COLUMN EIGHTY-SIX, MARCH 1, 2003
(Copyright © 2003 The Blacklisted Journalist)
(Copyright " 2003 Joyce Metzger)
BASTARD CHILD WITH NO PLACE TO GO by
Foreword by Jack Micheline
"Beneath everything, above everything, in his work seems a human and humane compassion
toward the human drama and its actors and actresses." --Antler
"Winans disowns much of modern America. He puts me in mind of that character in Paul Theroux's Mosquito Coast." --Richard Real, Beat Scene
we could go on and on; every reader, every editor, publisher, poet,
acquaintance, friend, and critic of A.D. Winans will have a different construct
of the man, and of the poet. Winans
seems to all, the voice of the "every man," the person on the street, the
prisoner calling out obscenities, the lonely, misplaced military youth who
awakens dazed, to discover self in an
Winans is Mr. San Francisco.
Since I am working as a biographer/author on a manuscript for a book with
that title, I use the term within a two-fold capacity.
It is a correct aphorism to describe the man, and it reveals within terse
conciseness, A.D.'s dedicated
love for his native city. The other
maxim definition I use is "Mr. Walks Tall."
Winans walks tall, never slouches,
words are not red-flagged warning signals.
Winans remains an acute judge of character. An effusive word explosion
often masks a frivolous mind-set. A.D.
knows this. Winans has always been
a small press activist. He is a
member of PEN, and in the past, A.D. actively participated in the Folsom Prison
Writer's Workshop. He also worked
in conjunction with Paul Fericano for several youth poetry groups. His history of publishing via Second
Coming Press, for seventeen
of A.D.'s poems has been set to music and was performed in April, 2002, at
Tully Hall in NYC.
has dedicated his life and word, thoughts and heartbeats, energies and vitality
to the promotion of words. I?m
not certain concerning the direction of his thoughts in regards to the title of
this book: A Bastard Child With No Place
To Go. I suspect A.D. has arrived at the conclusion that we are all
"bastard children? after we have opened our eyes and minds to the injustices
which contradict the normal apprehension of a supreme being, a
super-intelligence which directs all, and everything, including the sadistic
actions which exist in this world. "No
foreword was written by Jack Micheline, penned on Christmas Day, December 25,
1996, in San Francisco. In the
author's note, A, D, Winans writes; "Not many poets would spend Christmas
Day writing a foreword for another poet, but Micheline was always generous with
people he considered his friends."
For d.a. levy
It's all a lie
Poets have become exotic
Merchants of death
And we go on too
Like a tired tongue
Resting between the legs
Of a very bored woman?
* * *
Early Morning Thoughts
down to the Mission District
bars opening their doors
to the living dead
old men slumped over bar stools
with eyes vacant as cattle being
led to the slaughter house?
* * *
old ghosts stand guard
at deserted Playland
at Ocean Beach
the fat lady laughs
the fun house torn down
like my old high school?
haunting. Memory torment.
Contemplative thoughts stir from slumber, as reflections of past connections
collide head-on with the present. Bukowski,
Kaufman, Levy, Hooker, Robertson, and O'sullivan.
All are present here, again, for A.D. Winans never forgets his friends.
this book. Keep it.
Read it. Revisit old haunts.
Immerse yourself in an era that will never, return again.
This is excellent, vivid imagery. Every
poem lingers to become a page-turner.
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