"Bob doesn't do emotions," Leonard had once told an interviewer who asked about their relationship. "He does songs. That's his language."
<><>
"You write better than me," Dylan had said without preamble, without introduction. Leonard had laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Dylan's expression hadn't changed.
<><>
/i love those who
admire
with clean gentility/
~~
/adore/
those who love love,
and give their art,
its blessing.
with both
a holy
and unholy reverence
~~
storytellers
who tell it like,
it was, it is,
and how it
/should/
be;
with subtlety
and /hard driving
tenderness\
in voices we all instant
recognize
~~
to the ones
who always have
a notebook and a pen
on their body,
in their soil
awake within their eyes;
and
who sleep
with their lover & accompanist,
perpetually handy on the
bestride upon-ness
of the bedside table
as if
the clean white
and blue lined lineage
were just so,
awaiting their riding into existence,
a driver for their chariot of new birthing,
/like a breath of fresh air,
needy for
awaiting sharing\
<><>
dedicated to my fellow
Jewish
poets and all you, my de facto
writer~brothers+sisters
who appreciate them
9:22AM
nyc
Sunday Apr12. ‘26
a poem I did not know
that it was waiting for me till today
to be
written,
wondering how I tripped over
it just now…