[L-I] A very fine, sharply honed, complimentary -- and optimistic poem ["Hunter" -- by Sam Friedman]

[A very fine, sharply honed, eminently complimentary -- and genuinely
optimistic poem ["Hunter" -- by Sam Friedman]  January 21 2004

Hunter, here it is.  I hope we have the chance to read an updated version
together at night to the stars on your 100th birthday!
best
sam
                      Hunter

I know him
as electronic words
on a list serve,
printed words
in a few articles
and a book,
and by brief talk
by telephone-
and by the echoes of his deeds
which were not his
but those of the movements
he helped to organize.
As he would say,
the greatness is theirs,
or maybe, grudgingly, "ours,"
never "mine,"
never "me,"
though not through the false modesty
he reviles.
His ego resembles
a Pocatello pine,
his mind ranges over the Rockies,
his caring and vision
spills from the Arizona of his birth
through Jackson, Eastern Carolina,
Rochester, Chicago, the Dakotas,
down deep into the dark metal mines
where safety depends on power,
through the longshore bars of Seattle
and the firefronts of arid Arizona.
When he dies, the Scorpion and Centaur in the sky
Will drive Lupus from the star-fields with meteors,
and the Bears will dance around the Pole Star
to commemorate a life of their own.



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