I met James Broughton originally when, in 1971, I was a hand-and-rod puppeteer in Lou Harrison’s opera “Young Caesar.” I traveled with it and stayed with Lou and Bill in Aptos, CA during the summer of 1971 when together we completed the opera. I met Broughton’s friend Harry Partch that year on one or more of our trips, and he jumped up on my lap. I was shy then, but have loved remembering that. Harry and Eduard Roditi were wonderful contemporaries of James, who had fine gay peers.
James Broughton took the name “Gnarley Never” from a birthday poem I wrote for his 70th (possibly 75th ) birthday at the San Francisco Art Institute. It was a hit. James asked if he could have it as a moniker. “You bet,” I said. He used it as the title for the long poem which appeared first in a chapbook dedicated to me, The Last Sermon of Gnarley Never. Here’s an excerpt:
… Let me be the first to admit it, and proud to say so.
I’m a zealous distributor of disorderly elations.
I fumigate apathy, peddle aphrodisiac,
foment pizzazz in lodges and choir lofts,
lobby for love in Congressional cloakrooms.
I mix piss and vinegar into all my solutions
and cast my pearls into every barnyard
hoping one little pig will look up and smile.
But calling humanity to any outpost of joy
can wear out the lungs. Majorities swear by
their weak knees, lily livers and cold feet. …
We were ‘extra good’ friends from the time he and Joel became a couple. They ‘honeymooned” in Ruth Witt-Diamant’s house on upper Willard Street on Parnassus Heights in San Francisco (just up the hill from Parnassus Avenue 2 blocks west of Stanyan Street). I had known Ruth since 1970 as she lived 2 doors away from my friends Lawrence and Justine Fixel; at the time I was her part-time gardener.
Ruth Witt-Diamant started the Poetry Center at San Francisco State University, where Broughton’s friends & acquaintances Dylan Thomas, W.H. Auden, Gary Snyder, and many others had stayed over the years. I often stayed there when she was out of town and had the use of her car. She was swell to me. Ruth said I was a real poet. You can imagine how I liked hearing that.
James was special — really special — and a lucky lad to meet Joel. We kept in touch even after they moved north to Port Townsend, Washington. A friend of both of ours, Jim Watson-Gove and his wife Eleanor live up there now and there is a bench in front of the Rose Theatre and a popular cafe dedicated to James. He is not forgotten there.
Nor here.
~ Edward Mycue, 7 June 2013
Edward Mycue was born in Niagara Falls, New York, raised in Texas. Was a Teaching Fellow at North Texas State; Lowell Fellow at Boston University; WGBH-TV Boston intern; Macdowell Colony Fellow; a Peace Corps teacher in Ghana. Then US Dept Health,Educ,Welfare.
“Since 1970 his poetry, criticism, essays and stories have appeared in over 2000 journals, magazines, on the Internet and everywhere literature is read. He is called by many, “one of the best living poets in San Francisco.”” ~ John Coyne, Peace Corps Volunteers
Literary Works by Edward Mycue:
1970s