Category Archives: Juan Felipe Herrera

Sometimes one poet can cross barriers. Sometimes no one is aware. 10. We talk about Jack. Jack H. is always inside Puccini’s on Columbus Street. Under a deific religious and rebel light, as if Dalí had painted him ascending over Cadaqués. I wave at him. Outside on the street. I keep rollin. The Bear Claw isContinue reading “Juan Felipe Herrera – Johnni Capp Street | Notes from Donut Land 10”

Name “a window to somewhere and nowhere.” That’s enough. 9. I go back to Capp Street # 3rd floor. Futon on the flooor. I can see Twin Peaks from the window in the am.  No furniture, no TV. Margo says I am ridiculous. Because. I have only two things to eat. One: Half of aContinue reading “Juan Felipe Herrera – Johnni Capp Street | Notes from Donut Land 9”

Invisibility. What is it? Who’s invisible? All of us? How? 8.  Frank takes off. Where he goes no one knows. He’s free. He lives his life. He has many lives. There’s a million donuts in Donut Land. My mother, Lucy, gave me at tray of Arroz con Leche. It’s at Frank’s place. You gotta haveContinue reading “Juan Felipe Herrera – Johnni Capp Street | Notes from Donut Land 8”

Reflect on Mexican Novelists, reflect on “American Poets” reflect on borders. 7. There’s about 75 chairs and about 50 tables. Windows all around in Donut Land. Light and darkness all at the same time. And donuts, donuts, donuts —  at midnight. I love hanging out with Frank Wilma. It’s one infinite conversation with pieces ofContinue reading “Juan Felipe Herrera – Johnni Capp Street | Notes from Donut Land 7”

American Poetry, Midnight America. Are they the same thing? American Poetry? 6.   We always rap. Maybe like the classic Modernists in Paris. EE Cummings, Gertrude Stein, T.S. Eliot in some odd amber-colored café. So what? What is that thing called “American Poetry?”   We hang out in Donut Land. Midnight America. I am trying to describeContinue reading “Juan Felipe Herrera – Johnni Capp Street | Notes from Donut Land 6”