Thanks to Today in Literature for projecting Bob Kaufman onto the night sky of the internet.

There was a record I heard in unusual circumstances, Greenwich Village December 1971, field recordings from the streets of the 50's, a guy in Houston TX, playing garbage-can drums on the sidewalk and riffing wild as some jungle thing out in the spooky midnight of broad daylight straight America; and later, live, Bob Kaufman, right up close with his eyes flashing like light bars on a squad car, right there on Broadway down from Vesuvio, out on the sidewalk also, right there at infinite speed overtaking the light-years of effort and painstaking research of academic discovery, the zip and blur of his arrival as pre-ordained as the fact he never moved, trance-talking holiness and fool-sacrificing, ragged with juice and Siberian in his authenticity.