A Poet’s House in Cambridge

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In Cambridge there is a house built on poetry.
Its walls comprise verse questioning reality and encouraging a move away from the norm.
Its roof beams hold the deep thoughts of a zen yogi.
Its floor bears the weight of the rain in the spring or the dew at dawn on mountaintops.
Step on it’s stoop and you stand tall on the absolute truths of creation
Smile and be productive.
Follow your heart and dream.

Its builder was a mighty dream laborer
Who years ago took his pen off the page and onto the wooden fence.
And from there gathered more energy
Spiraling out wider in his artistic sweep
Until the whole property was turned over in an expansive leap.
Minds altered
and the whole neighborhood enveloped in the psychedelic color of this grand cottage
this grand poet’s house
grand venture in an otherwise tight-knit portion of town
Where the benches don’t even allow bums to get some sleep
And traffic is mainly tourists from other countries seeking the lore of Harvard.

A Poet’s House in Cambridge

Portrait of the Artist

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portrait by M.E Franasiak
photo by Alana Franasiak

This week I drove to Boston in order to catch up with old friends, swim with Thoreau in his pond, and grab this artwork that was painted of me several years ago. The portrait attempts to capture the essence of the artist in his birth stages. Freshly returned from his first trip to Spain the muse is still fresh in his heart and the vision still pure on his mind. He sits inside the Dream Oven (only a few months old), holding a pencil to paper writing the first several chapters of erotica that will become his first novel, in front of a stack of TVs still simple in their construction as he is still practicing how to balance these boxes of electricity. The idea of dream exhibition is still something he is fleshing out, and most people he tells about it think he is out of his mind. They haven’t seen it for themselves yet. He has only just learned how to make a dream catcher and his other dream labors are still very early in their craft. His language is rough around the edges and he has only smoked mugwort seriously once.

But in this image he is on the rise as a living poet. He is about to enter one of the best years of his life full of deep friendships, travels, and even the strongest love relationship. For the first time in his life he feels that he is the creator of his own universe and the people around him truly are the great intellectuals he thought only existed in books.

This is a portrait of the dawn of dream punk. It is the beginning of a surreal life. Everything that follows is the borderline historic ride leading us up to now. And boy, has it been fun!

Portrait of the Artist