Editor’s Note from Sarah Menefee: I heard San Francisco poet and organizer Gregory Pond read this moving and powerful poem below for our late comrade poet Jack Hirschman’s 90th birthday celebration on December 13. People gathered for a moving memorial at City Lights Bookstore, and afterwards across the street at Spec’s bar (Jack’s ‘office’ at a big round table where people gathered), reading their and his poems and speaking words of love about this world-celebrated revolutionary poet, who died in his sleep in August of 2021. Jack took his message of social and spiritual transformation and brotherhood around the globe with him, an inspiration wherever he went, and was intimately knitted into the San Francisco and North Beach scenes, where his great heart was open to all, from the panhandler on the corner whose name he knew to his peers in the world of international poetry and struggle. Jack called himself ‘the world’s oldest paperboy’ and was proud of the number of People’s Tribunes he sold in the streets, cafes, at protests and events, and around the world, proud also to publish his articles and poetry in its pages. Here is Greg’s poem, which wonderfully captures his great spirit. The world is a better place for his having told his truths here, inspiring so many: ‘everyone is a poet’ he always said, and dedicated his life to envisioning and fighting for a world where that could be.
the after jack arcane Gregory Pond 1. the most we can ask during our earthly stay is that we get a chance to make an impression that will forever last in hearts of those who bathe in the light we still cast after we exit the stage and when we get to the end of our page who'll be there for the final sign-off after the last poem's been written, edited and saved? where goes the next mentor, next dissenter, the next brave warrior who'll paint in bright red letters and write the next arcane? Jack, where now are you? have you still got a poem or two up your sleeve that you read every night to the stars and moon? you encouraged us to write but to whom should we now turn to ignite our revolutionary fuse? 2. can you believe, how lucky were we to be part of your global dream that envisions a world of love and peace and provides all basic needs? though the work is far from done, we reluctantly grant you reprieve we are sad but in our hearts you'll always be our rebel Jack, the cool cat, the artist activist, rabble rouser, proud communist, anti-capitalist, back scratcher, ready to shoot the shit, full of hope, cracking jokes, with that special wit that doesn't exist in the souls of most folks so hard to think, we'd ever see you go before you had a chance to watch those fascists choke on their bile when they try to define the meaning of the word “woke” 3. i only wish that on the day he passed San Francisco had flown a red flag at half staff since no more will we be comforted to see Jack supported by sturdy arm or his wooden staff walking North Beach to reach the heights of City Lights or to the Beat and back he navigated Columbus and Broadway his red scarf roaring like a fire alarm while the cars always waited for him to cross and never, ever blew their horns a poet in motion, long mane flowing determined, defiant in a way that only he could completely stop traffic on a dime like Moses parting the Red Sea then despite the help he'd gladly accept as he stepped down the street and up to the door of Specs whenever he was set to enter the bar he’d always stroll in unaided and alone like some famous rock star with such a lively gait kinda like he owned the place or in some way like he was safe at home 4. we who still breathe must now stoke the fire with our own steam to light the torches of those who still dream and who will continue the fight through all the turbulent days and nights to come when there will be no more we so much work needs to be done but oh, how quiet and empty the stage has become now that Jack has left the scene.
