Jim Carroll at University of Notre Dame
Notre Dame, IN (2/16/99)
The Sophomore Literary Festival
Review by J. A. Carpenter
This is a tale about how I met Jim Carroll. It was, indeed, at Nortre Dame University which was the worst place in the world. My friend and I got lost, there were like no signs, we couldn’t find a place to park and no one would help us. But being the type of people we are, we did find it in time to see Jim. We arrived an hour early and as I stood in the Student Services Building, I started sobbing. Why? I don’t know. I guess because it was hitting me that I was about to see with my own two eyes the man who inspired me to keep living. And I couldn’t stop until about 20 minutes before he was supposed to read. And then He came out. I was in the front row…just like I said I would be and he came in a side door. My body froze and I stared as if I had seen a mirage…my brain was refusing to believe this was happening. He was so tall and thin and long…he slumped down into his seat so no one could see him, so he could see no one. He was wearing a black silk shirt and vest, blue jeans and black leather boots. He was carrying a black bookbag of sorts. When this nerd gave him an awful introduction, I and two other people stood as he went for the podium (everyone clapped, though). I started to shake and I think I did have a panic attack as he nervously pulled out his books and papers to read for the night. He started out with A DAY AT THE RACES from Forced Entries which everyone laughed at and seemed to fuel Jim. He was on last night. Just like he always says in his books, When a poet is on, he is really good. Jim was just really really good. He was so witty and sarcastic. He intro-ed the second story TINY TORTURES which went over even better. He then read FAT BAT which probably went over the best. He set up an intro about the goat’s leg and the fake Satanists. It was really funny. He then read from his new novel about a painter who makes it big in the New York scene which made me drool; I cannot wait to buy that book. When He read 8 FRAGMENTS FOR KURT COBAIN I started to cry again because that poem moves me way too much to just sit there and act like it doesn’t matter that my hero was reading this. He then read FACTS, FEMALE AS THUNDER, DEADLINE POEM, TRAINSURFING (which is an interesting poem about these poor kids from Brazil who have nothing to do so they sniff glue and surf the top of trains that are going about 90 miles per hour), SICKBIRD, SPY, “OUR DESIRES” FROM FEAR OF DREAMING, Sang I WANT THE ANGEL Accapella, read “THE CAT IN THE COUNTRY” poem, the Hearts in the Bathtub poem, 1958 HURRICANE, MY RUINS, Sang POOLS OF MURCURY accapella, and read MESSAGE LEFT ON A PHONE MACHINE which finished off his set. Everyone then gave him a standing ovation which made him embarrassed as he got off the stage. So the nerd guy said Jim would talk to people and sign stuff in another building which my friend and I didn’t know where that was. We asked the nerd guy and he told us the wrong directions and we got lost. Giving up, we went to the Student Service’s building for help and RIGHT IN FRONT OF US WAS JIM SMOKING A CIGARETTE!!!!!!! I gave him this “I am a deer caught in headlights” look and almost fell down the stairs (as I was going UP the stairs, no less) and ran into the building like a coward. I told my friend, “We’ll wait here for him and then see where he goes.” he came in and went up the stairs and get this: I walked in his foot steps right behind him! So I was thinking A.) I am literally walking in Jim Carroll’s footsteps (no pun intended) and B.) If he falls backwards, he will take me with him….So shaking up the stairs behind him like a dork, he goes inside where everyone clings to him like leeches. Finally he sat in the center. I got him to sign my Fear of Dreaming book. He even wrote a poem for one boy (which I thought was rude to put him on the spot like that, but what can you do?) and I asked him TWO questions! First was the purity question, because you all know how bad Julie wanted to know…and he said, “Nope. No. Nope. I don’t think I can attain purity,” then he paused and said, “At 16 you think anything is attainable. I heard a while back there was this Dahmer guy who cut these people up and froze them in his feezah because he said it made him feel pure. Now I know there’s purity in evil and in other…things…and I don’t think I can be pure. I’m more relaxed now, but I’m not pure,” he replied shaking his head no. He wouldn’t make eye contact with people very often (though he did look at me 6 whole times…I counted). He said he likes being a musician but it was tiring. He said he sometimes didn’t want to get on stage when he was feeling vulnerable and that was part of the reason why he quit. One guy asked him what music he listened to now and he said not much…but he called Courtney Love a HAG and said “I don’t even WANT to buy the Hole album!” which brought a lot of laughter. He said, “I fuckin hate Dylan.” I asked him a SECOND QUESTION: Do you ever wish you would’ve approached Frank O’Hara?” The whole time I was thinking of me approaching him and asking him these questions. He said, “Of course. He was my hero and he meant so much to me. But I was afraid he’d try to pick me up and I wouldn’t be with poets. But of course I wanted to talk to him. For so long I hung in the back of the room at Saint Mark’s Church at 15 years old and watched people. Then I got published and used that as a way to meet Ted Berrigan, my writer friend, and Anne Waldman who ran the place. If Frank had lived, I would’ve met him, too. I was this token child progidy because they liked my poetry. But yeah, I wanted to meet Frank and everyone said, “He would really go for you”. I heard stories about him from my poet friends. It’s weird, I was just reading him the other day and thinking how great he ws. How much he had an affect on me. John Ashbery I couldn’t even get into even though technically he was a better poet but I always liked Frank better. John Ashbery was good before some lit. guy fucked him up. Fucking Literary Critics (laughs), They ruin shit. John Ashebury changed when he won the Pulitzer Prize and other awards in the same year. But I still love Frank.” It was soooo great hearing him say these things with such passion. He talked about Lou Reed and the movie and said he wanted to try absenthe sometime (what Rimbaud was addicted to) when someone asked about him doing pernod and he said he couldn’t ever handle alcohol. He talked about Patti Smith and how writing on a computer ruins the legacy of writing by hand. Colleges want the hand written stuff later.
Well, I accidentally bumped his knee when he signed my book and I was like, “I just touched Jim Carroll.” And I feel like my whole life is different. This morning my mom asked about it and I started sobbing again and I am crying right now, too. and I still don’t know why. I feel like I am in a dream now. But I do know for sure that I want to follow in his footsteps and be a published poet. He is such a talented and kind person. He was so nice to everyone. I will never forget last night. It was the best night of my whole life. And I took lots and lots of pictures…I think I have like 10 of him and I have his fucking AUTOGRAPH in his book, for god’s sakes!!!!
Well, I hope this didn’t bore anyone, but I promised to let you all know what happened. It was awesome. I got to reach my one goal in life: meeting Jim Carroll and because of that I have a new one : following in his footsteps, but metaphorically this time.