I bet, gentle readers, that few, if any, of you remember where you was June 23rd, 1994 at precisely 2:45 PM. I do: in a yellow cab at West 57th and 7th Ave. going to my hotel (Millennium, at 55 Church). In those pre-Uber times NY cabbies only had two subjects: the Mets and poetry. My guy Marc Anthony Butcher (according to his license card) was poetry. Halfway there, about West 14th, we bonded over Bukowski, Edna St. Vincent, Esenin, Dylan Thomas and Mayakovski. A few blocks further south, due to race, creed and general background, we started diverging.
He to me: "Rhyme, optional at best"
Me to he: "Rhyme, nice to have"
He to me: "I am a published author"
Me to he: "I am neither either"
He to me: "Here's my book for you"
Me to he: "Here's ten bucks for you"
He pulled up and the doorman, George (his real name: Gică Sfetcu and he was the former goalie for Textila Buhuși), hastened with the door: "S-trăiți, dom Miki". I paid and tipped Mr. Butcher five bucks.
He to me: "Thanks brother, I have a cat called Mango and a dog called Tango"
Me to he: "Not at all, man. My mom was Chlöe and my sister was Zöe"
M.A. Butcher's books are still in print by YAMOO PUBLISHERS, Brooklyn and his Spoken Word is available wherever you gets your podcasts. In 1999 his books were approved by New York City's Board of Education for use as a textbook for grades 6 to 12.
No comments:
Post a Comment