Bob Kaufman

A Memory of the Poet Bob Kaufman

Bob Kaufman was on the streets, going from place to place, all designated with great intention, with very young Parker, his son, on his shoulders. This went on for weeks. One of his stops was on 7th Street near Avenue D. The apartment was empty, except for some furniture and thousands of strange objects. This time he showed up alone. He left Parker at home with his Mom, a beautiful young woman (Eileen) who loved Bob. There was one large room in the back of this apartment, with a tall window; of course it had a very high ceiling. There were a dozen or more different chairs -- chairs different in style and size, placed in an asymmetrical row but all facing in approximately the same direction, facing other chairs and a table. There were pictures and special objects set on these central chairs and table, to be viewed from the row of chairs. He had it somewhat arranged like a "theatre museum" -- if there is such a thing. When I came into the room, he was sitting in a big chair, looking at a picture; I mean really looking. He gave me a quick glance and then went back to his meditation. Even though I was there, he was completely alone. The picture was a detailed photo of a city dump with a giant bulldozer, a blue basketball in the driver's seat. I felt like I might be imposing, so I got up and left -- went to another room. There was a mattress, so I lay down and fell asleep. When I awoke, some hours later, the light was getting low. I got up, ate a Snickers bar, drank the remaining black cherry soda, put on my shoes and went to the theatre room. Bob was gone. The picture was changed. Now it was a small photograph of one of the great Charlie Parker bands taken at the Three Deuces on 52d Street: Bird, Miles Davis, Tommy Potter (bass), Max Roach and Duke Jordan (piano). I left and headed west on 8th Street. I saw Bob again, walking, carrying little Parker, going south on Broadway. I saw a painted sign on an alley wall -- "Bird Lives" -- and so does Bob.