Faggot Forefathers Week Fifty-Seven

Jack Spicer

(January 30, 1925-1965)

Sign: Aquarius

“A poet is a time mechanic not an embalmer.”

Gay American San Francisco poet whose poetry exulted in improvisation and direct inspiration, mirroring his joy for unfettered and anonymous sex.

A Second Train Song for Gary

When the trains come into strange cities

The citizens come out to meet the strangers.

I love you, Jack, he said

At another station.

When passengers come in from strange cities

The citizens come out to help the strangers.

I love you too, I said

From another station.

The citizens are kind to passing strangers

And nourish them and kiss their lips in kindness.

I walk the unbelieving streets

In a strange city.

At night in cold new beds the welcomed strangers

Achieve in memory the city’s promise.

I wake in love with you

At last year’s station.

Then say goodbye to citizens and city

Admit this much—that they were kind to strangers.

I leave my love with you

In this strange city.

A Book of Music

Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves’ boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.