RC, as he likes to be called, began keeping journals at the height of the punk rock scene in the early 80's. During this time he worked as a roadie for numerous bands, a bouncer at punk clubs, and even pulled a stint at a public library shelving books. During "the married years", RC worked as Psycho/Social Rehabilitation Counselor with the "mentally ill", only to find the people he worked with were less "ill" than the general population who claimed a grip on "normalcy." RC currently prides himself in being a "hobo", and long ago gave up the 9 to 5 slave cycle. He currently writes, paints, drinks, and spends long hours hunched over a pool table.His work lacks the over polished and hi-glossed pretentions of most modern writing. His images are real to life. Sometimes touching, and sometimes so brutal they threaten to rape the page into life. RC never intended his works to be published, and if you call him a poet he laughs. His "poetry" or pieces are vivid snapshots of a world in upheavel and of a young man trying to sort it all out. In fact, RC describes most poet's today as being "full of shit". RC concerns himself not as a creator of "art" (whatever that is), but as a explorer of self. If these mirrored reflections of self in his poetry happen to reflect recongnition in the eyes of an audience, thats fine. If they don't...well thats fine too.
When asked to site the inspiration for his work, RC begins a story of escaping from the city, renting a beat up old trailer and stocking it with a case of cheap scotch. In this solitude and drunkeness, he spent hours going over the much too short lives of friends lost to the swirling madness he calls the wreck-age.
In my opinion, RC's work fits quite nicely in the modern Beat poet tradition that begins with Walt Whitman and leaves traces in Charles Bukowski. RC laughs at the idea of this, becoming somewhat nervous at even being compared to this poetical tradition. He claims his 'stuff' is "just lyrics for bad punk songs I never got around to writing." In fact, one reviewer of RC's 2nd chapbook "Life Between Cigarettes" compared RC to a cross between Jack Keroauc and the Ramones. Hmmm.
Janet X