elegy for Ray Clark Dickson
On the road, on the sea
on the trail of the diamond word,
following the drunken footsteps
of London and Kerouac,
men who left scattered
manuscript pages in their wake,
you wayfared your way through
bottles, businesses, boats, vows,
families, fortunes, houses, huts,
saddles, reels, saws, tales, timber,
and night jam sessions turned to day
turned to night turned to endless
blacklight benders to Ensenada
Osaka Nuku Hiva Kitimat Stockton.
And returned home with nothing,
except the world.
Though the century wore out
and the world got small,
you wrote it big again,
colored it burgundy
outside the lines from the limits
of a tract house
and gave it back free from your self.
Now, as the puritans of identity
roll up our language like the flag
of a defeated country,
no one writes like you anymore.
The bus passenger obscured
by rolling clouds of dust.
The captain at the wheel minute
before the squall.
The Basin Street drummer eclipsed
by the diva.
The fisherman emended
from the legend of his catch.
The gringo escribér erased
by the words he left behind.
No one writes like you anymore.
Posted for dVerse ~ Poets Pub’s “Poetics – Now I Can See…” prompton Tuesday, Mar 24, 2020 by Mish
Jedediah Smith 
/the world got small, you wrote it big again/, is a great line. I love the notion that Jack Kerouac and Jack London (a fine pair of Jacks)/left scattered manuscript pages in their wake/.
Thanks for the comments. And I agree, they are a fine pair of Jacks.
Nice line: “you wayfared your way through”
Thank you Frank.
A great composition. Love all of your descriptive images…. especially this one…
Now, as the puritans of identity
roll up our language like the flag
of a defeated country,
Thanks for that. I’m a moderate guy in most ways, but I am protective of the richness of language.
Very nice!
I loved this “beat’ sounding poem. “No one writes like you anymore”
Thank you. The Beats informed Ray’s work a lot and inevitably mine as well.
I like the lines:
‘and the world got small,
you wrote it big again’.
Thank you. I was thinking in an odd way of Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard.
This is incredible. I loved the alliterative list in the first stanza and this line…”And returned home with nothing, except the world.” The repetition of “no one writes like you anymore”. A beautiful elegy!
Thanks! So glad to hear those elements came through.
And returned home with nothing,
except the world.
Worth the trip. You honor this writer! Beautifully done.
Thanks very much. Kind words.