Song of a Reformed Headhunter

Heard Joe Fritsch read at Bengal Curry last night. It was hard to hear him above the whining of the fridges in the Indian restaurant. But he gave me copies of the poems afterwards. Also met with Daniel and Magdalena, two Swiss artists, who are working on a sculpture installation piece called "Talking Heads." They asked me, and I agreed, to be recorded reading my poems in 6 one-minute segments. They would use the video to create an animated clay figure of me, one of twenty-one figures in the installation about the voices in a person's head. They also asked Joe to be a Talking Head too. * Jerry Wheeler of Out in Print , a queer book review site, asked me to send him EQUAL TO THE EARTH. Another connection made on Facebook.

I was shocked to learn a couple of days ago that Jack Wiler is dead. I met him twice, at poetry events in the city, and both times enjoyed his reading very much. He read in the same way as he talked. The poems are of a piece with the life. He exterminated pests for a living. After he read my book I sent him, he asked if he could do anything for me. It was a generous gesture. That Facebook exchange took place less than a month ago. Jack was tall, and, though gaunt, looked strong. He was fifty-nine. Death and birth. Joe Fritsch, whom I also met at Cornelia Street Cafe, has started a blog . He is twenty-one, and has just moved into the city. I wish I am twenty-one. His poems are already crafty and poignant. But more, I recognized in him my restless ambition to make something of myself, to reach for whatever is swifter, higher, stronger (Baron Pierre de Coubertin). Perhaps I am projecting. Perhaps all my relationships are always about me. Shall I see Jack's death through Joe'...