Vincent listened to the poets who had no hope of ever making it, and those who were on the cusp of changing the meaning of what poetry was and could be. Whenever possible he caught Bob Dylan at Gerde’s. Dylan was making his mark as a poet and musician with a voice that was unmistakably his own. That was true beauty. That was the map of one’s soul. To do so meant to reveal some inner part of yourself, and that Vincent was unable to do.
