kindred, n. and a.
Early ME. f. kin1 + -reden, -red, OE. ræden, condition, reckoning.
The occasional early ME. variant kindred(en may have been a parallel formation on kynde, kind n.;
but the modern kindred, which first became common in the 17th c., appears to have arisen
through phonetic development of d between n and r, as in thunder, Hendry, etc.
1850 Tennyson In Mem. lxxiv, I..know Thy likeness to the wise below, Thy kindred with the great of old.
~Oxford English Dictionary
So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.
~Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.
Seeming stiff, but always aware of each
Movement and position of his body, however slight
No stimulants, no intoxicants
In his 23rd year, tagging with trimmers
Who seek seasonal cannabis work
Because he’s pulled so deeply into himself
Plus a slender frame seems smaller than six three
And older and younger than he is.
Intoxicated and full of stimulants, I met him
In a pub with his fellow migrants, the Brazilian
Woman flirtatious, inviting me into the group,
Angry with me later because I was deep in conversation
With Alan, to the exclusion of all,
Who could stay with me through all of my trains
And take me on trips of his own,
Trunk story from branch story, digression
On digression, but always returning
To the central flow of whatever story
Was being told by whomever.
Electroshock therapy. His mother in college.
Ever since a sex worker, an escort
His father one of her Johns. Only
Talked with him because he had book in hand,
Hanging inconspicuously at the edge
Of the group, his backpack, guitar, and
Portable typewriter next to the table.
I bought him a ginger ale.
His mother is in immobile depression again
The same for which they electrified
Her brain in the early 80s
A nervous depression, he feeling he should
Stay with her, but his uncle convinced him
To leave, to take care of himself, so he
Hit the road from Far Rockaway,
Yes, New York is very difficult to hitch hike out of,
I did it in a blizzard in 1978
With a guitar and a backpack and
Portable typewriter
He took Metro North to the end first
Which made it easier
And went to Pennsylvania, the Rainbow Gathering.
I’ve never been to one of those, Highbridge Park
Spokane’s World’s Fair the closest
Where he met a woman
(Now that’s an old story)
And “tented” with her. “Tented?”
It was complicated by another woman
He was involved with, for whom he resisted
The the tent mate teaching him crystals
And chakras, but when he got to Baltimore
The other said she had a new boyfriend.
(Another old story)
He rode a couple of freight trains in the midwest
Chicago, St. Louis. Finally met his father
A few months ago. Guilt ridden father.
Wealthy father. Perhaps criminal father.
Thinks of going back to college.
If you need help, ask your father —
He might want to help but not know how.
I didn’t talk to my father for ten years.
For money, he sets up his typewriter
And offers to write a poem for a donation.
Really? I used to sell poems on the street
In New York to eat. Where? Mostly around
6th Avenue and 8th Street, when I lived on 15th.
I grew up on the Lower East Side.
Where? St. Marks Place between 2nd and 3rd.
Ha! I got a ticket for disorderly conduct
On St. Marks for reading Finnegans Wake
Aloud while sitting on a folding chair.
Went out for a lot of Indian Food as a child —
My mother rarely cooked.
I lived on 2nd between C and D in 1980
Back when they would open up on police cars
With shotguns.
That was before they gentrified it.
It’s people like you and me
That lead it into such neighborhoods.
We both laugh.
The book he had was Dharma Gaia.
Buddhist? Zen. What sect?
Haven’t settled on one, sitting in a variety
Of temples. I’m Nyingma. Oh? I don’t
Know the Tibetan forms. Been to Abhayagiri?
What’s that? Theravada Thai Forest
Monastery near here. Oh, I like the Theravada.
You should visit.
And on into texts between us.
I lived in abandoned buildings for a while —
Also on 2nd Street, before I got an apartment —
Hitched in the blizzard to see Mammy,
My grandmother In Pennsylvania
For the last time — 23, just like you —
She gave me enough money for 3 weeks in a
Bowery flophouse, two bucks a night —
The roaring 20s hotels, ornate ceilings,
Big marble urinals, sectioned into metal rooms
The size of cots with bathroom stall doors
One big chicken wire ceiling for them all
Beneath meretricious plasterwork.
A couple of boisterous thirtyish boyish men,
Close friends and drunk join us
After his friends leave. What are you reading?
Buddhist? I knew this chick who was Buddhist.
She was wild. Came on to me right in front of her husband.
My friend remained silent, not offended, per se,
But unsure how to respond. I jumped in.
Yeah, Buddhists are weird, I say, and we all laugh,
Alan with a twinkle in his eye. When they comment
On my eyepatch and call me German with
Nazi overtones, spitting out streams of fake German,
I quote the first lines of Rilke’s first Duino Elegy
To them in German, looking them in the eye,
Intensifying. This makes them nervous, but Alan
Is having fun now. That wasn’t really German?
So I translate, “Who, if I cried, would hear me…”
The other one’s mother is giving them a ride home
Because they’re drunk. She joins us.
Lovely. I thought at first
she was the first one’s date.
When they go, the pub is closing.
Alan has nowhere to go.
Even though he’s Zen, he slept
In my Tibetan shrineroom
For twelve hours,
Road weary no doubt.
I forgot to ask him for a poem.
Nor did he see mine.
But he gave me his cell phone number.
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