the naked poet

charles rosenberg, dj at the standard hotel, nutritionist and gardener, vintage clothing and decorative arts expert, and friend... was perusing a used bookstore when he happened on a copy of the naked poet by gavin dillard and, for obvious reasons, peaked inside. he was greeted by four lines of my poetry. and bought the copy for me. i have not seen or even heard from gavin in years and years. but having once seen him, you have been spoiled to look on anything else. gavin and i met at a reception for exene cervenka (x) back in the eighties... she was reading poetry at an underground los angeles club, henry rollins was there also... it was quite the scene! gavin and i became attractive friends ~ he attracted to my (unclaimed) talent, i attracted to his (undeniable) beauty. we planned several projects together (child harold at the zoo ~ my writing, his drawings ~ was one) but nothing ever manifested ~ his backers were more fronters. he wrote me often from various places but our lives crossed less and less as the years passed. the naked poet was published in 1989 with a dedication to christopher isherwood (who liked one of gavins ditties, but then who didnt?) and four lines from my lost book, flowers of ecstasy, to launch it. he made a spectacular splash (emphasis on spectacle since he always gave his readings in the nude) and brought people who had never read a poem to poetry readings. it may be they have still not read a poem... but they bought his book. and one of those ended up in charles rosenbergs handy hands this many years later. and now into mine. what a walk down amnesia lane! charles rosenberg is one of those people who knows everyone who is cool and knows every cool thing that is happening in town. and he knows me! he is quite a journalistic writer and reviewer and has worked for many respected magazines. we have tried many the vegetarian restaurant together and enjoyed company and conversation. the low point of our relationship happened when he was writing for los angeles magazine and my meditation class was named the chattiest meditation class in la (which it may be). he did not write it ~ his cunt editor did, changing his succint prose about my esoteric class without his knowlege. the high point of our relationship was having cocktails one evening at the standard hotel while he played music. my friend millie was there too. we were all dressed. but it was sheer poetry.

to see my poetry: http://royanthonyshabla.com