Jim Carroll

Jim Carroll, the catholic boy whose basketball diaries and people who died made poetry cool and tough (again) in the skinny-tie era, died Friday.

I grew up on his angsty kid stuff and loved his first concert tour with pre-Live Aid Boomtown Rats. Neither Mr. Geldof nor Mr. Carroll could sing, of course, but they sure knew how to put on a show. In any case, here's a more recent and playful sample of his writing, courtesy of the Catholic Boy site:

Valentine

The word
summons
to be bound
to cynicism
or elaborate expressions.
permutation
snakes through our lives
pasted
to seduce
to be
released, appropriately
unrelated
or something
lopsided
so that it can be
hard
and
warm
hope
from
your piece
to
please
to submit

Like it? Here's the backstory: when invited to submit a poem for an edited volume titled Valentine, Mr. Carroll simply circled words and phrases in the editors' query letter and rearranged them into the above poem. Valentine. I wouldn't have believed the story without seeing a scan of the letter. And, no, as a matter of fact I don't think you could get away with this sort of reply the next time you're invited to contribute to an edited volume.