The Brooklyn Rail

Neeli told me he began writing poems at the age of twelve and was deeply influenced by Bukowski’s book Longshot Poems for Broke Players that Bukowski dedicated to the famed jockey, Willie Shoemaker.

Neeli and Bukowski co-edited the short-lived (three issues) literary magazine Laugh Literary and Man the Humping Guns. It was more a spoof than a serious literary magazine with many of the poems written by Bukowski and Neeli using fictitious names.

In his essay written for my Second Coming Magazine, Neeli wrote: “Over the years … I’d get together with Bukowski … He became Hank and I remained Neeli … Three- and four-day drunks, swallowing bennies like candy … Smoking dope, dropping acid … wild drives through Hollywood at two in the morning.”

“Bukowski would call me at three in the morning. ‘Hey kid, the motherfucking post office is killing me … I’m on the cross … I've got the deep blues … Why don't you come over for a while?’ And I'd drive over to his place and wouldn't leave for days.”

Neeli must have realized as time went on that were he to stay in Los Angeles he would always live under the shadow of Bukowski, which in part accounts for his early seventies move to San Francisco.

I arranged a reading with him at North Beach’s Caffe Malvina which was his first San Francisco reading. It wasn’t long after this before he became a force in the North Beach literary scene. Early on he produced the first San Francisco International Poetry Festival and made the Caffe Trieste his home base.

Neeli was intelligent, witty, and a great storyteller. He possessed a generous nature and took young poets under his wing. I had to give up night driving and he was always there to drive me to readings we gave or to the readings of other poets. One of his endearing traits was how easily he made people laugh with his imitations of Bukowski and Micheline, made all the funnier by his accompanying facial expressions.

We read together more times than I can recall both in North Beach and at other venues including Santa Cruz, Sacramento, and Mexico, where the two of us were celebrated as honored U.S. Poets, reading our poetry at the Town Square and at the University.

We knew and associated with many Beat and post-Beat poets like Harold Norse, Jack Micheline, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, David Meltzer, Diane di Prima, Jack Hirschman, Kaye McDonough, ruth weiss, Gene Ruggles, Gregory Corso, and others.

We often met with Harold Norse at a small coffee shop near his apartment off Albion Alley as well as at the old Abandoned Planet Bookstore on Valencia Street where poets met for lively conversation. Jack Micheline had his own backroom space where he created art murals on the walls.

Norse who was suffering from early dementia was eventually forced to live in a care facility. On our first visit there, as we prepared to leave, Norse picked up a book of his poems and began reading a long poem in a loud and powerful voice. When he finished, he put the book down, and said, “I was a pretty good poet.”

Neeli replied, “You are a damn good poet,” which brought a smile to Norse’s face.

When not meeting in public Neeli liked holding court outside on the patio of the home he shared with his longtime partner Dr. Jesus Guinto Cabrera, simply referred to as Jesse. I was struck the first time I visited Neeli to see bookcases spilling over with books. It was like visiting a mini library.

He’d make us an espresso on his home machine and we would sit outside on the redwood deck looking down on his garden, spending hours talking about poetry, exchanging poetry gossip, and occasionally reading each other new poems of ours.

At other times he would invite a small group of friends over and entertain us with his colorful stories. I had heard them many times, but never grew tired of hearing them again.

Once out of Bukowski’s shadow, Neeli’s poetry moved from the inevitable Bukowski imitation to lyrical poems that were among some of the best I have been privileged to read. He was in my opinion the best lyrical poet of his generation.

I visioned him as an explorer traveling to ports domestically and abroad in search of universal truth. In his travels to Europe, he met many noted poets, and it delighted him to see his poems translated and published in Italian, Spanish, German, French, Turkish, and other languages.

He loved teaching and spent five years as writer-in-esidence at New College of California until the time the college ran into financial difficulties and was forced to close its doors.

His life was almost like a poem itself, constantly reinventing itself. Those of us who knew him were treated to gems of language from his memory bank that flowed like a Li Po poem down a river of red wine.

Early on Neeli was obsessed with death and would frequently express a morbid fear of it, but by the time he reached seventy he came to terms with his mortality.

We all have our flaws and one of his was his obsessive need for affirmation. But as he grew into his seventies, he realized his work stood on its own and did not need the approval of others.

His two self-professed dreams were to have a book of his poems published by City Lights and to be appointed to the position of San Francisco Poet Laureate. The former was a wish that came to fruition when City Lights accepted a book of his for publication. Neeli wrote me in 2023, “If only I can live long enough to see it published.” The book was reaching imminent publication when sadly he passed away. It would be poetic justice to hold his memorial on the same day the book comes out.

The sun is a little less bright. The clouds a tad darker. But his spirit runs free and the Beat lives on.