When Ron Asheton died last week, the venerable Mike Watt posted the following on his site:


some words I picked from mr whitman's "leaves or grass" for ronnie here:

the yankee clipper is under her three
skysails . . . . she cuts the sparkle and scud,
my eyes settle the land . . . . I bend at her prow
or shout joyously from the deck.

the boatmen and clamdiggers arose early and
stopped for me,
I tucked my trowser-ends in my boots and went
and had a good time,
you should have been with us that day round
the chowder-kettle...

great is the quality of truth in man,
the quality of truth in man supports itself
through all changes,
it is inevitably in the man . . . . he and it are
in love, and never leave each other...

o truth of the earth! o truth of things! I am
determined to press the whole way toward you,
sound your voice! I scale mountains or dive in the
sea after you...

...I cannot define my life . . yet it is so.

I swear I see now that every thing has an
eternal soul!
the trees have, rooted in the ground . . . . the
weeds of the sea have . . . . the animals.

I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
that the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous
float is for it, and the cohering is for it,
and all preparation is for it . . and identity is for
it . . and life and death are for it.

...if you want me again look for me under
your bootsoles.

you will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
but I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
and filter and fibre your blood.

failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you

big big love from watt