LeRoi (Amiri Baraka) Jones
On such a winter day the sad news came. Amiri Baraka - who will always be LeRoi Jones to me, had died. And what of the silence following his death? Who can explain that? May you Rest In Peace my friend, wherever your ashes are scattered, or your black bones interred. Perhaps you're there with Corso, who you may or may not have liked, or Kaufman, are you tossing poems back and forth with Bob? I'm sure Bremser is there, sleeping beneath his 'tit-topped slatted stack'. And if you find Frank O'Hara, tell him 'Hi'. but then move on.
Seems the world has grown a little bit smaller yet again. Such a pity. Ginsberg and Kerouac are dozing, serene for once, not having to be who they are, and Ted Jones, ah, who among us remembers his poetry, or that he named one of his daughters after Dali?
And yes, LeRoi Jones:
"I (also) wish some weird looking animal
would come along."
Who's left to us who survive? Ferlinghetti, Snyder?