for Benjamin Marcus
photo credit: Kurt Fulton
How do I love this photo?
Let me count the ways.
The effortlessness with which
it conveys the spirit of the artist
and the body of the man
and the undertaken undertaking
of releasing just that span
of those delectable depictable
articulable Words which press
confessionally their best version
of a reason for why they not
only ought to be reconstituted
palpably as art but as the symbol
and reality of all incarnate flesh.
And look now, there they are,
all buzzing in fresh molecules
of paper and of color and the faintly
dolorous gestalt of knowing living
wisely is the same as living wildly
and for it to know. which it must know,
it is alive, to cultivate conditions
for the mildly manic mission to be
fructified that Benjamin will mark it
with his Marcus and that he will park us
with it in a front row seat which
overlooks no bleaker street than
Bleecker Street wherein we'll have
a barbecue of marbled beef, the most
arresting meat for words to find more
than belief that they have managed
to get through to real existence.
Real existence is extraordinarily
impossible to prove, of course. But this
is just the premiere course. Benjamin
has more to cook than his vocabulary.
He's the constabulary force without
whom courses can't receive a license.
Oh it and he go on from here,
but we will leave the thing intact.
It's exciting to become a fact!