McCracken Wakes!

McCracken is a wild, wiry haired, crazy bearded poet who can be found almost everyday on Brunswick Street offering to declaim his poems to passers-by. Apparently he hands out ads for the Rose Street markets or something like that. When he does get an opportunity to read a poem to someone, he shouts at them instead. It's just his way of reading. Anyway, after you've been going to poetry readings for a while, like I have, you'll probably hear about how McCracken was one of the first poetry reading MCs from someone or other (maybe even from McCracken himself). You can see footage of him here - don't mistake him for the other bearded weirdo who happens to go by my name - on one of the latest programs of Red Lobster.

He gave some rather enjoyable readings at the Dan last week. Sometime between now and then I decided to write this (with obvious help from Tennyson, and after another suggestion by poet JM). I don't know... I kind of think it captures something about him....

Below the thunders of the city street,
In some abysmal crevice of the bar,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
McCracken sleepeth: far off, sounds of car
Make music to his snores: around him swell
Shadows of poets, painters, drongos, drunks,
Old musos, madmen, socialists and punks,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell.
Some soothe his sleep with rhyming lullabies
Upon the stage, while some rehearse free verse:
There hath he lain for ages and will lie,
Battening upon Doritos in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep,
And rising, men and angels both shall curse:

MCCRACKEN WAKES! MORE BEER! shall be his cry.