Jim Carroll by Tom Clark

Photograph by Mary K. Greer

One of the finest artist produced blogs on the net is by the great poet, Tom Clark. Beyond the Pale serves as a model for poets and writers wishing to produce content and extend the dialogue of author/reader beyond the printed page into the much vaunted digital world. The net is not a source of promotion for Clark, as the book before it was not the point of writing; it is the connection of one mind to another or, in the case of writers, many others. I, as a reader, like to think of the experience as one on one, poet and reader, one at a time.

The line may be long, but the poet will get to you eventually.

Back on September 11th 2009, when the poetic/writing community lost Jim Carroll, it hit a particular segment very hard. Disbelief, as it always is with untimely death, was the predominant reaction. One looks around, shakes one's head, tries to get mind around the idea of death. Grief prompts something like an irrational, inconsolable searching. We've all been there, with those closest to us to those we "know," share a deep kinship with, through their work.

It is significant that we characterize this type of kinship with the feeling of having been "touched"; I was deeply touched by the work of Jim Carroll. And for others, like myself, who went looking for an "explanation," or that other type of kinship, shared mourning, we found something profoundly moving.

We found Tom Clark on Jim Carroll.

Back in September, on the 14th, a mere 3 days after Jim's passing, Tom Clark posted his memories of Jim. Somehow, his glimpses into the life of Carroll were just what folks needed to hear. The few scenes were significant, sketched as they were by his friend Clark, a powerful memoirist. Those glimpses, with a touch of poetry by both poets, began a healing process for a community of readers who had always felt that Jim was close to them in spirit.

I'm happy to say, though blogs come and go as quickly as the seasons, Bob Arnold of Longhouse Publications has published Tom's post in a little 23 page booklet that, with the exception of a one photo and minus one or two that were on the blog, essentially replicates that post in its entirety.

The handful of tales Clark recounts of Carroll signify. Jim's deep bond with his dog during his protracted period of kicking dope, his reluctance at pickup games of basketball, his reaching out to a woman reading her poetry at a rehab session, all of these moments, though seemingly small details in a much larger life, feel like a full portrait of a poet that many a whole biography might fail to capture. Clark's account of his own distaste for poetry readings quickly dissipates watching Jim reading to a room of 10 fellow recovering substance abusers:

It was totally mesmerizing; I felt privileged, uplifted, and scared. While reading Jim seemed to leave himself and become the conductor of energies from another place. I understood then I was in the presence of a master, his powers palpable yet perhaps beyond the understanding of anyone present.

Jim Carroll fans will always have Living at the Movies, The Book of Nods, The Basketball Diaries, Fear of Dreaming, Void of Course and Forced Entries, as well as his great rock recordings. And now we have this little set of scenes in which Jim comes to life once again in a way that only a friend and master stylist can make happen. Though it might be both premature and presumptuous to think the inevitable full length biography might not capture Jim as well as this short little memoir, it can surely be said that no one will capture the tone and feel of Tom Clark's thoughts on the great Jim Carroll. If you think this is just the publication for you, jump at it since this little booklet is a limited run (see Tom's note about run in comments below) . I know it will always sit right next to Jim's work on the shelf with all of his writings I have on hand.

There is a photo, by Beatrice Murch, that concludes the book and wasn't on Tom's original post [CORRECTION: This photo did appear in Tom's original post. See his comment, below.] It is a photo of a path out in Bolinas just like the ones Clark describes Jim as often traversing with his dog, Jo'mama, all the while wrestling with loneliness and his various demons. Perhaps it is one of the very paths he walked.

A path that is now empty.

The Birth and Death of the Sun

Now the trees tempt
the young girl below them

each moves off the other's wind
endlessly, as stars from the earth,
stars from the stars.

Jim Carroll

Thanks to Bob Arnold for making this available.

And thanks to Tom Clark, for everything.

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This week's featured poem comes from Lilliput Review #100, a broadside by Cid Corman entitled "You Don't Say."

Here is a
long way off
and as far
as you'll've
ever got.

Cid Corman

at my feet
when did you get here?
snail

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

------------------------------------------------

PS Books mentioned in this post. Support Independent booksellers.

Living at the Movies
The Book of Nods
The Basketball Diaries
Fear of Dreaming
Void of Course
Forced Entries

Jim Carroll on Reading Raymond Chandler: Issa's Sunday Service, #21

Sadly, today's edition of Issa's Sunday Service caps off a week of tribute posts for Jim Carroll. Happily, we still have his work, as long as we're alive, to turn to for solace, instruction, and enjoyment. This week's LitRock song is by the Jim Carroll Band: "Three Sisters:"

But she just wants to lay in bed all night
Reading Raymond Chandler.

I've been thinking about another of the song's featured on the blog this week, "It's Too Late." I remember Jim and the band appearing live on one of the nationally syndicated late night television shows, possibly Saturday Night Live, and performing it. He performed an alternative version of these opening lines:

It's too late
To fall in love with Sharon Tate
But it's too soon
To ask me for the words I want carved on my tomb

It's probably hard to imagine today that the reference to Sharon Tate, one the victims slaughtered by the Manson family, was powerful and shocking, but, indeed, it was, particularly in a "pop" song, one being performed before millions of people on television. Here is the alternate opening as I remember it:

It's too late
To fall in love with Sharon Tate
But it's too soon
To trace the path of the bullet in the brain of Reverend Moon

I say "as I remember it" because I can't find any reference to it anywhere. There are some live performance videos of the song from a show called Fridays, but it doesn't have the alternate reading. I wonder if anybody out there remembers that performance because those alternate lines about Reverend Moon dealt in poetic prophecy, not realized, and were every bit as shocking, if not more so, in the context of the place and time than the Tate lines.

This week's featured poem is from Lilliput Review #29, February 1992. As elegy's go, it's a fit way to close:

last will and testament

make a wind chime
from my bones,

hang it
where the poets speak.

let me be a part
of the conversation,
life.

Charlie Mehrhoff

Sumiyoshi's lamps
die out again...
autumn wind

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS: ✔ out 21 weeks of LitRock songs @ LitRock From Issa's Sunday Service.

Jim Carroll 5

Here is one of three poems printed and distributed at the funeral for Jim Carroll:

Poem

Alright
Buddha gets
A backstage pass

But his friends have to pay

Jim Carroll

As some of you may have guessed, I'm having a bit of a hard time with the passing of Jim Carroll. I only met him once, briefly, and he was very kind to a book store clerk helping to set up an offsite signing. The reading itself was full of humor, pathos, and an unflinching look into the great maw of Being.

It is a comfort to know that his words and music live on.

Fires
Burn in my heart.
No smoke rises.
No one knows.

Kenneth Rexroth from The Morning Star

my province--
even the smoke
an ancient thing

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

Jim Carroll 4

Here's another beauty from Mr. Carroll: "City Drops into the Night."


City Drops into the Night

It's when Billy's whores are workin'
They're workin' with the skeleton crew
It's when the sky over Jersey
That sky starts to drain from view
It's when my woman pawns her voice so
So she can make her old excuses sound new

But I just want one clue

'Cause when the city drops into the night
Before the darkness there's one moment of light
When everything seems clear
The other side, it seems so near
What seemed wrong?
I think it's gonna be just about right
Before the city drops, the city drops
Into the night

It's when the door to the River
That door is like 26 miles
It's when ambitious little girls start
They start to dream about a change in style
It's when the slick boys got their fingers
They got their fingers in the telephone dial

But I think I'll just wait a while

'Cause when the city drops into the night
Before the darkness there's one moment of light
When everything seems clear
The other side, it seems so near
What seemed wrong?
I think it's gonna be just about right
Before the city drops, the city drops
Into the night

It's when the sneak thieves are checkin'
They're checkin the alleys for unlocked doors
And Billy's sister's gettin' frantic 'cause
'Cause Billy's sister's little brother can't score
It's when the woman from the dream is . . .
Oh my God! That's the woman on the floor

Each promise was just one promise more

'Cause when the city drops into the night
Before the darkness there's one moment of light
When everything seems clear
The other side, it seems so near
What seemed wrong?
I think it's gonna be just about right
Before the city drops, the city drops
Into the night

It's when Teddy's ghost is on the roof
Beatin' his drum
And Teddy's best friend is two blocks East
And he's makin' Teddy's ex-girlfriend come
You know, they mistook Teddy's blind trust . . .
Just to prove that Teddy was dumb . . .
But listen, you know, I think they are both just scum

'Cause when the city drops into the night
Before the darkness there's one moment of light
When everything seems clear
The other side, it seems so near
What seemed wrong?
I think it's gonna be just about right
Before the city drops, the city drops
Into the night

It's when the body at the bottom,
That body is my own reflection
But it ain't hip to sink that low
Unless you're gonna make a resurrection
They're always gonna come to your door
They're gonna say, "It's just a routine inspection"
But what you get when you open your door
What you get is just another injection
And there's always gonna be one more
With just a little bit less until the next one
They wait in shadows and steal the light from your eyes
To them vision's just some costly infection
But listen, you should come with me
I'm the fire, I'm the fire's reflection
I'm just a constant warning to take the other direction

Mister, I am your connection

'Cause when the city drops into the night
Before the darkness there's one moment of light
When everything seems clear
The other side, it seems so near
What seemed wrong?
I think it's gonna be just about right
Before the city drops, the city drops
Into the night

best,
Don

Jim Carroll 3

Tom Clark, one of today's finest poets, was a friend of Jim Carroll. Read his extraordinary recollections of Jim @ his fine blog: they are revelatory.

Don

Jim Carroll 2

People Who Died - Jim Carroll

Teddy sniffing glue he was 12 years old
Fell from the roof on east two-nine
Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
He looked like 65 when he died
He was a friend of mine

Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

G-berg and georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
So they died of hepatitis in upper manhattan
Sly in vietnam took a bullet in the head
Bobby od'd on drano on the night that he was wed
They were two more friends of mine
Two more friends that died / I miss 'em--they died

Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
Judy jumped in front of a subway train
Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
And eddie, I miss you more than all the others,
And I salute you brother/ this song is for you my brother

Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Herbie pushed tony from the boys' club roof
Tony thought that his rage was just some goof
But herbie sure gave tony some bitchen proof
"hey," herbie said, "tony, can you fly? "
But tony couldn't fly . . . tony died

Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Brian got busted on a narco rap
He beat the rap by rattin' on some bikers
He said, hey, I know it's dangerous,
But it sure beats riker's
But the next day he got offed
By the very same bikers

Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

RIP, Jim.


Don

People Who Died: Jim Carroll

Jim Carroll: RIP

Jim Carroll, poet, memorist, rocker. He will be missed.

Don