the web. Even in England, I found that one of his books – lines poems poetry – is available in English through the Univ. of Plymouth Press: http://www.uppress.co.uk/ivenescu.htm.
This short, gentle man with the stooped back, who had a big, ironic smile and kept his telephone number secret, who had no computer but used an old typewriter, is apparently now pretty widely in the news: “Ivanescu’s poetry represents the achievement of a little known master. Centring on a wide cast of characters, including his alter ego ‘mopete,’ Ivanescu’s idiosyncratic, lyrical sensibility offers allusive, comic and elegiac meditations on our common lot.” Once again, I feel lucky to know these people. And many many others.
