"...but I'm not gay"

Malcolm Lawrence (malcolm@wolfenet.com)
Fri, 05 Dec 1997 15:52:16 -0800 

Allen Ginsberg's death hit me very hard this past spring. Eliot was
right. April is the cruelest month. And without much trouble at all I
was able to organize a remembrance for him here in Seattle at the Blue
Moon Tavern. The link with the Blue Moon being that Kerouac was known to
hoist a few  pints there, and even described doing it in Dharma Bums (or
was it Desolation Angel?...anyhoo...)

Not a lot of people showed up, probably not even ten, even though we had
a PA set up for anyone who wanted to read, and luckily my friend Russell
showed up and he happened to have a couple of the CDs from the Allen
Ginsberg Holy Soul Jelly Roll box set on him, so we eventually just put
them on the tavern's PA and let Allen read his own works, meaning Howl,
Footnote to Howl, America, Van Gogh's Ear, Supermarket in California,
all sorts of fun stuff.

Before everyone showed up I had my notebook with me and thought I'd
write something for the occasion because I was thinking about how much
he meant to this century, this culture (someone once referred to him as
this century's most "necessary" poet, something which I whole-heartedly
agree with) the arena of sexual politics, gender politics, politics
politics, and I kept realizing how "straight" I am.

So I started writing the following and I read it before the proceedings
began even though I didn't finish it, yet it's the type of poem where
I'll  probably never actually finish it. Just keep adding to it as
events allow throughout my years.

Malcolm

-----------------------------

"…but I'm not gay."


I was called a fag all throughout high school, but I'm not gay.

I have written feature spreads on gays in the Campus Christian Ministry
for the college newspaper, but I'm not gay.

I have comforted male friends through suicide attempts, but I'm not gay.

I have slept in the same bed with other men, but I'm not gay.

I have written poems celebrating the love and admiration I had for
decades long companeros and had them printed on the back page of campus
newspapers when I was arts editor and it was my birthday: Valentines
Day…but I'm not gay.

I have written 50 page plays with an all-female cast and almost had them
performed by the only feminist organization in Glasgow when I lived
there, then told they’d rather write their own play based on my ideas
since not only am I male, but English and was raised in the States…but
I'm not gay.

I have closed out Neighbors, the best dance club in Seattle, ostensibly
gay…but I'm not gay.

I have slept with lesbians…but I'm not gay.

I have worked and lived two blocks off Polk Street in San Francisco, but
I’m not gay.

I have taken Women’s Studies courses at WWU in the middle of the Reagan
80s when there were only 25 females in the class and me…but I'm not gay.

I have taken innocent white tee shirts and scrawled across them "Fear of
Gender" in green Magic Marker and worn them in university cafeterias…but
I’m not gay.

I love showtunes, Judy Garland, Liza Minnelli, romantic music, opera,
dance, ballet and the theatre…but I'm not gay.

I am thin, neat and tidy, don't dress like a slob, am in my thirties and
unmarried, but I'm not gay.