Call him Señor Enthusiasm. Like the huge, huge collection of d.a.levy's poetry that he sent me over a period of . . . . wasn't it years. All the levy work that he didn't want to see lost. d.a.levy. Not D.A. Levy. That's the way levy wanted it. Horvath's own work not as totally off the wall/outer space-ish as levy's, but he reminds me of Richard Krech, a kind of orientalish-buddhistic-nowist-hippy philosophy behind everything he wrote, always bringing you into a joyous, vibrating NOW. Hair and wind, sun, streets, the cops, marijuana, always seen from the buddhist/ancient-ancient Hebrew point of view that says "It's going fast, hang on to it, never ignore or sully a moment of it but expand it out into the moment made inescapably infinite." A poem keeps nagging at me to write it down.                           CONCENTRATED HORVATH            No matter the negs and the bars, the hair is            always there, and the interacting of me, you            and the everything around us that says millions-            trillions of universes out there, but the only one            that makes any difference to speed-of-light US            is the here-touch, here-hear, here-even-trying-to-                                        suffer-us                                        NOW.   Return to Index for Alan Horvath Memorial Return to Light and Dust Anthology