A Package from Raphael

Summary

A courier named Archie delivers a thumb drive containing poems, presumably from the poet Raphael, to an unnamed recipient who deals in poetry, while discussing the nature of poetry and the poet's work.

Abstract

The text describes a conversation between Archie, a courier who has delivered a thumb drive from the poet Raphael, and an individual who appears to be a poetry dealer or publisher. The dealer questions Archie about the contents of the drive and whether he has read any of Raphael's work, which is known for its themes of eating, sex, and violence. Archie expresses a mix of curiosity and apprehension about reading Raphael's poems, fearing that the poet, who he describes as a mind reader, would know if he did. The dealer reassures Archie and pays him for the delivery, hinting at the value of Raphael's poetry and the potential for future transactions.

Opinions

The poetry dealer seems to value Raphael's work highly, referring to it as a "best seller" and offering substantial payment for it.
Archie, the courier, views poetry as somewhat mysterious and out of reach, associating it with "fairy dust and cryptic currency."
Despite his curiosity, Archie respects the privacy of the poet's work and is hesitant to read it without permission, indicating a sense of integrity.
The dealer likens their role to that of a priest or a lawyer, suggesting a commitment to confidentiality and the sanctity of the poet's work.
There is an underlying theme that poets have a unique way of expressing themselves, as evidenced by the comment that they don't have to capitalize their names if they don't want to.

Poets don’t have to capitalize their names if they don’t want to

photo by author

“Why are you here? What do you want here? Who sent you?” “Raphael.” “Raphael? Did he give you something for me?” “This thumb drive. Here.” “You didn’t look at what’s on it?” “I don’t ask. I don’t tell.” “But you do know what’s on this thumb drive, don’t you, Archie?” “Poems would be my guess because it’s always poems, isn’t it? That’s what you trade in? Fairy dust and cryptic currency?” “Two of our best sellers, but not Raphael’s style. He writes heroic poems about eating and fucking and killing. You weren’t tempted?” “Of course I was tempted. How often does somebody like me come this close to poetry? The only information I ever got from poetry is that young Lochinvar rode out of the West, toward Mecca, and that poets don’t have to capitalize their names if they don’t want to.” “So, you’ve seen poems?” “I’ve heard a lot of songs.” “Do you want to read one of Raphael’s poems?” “Would I be able to look him in the eye again if he knew I was reading his poetry?” “Who’s going to tell him? Not me. I’m like a priest, man. Or a lawyer.” “It’s not your telling him I think about, it’s me knowing. Raphael, he’s some kind of mind reader. He’d know. I’d give it away.” “Okay. Relax, man. Here’s five hundred dollars. Give it to Raphael for these poems and tell him there’s plenty more where this came from.”