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The Possible, a poem for Randy Gener by Caridad Svich

The Possible
a poem for Randy Gener
on January 25, 2014
by Caridad Svich
make sexy, he said
in the birthday hallo
make love, he said
about theatre dreamt of
on the subway train we rode
some years ago
back from BAM
we got lost
stopped at the wrong stop
but kept going
we laughed
and started to really talk
about art and life
after years of being fans
across the aisle
often separated: critic and writer
but no need for the separation
as we spoke of
people we loved
teachers we admired
the importance of mentors
and poetry
I write too, he said
not just essays and things
many nights later
on a night of hibernating rattlesnakes
daring the dare
at the nuyorican poets cafe
haunted by the ghosts of losaida
there was writing, yes
and talk of Genet
and such words
divine incandescence
crackling intelligence
ha, you are a poet, i said
but no, no, the reply,
just writing some things when i have the time
when i am not wearing other hats
impassioned hats
for Belarus Free Theatre, Maria Irene Fornes,
artists on and under the radar
in New York City and other cities and countries
everywhere, everywhere
the world is ours. we must write it.
at the Players Club
the kind words that flowed
because the passion was real
and the depth of it felt
and never knew, never
he'd been reading/watching/caring
all this time
like this
yes, there was that drink,
that long drink
when we first met
at a conference
a crash of heys and hallos and sudden long conversation
a real conversation midst the floating cups
and shallow talk
finally, kindred spirit
smile blush
at the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center and New Dramatists
the raising of glasses
for words in print
daring the dare again
for an endeavor
not meant to last
just a dare, you know
to see if a wee dent could be made in the field
because so much work
too much work
still unread/unknown
it cannot be
and he said, yes,
let's dream the yes
and through it all -
bitter tears,
rage, hurt
and joy
crazy ecstatic
webster hall
loud clapping hands 
there in the front row
up high the hands
let them take the photo, he said
and i, what?
and after, after
the place down the way
where everyone else would be,
over drinks and too much calamari
a long night of raising glasses
and wondering
what a beautiful yes could be
here's to the bristling mind
open, curious
the playfulness
and show and tell of self
but always, there
the possible
i sing a song of the possible
a song of yeses
for the one who
winks the dream