Some poets live forever on the edge; their lives seem like some impossible high-wire act in which they push the limits to see what they are capable of:
I am an angry young man
no longer young
the wire gets higher each day
and the gun is loaded
David Lerner died too young (not from a bullet, but from a drug overdose). Did he believe that poetry would save him? At one point he believed it would save the world - that it would reawaken the soul in modern life, where so often it seemed so absent. Thanks to Poetic Outlaws for publishing this, for keeping his angry soul alive.
The simple answer to that is quite obvious: 220 readers have liked this post so far, 18 have restacked it, and 14 have commented on it, (some in a serious way) so he means a lot to people. He was difficult, authentic, but the work endures and speaks for itself whenever it is posted. Ultimately, that's all a poet can ask for.
Whenever you post David's poems I get a bunch of different feelings. One is just the passage of time, how thirty-five years is both yesterday and centuries ago. I didn't know David long or well, he was in SF and me in LA, but we were tight; linked by poetry, addiction, and family, his aunt and uncle dear, dear friends of mine. But now, when I read him with all that time in rear-view I am able to appreciate the poetry separate from the person. He was difficult, boorish, needy-- his rage and hurt flying both out at the world and in at himself. He wanted to be famous and despised himself for it. The cat was A LOT to deal with and all of this was attached to the work! But when I read the poems on here (with him long gone), I always think the same thing-- Motherfucker, that was a real poet!
Thx for mini bio on author. Say it out loud and am a proud angry man. Ode to James Brown for that thought that popped. I am angry about many things but not poetry. Thx
Yes, this uneasy situation, so to speak in the voice of the speaker, but still I did not see why he is so angry. What is the real cause of all this anger. If it is in the lines of the poems, I failed to see it.
When Lerner died I was so fucking mad that the local rags didn’t have anything to say about it. With some introductions I was able to pitch the obit to the Bay Guardian. I think it’s the only one he got. I’m glad the quote lives on. It’s up to you (us) to make sure that our history is written, and written by people who were there. I urge you all to capture your own scene as it really is.
I miss David a lot, especially when times are tough. He was the guy who would say the perfect dark, funny thing and then laugh and ask other than that, how’s everything else going? And ask me about the great things in my life one by one. Fuck.
Some poets live forever on the edge; their lives seem like some impossible high-wire act in which they push the limits to see what they are capable of:
I am an angry young man
no longer young
the wire gets higher each day
and the gun is loaded
David Lerner died too young (not from a bullet, but from a drug overdose). Did he believe that poetry would save him? At one point he believed it would save the world - that it would reawaken the soul in modern life, where so often it seemed so absent. Thanks to Poetic Outlaws for publishing this, for keeping his angry soul alive.
Martin, Lerner's passion and struggles are deeply moving.
What impact do you think his poetry continues to have on readers today?
The simple answer to that is quite obvious: 220 readers have liked this post so far, 18 have restacked it, and 14 have commented on it, (some in a serious way) so he means a lot to people. He was difficult, authentic, but the work endures and speaks for itself whenever it is posted. Ultimately, that's all a poet can ask for.
Whenever you post David's poems I get a bunch of different feelings. One is just the passage of time, how thirty-five years is both yesterday and centuries ago. I didn't know David long or well, he was in SF and me in LA, but we were tight; linked by poetry, addiction, and family, his aunt and uncle dear, dear friends of mine. But now, when I read him with all that time in rear-view I am able to appreciate the poetry separate from the person. He was difficult, boorish, needy-- his rage and hurt flying both out at the world and in at himself. He wanted to be famous and despised himself for it. The cat was A LOT to deal with and all of this was attached to the work! But when I read the poems on here (with him long gone), I always think the same thing-- Motherfucker, that was a real poet!
Tommy, that's a nice tribute - fair and honest. To be called 'a real poet' is perhaps the greatest compliment you could pay a poet.
Lerner is the best of them all.
"I’d rather
sell arms to the Martians
than wait sullenly for a
letter from some diseased clown with a
three-piece mind
telling me that I’ve won a
bullet-proof pair of rose-colored glasses..."
are we not (all) writing (living) our life sentences
Thx for mini bio on author. Say it out loud and am a proud angry man. Ode to James Brown for that thought that popped. I am angry about many things but not poetry. Thx
A little charlie chaplin man, tightropeing eye beams ...
And holding up a mirror.
🖖😊 Thanks!
ditto 'angry woman'
Ooh fuck wow this was such a good one.
Yes, this uneasy situation, so to speak in the voice of the speaker, but still I did not see why he is so angry. What is the real cause of all this anger. If it is in the lines of the poems, I failed to see it.
When Lerner died I was so fucking mad that the local rags didn’t have anything to say about it. With some introductions I was able to pitch the obit to the Bay Guardian. I think it’s the only one he got. I’m glad the quote lives on. It’s up to you (us) to make sure that our history is written, and written by people who were there. I urge you all to capture your own scene as it really is.
I miss David a lot, especially when times are tough. He was the guy who would say the perfect dark, funny thing and then laugh and ask other than that, how’s everything else going? And ask me about the great things in my life one by one. Fuck.
Thank you for this. I appreciate your words, my friend.
Poetry that makes you think and feel and know: David Lerner
Thank you
Thanks for sharing. Part of myself, always enjoys reading this poetry theme.