Page 3 - Litterateur March 2021
P. 3

                     jack foley                   RAMBLINGS

                            OCTOGENARIAN ANTICS

                                 2/23/21                          I had an incredibly complex,
                  Lawrence Ferlinghetti died last                 confusing childhood

                                  night.                          but was nonetheless a child of
                           Blue eyes closed.                      privilege.
                          “Mr. Ferlinghetti...”                   I wrote painterly poems and
                   “Please! Call me Lawrence...”
                                                                  “oral messages.”

                My name was Lawrence Ferling.                     I embraced the downtrodden,
                There are more allusions in my                    the lost, the outcast.
                poetry                                            I denounced the government

                than there are in The Waste Land.                 and “autogeddon”
                I am a painter and a publisher and                (a word I took from Heathcote
                a book                                            Williams)

                store owner. After                                but was a successful and
                invading Normandy,                                eventually rich

                I came to San Francisco.                          businessman
                I published one of the greatest                   My bookstore became a
                dirty poems of the twentieth                      national monument.

                I took the phrase “a coney island                 I am a street in the city of San
                of the mind”                                      Francisco.

                from Henry Miller and made it                     Vorrei ringraziare tutti—e
                the title of my marvelous, hugely                 anche i miei genitori
                popular book of poems.                            immigranti.

                Like Jack Kerouac, I spoke French                 I am Lawrence
                to my mother                                      Ferlinghetti.
                except (but I didn’t know) she was                I never knew my father.

                my aunt.

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