Hayden Carruth was one of those guys who helped me come to grips with life. He through crazed insecurities examined and old man poetry and a life spent battering typewriter brought me to some sort of equilibrium where it was possible to just be.
In some corner of my mind I dreamed of meeting this old coot. I guess in some corner of my mind I did. When I open one of Carruth's books of essays or poetry I can get lost in some thought drop thread and come out of the experience soothed.
My poetry heroes are dead. Long live their words.