For
Mark Bradley, Songwriter & Chef Walt
Whitman is crying. One of his greatest and most grateful children has
been taken far
too early. Beyond nihilistic smokescreens and MTV's glare of
celebrated self-destructiveness, a few visionary potentials commit their lives
to figuring
out this world to
change it. In only 28 pre-aneurism years, Mark had learned to
bake food and cook lyrics. But when this world refused to budge, his
heart left to
transform the next one.
Noin the death of the young, metaphors are
never so clear and fluke tragedies never made sensible. Sometimes poems
are helpless he
should never have died, this
youthful American bard to come, this bountiful songwriter who actually lived
according
to his song.
Mark was Hub City's Phil Ochs with
electrified vocals. He helped lay bricks along the trail to
Baldwin's fire next time, revived Plath's most upbeat measures, &
set Shakespeare's sweet bird song gently
upon eternity's high-tension wires.
O Cathy, though there is nothing we
can do, ask
and we will do it. Death, prepare an angelic pillow for this soul who
ought to be a stranger to you still. Mark, the promise I made to Walt at
his Camden grave I make to youmy young friend, poet-brother, artist
extraordinaire, soul of righteousness Down with the multinationals!
Down with their A & R robots with rusted ears! We will make sure your
song is heard!
Eliot
Katz 1994 |