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"Jack Kerouac dream" photograph below was taken in New Orleans in May 2006.
I knew there was something weird and unique about it when I shot it, but the lighting with all the reflections and everything going on in it made it difficult to tell exactly what that special something was or how it would come out. When I got home and looked at it, the title for it instantly popped into my head along with most of the poem that the photograph inspired. I did edit and add a little to the poem on a second pass to work out some of the details, but the original idea of it is still there. I think you should be able to see a larger version of the photo if you click on it. |
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I hope you like it. Feel free to let me know either way. 
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I dreamed I saw Jack Kerouac By: Ty Randall
Written to accompany photograph #60510218 - "I Dreamed I Saw Jack Kerouac" 
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I dreamed I saw Jack Kerouac on the corner of Rampart and Dumaine. With one eye closed and without a hat he was singing a slight refrain. Past the virgin he was lugging a jug I'm sure some wine or maybe a Hurricane. If I know Jack like I thought I did either one will work fine just the same.
I thought I saw Jack Kerouac. But I didn't quite know what to say, So I smiled and winked and gave him a wave
and he looked at me as if I was gay,
Should I be the cool guy and show my wit? Or would he curse me for using words that way? Or any way for that matter, butchering them all like a used up rodeo horse off to slaughter.
Hey Come on Jack, you don't have to be like that. No fooling, man. Can't you dig it? Don't you know? Can't you see? |
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Hey Jack Kerouac, is that even you?
And if it is, what do you say?
He'd say, who are you?
Where are you?
Can't you see there's no return in a dream, no punctuation, no purpose.
Go away, kid. Get away from me.
Take your snotty running nose back to your saggy mother with the
dirty clothes in the Laundromat waiting for a dryer, a cigarette, a hair spin,
or whatever it is she's looking for. Go back there and be a comfort to
someone who cares. Do something right for a change, something
spontaneous and maybe even exciting. Get there. Get to where you're
going and be fast about it. Don't sit here dilly dallying around
in the cold, damp, drunken streets of New Orleans waiting for the
buzz of a fleeting acquaintance or acquiescence of nectar from the dim,
falling street-lamp hugging sky of these back alleys. It doesn't
matter if it's me, or if it's you, or if it's coke, or if it's wine, or
if it's virgin, or if it's finely used like a perfect candle
dripping so sensually all over my mantelpiece of ecstasy between
the mahogany cracks of starlight and the big shiny antique Japanese
bowl. Because this is it, my fat fuzzy friend. This is the place. The
place you were looking for. The jazzy place with no resolution. The
only one. The one and only. I'm actually kind of surprised it
took you so damn long to get here, but then again when you or I
or anyone else for that matter really thinks about it, I mean
really puts their noggin to the grindstone so to speak,
you can see the similarities in it all, that is, if you
really, REALLY try. And try you will,
YES! IT IS YOU! My
friend Jack Kerouac! As if you're raised from the dead. Walking right by my
mucous-covered dreamy eyes just to be there for me again.
I dreamed I saw Jack Kerouac.
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If you purchase an 8" x 10" print matted and framed (to 11" x 14") of the photograph that inspired this poem (shown above), we will also send a printed copy of this poem with it AND we will donate $25 to the Common Ground Collective to help rebuild New Orleans.
All that for only $75.
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