October 7th, 1955, was arguably one of the most important dates in American literature. On that date, in a “run down second rate experimental art gallery” (a former auto repair shop) in San Francisco, in a room crowded with a hundred young men and women, Allen Ginsberg read for the first time an early draft of his poem, “Howl.” Among the bohemian audience was the poem’s future publisher, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who immediately recognized its potential, and requested the manuscript. “Howl” would go on to become the most important poem of the late-twentieth century and, alongside T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland,” perhaps the most important of the entire century. It would challenge America’s censorship laws, inspire unprecedented cultural and social change, and give the country its most recognizable and influential poet since Walt Whitman. Continue Reading…
Archives For city lights
Clearing out the garage
Going through mountains of books
Nooks and nooks of books
Old English lit books
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers 1897
Gibbon, Goldsmith, Bentley, Dryden, Coleridge, De Quincey, Wordsworth . . .
Bonobos, Silverjones, Rolls, Wetcave, Oilvalley, U Adams, Numbersunworthy . . .
And what to my wondering eyes should I find
But old friend Lawrence paperback Ferlinghetti-o
I say old friend because I kept a rejection letter from Lawrence
On City Lights stationery 2007
Booksellers & Publishers
He writes, “I read most of your manuscript, and I’m sorry that we cannot publish it”
Well “Starting from San Francisco”
I guess you Kant
And I’m sorry, too
Disappointments of life
For a sad New Jersey housewife
You wrote the poem “Underwear”
And that set you up over there
Much obliged for handwriting that nice note
But if you had written “Captain Underpants”
The little kids would laugh
Thank you for the poem
And just the other day I realized
Mozart is never ever boring
And always brilliant
This Sunday, April 20th, Naropa University – which was founded by Tungpa Rinpoche and was America’s first accredited Buddhist university – turns forty years old. Since the beginning, it included an English department known as the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, which was founded by Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman.
To mark the event there will be a reading at City Lights Bookshop in San Francisco – which has always kept close ties with Naropa and JKS. Included in the reading are Naropa Assistant Professor of English Andrea Rexilius, plus Robert Glück, Juliana Spahr, Cedar Sigo, Eric Baus, Michelle Naka Pierce and Chris Pusateri.
Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics 40th Anniversary Party: 5 p.m. Sunday. Free. City Lights, 261 Columbus Ave., S.F. (415) 362-8193. www.citylights.com.
In 1953, William S. Burroughs published his first novel, Junkie, which ended with the ominous line, “Yage may be the final fix.”
Burroughs had written the novel during his travels in 1950-52, when he was living in Mexico, as well as visiting Panama, Peru, Columbia and Ecuador. The line was meant to anticipate Junkie’s sequel, Queer, about his travels in South America, although the book wasn’t released released until 1985. Burroughs had been sending chapters from Junkie to Allen Ginsberg, who managed to have the “unpublishable” novel published by Ace Books, under the pseudonym ‘William Lee’ in 1952.
Also in 1952, he sent Ginsberg Queer, and in 1953 he sent In Search of Yage; when they lived together in New York later that year, they worked on editing In Search of Yage, which, when combined with some of their correspondence from the period, was published as The Yage Letters by City Lights in 1963.
Interestingly, when Burroughs wrote, “Yage may be the final fix,” and then, when he referenced it in correspondence in 1952, (a year after returning to Mexico from the Amazon) he had still failed in his search. “Did not score for Yage, Bannisteria caapi, Telepathine, Ayahuasca – all names for the same drug,” he wrote Ginsberg. Nonetheless, his curiosity grew thanks to his reading on the subject, and the great sense of mystery surrounding a drug of which Western science knew remarkably little.
It wasn’t until 1953 that he succeeded in finding the drug. The Yage Letters primarily concerns Burroughs trip to the Amazon in that year and Ginsberg’s own experiences Seven Years Later (the title of his story). The second line of In Search Of Yage, “Wouldn’t do to go back among the Indians with piles…”, references his unsuccessful earlier explorations and harkens back to the final line of Junkie.
Yet, back among the Indians he did go, and despite his lack of qualifications (Burroughs was educated to some degree in anthropology, archaeology and ethnology, but not in botany; he also never been on a field trip) he succeeded in tracking down the drug. It is important to note the timing in his expedition. In correspondence from the period, Burroughs seems obsessed with finding yage. He was fascinated with it for its qualities – namely its supposed ability to bestow upon the user the gift of telepathy, and its internal healing qualities, which Burroughs believed “could change fact.” Burroughs was interested in the drug as a possible cure for opiate addiction, but he also recovering from the accidental shooting of his wife, Joan. His life was a complete mess and a drug that could “change fact” was welcome.
How Burroughs came to be so obsessed with yage is a mystery. Ginsberg speculated that Burroughs had heard about yage “in some crime magazine or National Geographic or New York Enquirer or some goofy tabloid newspaper,” but at the time there was very little information about the drug anywhere. Western science knew little about it, and it’s unlikely that National Geographic or any other publication would’ve been aware of its existence. Oliver Harris, in his introduction to The Yage Letters Redux, speculates that Burroughs may have read Richard Spruce’s Notes of a Botanist on the Amazon and Andes (1908) and Louis Lewin’s Phantasica (1924), both of which mention yage.
Yage is now quite well known, but back in 1951 it had only been known to the West for one hundred years, and not much progress had been made in understanding it for thirty years prior to Burroughs’ journey. Of course, it is significant to note that, although the West was thoroughly ignorant about yage, it had been used by natives of South America for thousands of years prior to Western discovery. Although Burroughs and Ginsberg both referred to it mostly commonly as ‘yage’, it is also known as ayahuasca, cipo, caapi, hoasca, santo daime, natem, shori, and telepathine across the continent.
Perhaps yage went so long without being understood because it is not a simple, naturally- occurring chemical from any one plant, like psilocybin or mescaline. Although ‘yage’ is often the name given to the plant Banisteriopsis Caapi, it is the drink made when extracts from Banisteriopsis Caapi are mixed with shrubs from the Psychotria genus – something both Burroughs and Ginsberg discovered before Western science
These days, yage tourism is common in South America. The drink has spread across the world, and anyone with access to the internet can easily study the plant, the drink and the History of Yage. However, when Burroughs first set out on his 1951 expedition, little was known. It was during his 1953 trip that Burroughs met Richard Evans Shultes, who is widely considered the father of modern ethnobotany. The two Harvard men could not have been more different. Shultes was on a serious twelve-year trip and, although he respected Burroughs’ courage in trying yage, did not take him seriously. Indeed, In Search of Yage is a chronicle of Burroughs’ misadventures, rather than a serious botanical study.
Shultes was present when Burroughs first tried yage near Mocoa, and Paul Holliday (a member of the group with whom Burroughs and Shultes were temporarily travelling) described the experience: “The old Ingana Indian gave him a wineglass full of the stuff… and within 15 min. it sent him almost completely off his rocker: violent vomiting every few minutes, feet almost numb & hands almost useless, unable to walk straight, liable to do anything one would not dream of doing in a normal state.” Although Shultes’ and Holliday’s statements suggest they thought Burroughs was more ballsy than informed, and although Shultes is considered the real expert on yage, it seems that Burroughs is due more credit than he was ever given for his expedition. At the time, yage was thought to be a plant that was made into a brew, and that the components of the hallucinogenic aspect came entirely from the one plant. Burroughs, however, deduced that it was only when two plants were mixed together (as detailed above, from much later research) that yage gained its unique and legendary qualities. It turned out that Burroughs was not quite the foolish, lost drug addict that he appeared…He had made the first major achievement in understanding yage since its ‘discovery’, over one hundred years earlier.
This essay was originally published in Beatdom #9
“What are you rebelling against?” the local girl asks one of the “saintly motorcyclists” in the
1953 movie The Wild One, and Marlon Brando drawls, “Whaddaya got?” That’s a biography in
brief of French poet Arthur Rimbaud, who revolutionized literature and then abandoned it at
He was born October 20, 1854, in Charleville, France. When he was six, his father, Capt. Frederic Rimbaud, left his wife, two sons, two daughters, and “walked beyond the mountain, like / a thousand angels parting on the road.” Life with his hard mother was no good: “from her summit / of righteousness, she could not see the boy” (from “Nostalgia” and “The Poet at Seven”, from Imitations, a collection of translations by Robert Lowell). He started writing poetry at eleven, was a remarkable student for eight years, and published a poem at sixteen. He ran away repeatedly – at first he was hauled back, and then he retreated to his mother’s farm. He rejected God, the army, and his mother. He embraced filth, drugs, obscenity. He wrote the famous sea poem, The Drunken Boat, without having seen the sea. In Paris, he lived off friends, starting with the symbolist poet Paul Verlaine, who was ten years older. They became lovers, hanging out in cafés, where Rimbaud shocked or insulted all the writers and artists in Verlaine’s circle with his arrogance. Rimbaud rejected all French literature except, with reservations, Racine and Baudelaire. At a poetry reading, he said “shit” after every line.
He travelled with Verlaine in Belgium and England till their affair ended when Rimbaud walked out on the drunk and sentimental poet, who shot at him three times, hitting him in the wrist. Rimbaud tried to get the charges dropped, but Verlaine was sentenced to prison for two years of hard labor. Rimbaud went home to his mother and, in the barn, wrote A Season in Hell, his incomparable confessional prose poem. He published it, sent copies to Paris, and was disillusioned when he was snubbed there as both man and artist. In Charleville, he burned his manuscripts, letters, and author’s copies of the book.
In a letter to Paul Demeny, he said, “Inventions of the unknown demand new forms,” and he started writing Illuminations, which, preceded by Aloysius Bertrand’s fables in Gaspard de la Nuit, and Charles Baudelaire’s meditations in Paris Spleen, and influenced by Judith Gautier’s loose translations of the Chinese poets Li Po and Tu Fu in Le Livre du Jade, are the first true prose poems.
In every edition of Illuminations published since 1886, “After the Deluge” has been placed first, introducing the central themes of subsequent poems. It began,
As soon as the idea of the Deluge had subsided,
A hare stopped in the clover and swaying flowerbells, and said a prayer to the rainbow, through the spider’s web.
Oh! the precious stones that began to hide,––and the flowers that already looked around.
In the dirty main street, stalls were set up and boats were hauled toward the sea, high tiered as in old prints.
Blood flowed at Blue Beard’s,––through slaughterhouses, in circuses, where the windows were blanched by God’s seal. Blood and milk flowed.
The ‘Deluge’ is the Flood of the book of Genesis, Chapters Six through Ten, sent by God to punish mankind in its wickedness, and to wash the earth. The poem begins as if it were Chapter Eleven, after not only the flood but the idea of it had subsided, after mankind had forgotten its moral lesson. It opens not with men and women offering thanks to God for surviving, but with a hare praying to the rainbow, the sign of God’s covenant with all flesh. Nature is restored, and is pure: animals are reverent, gems under the earth, flowers on it; but humanity is seen as sliding back into wickedness: the streets are dirty, blood flows, Blue Beard kills, there are slaughterhouses, grieving children, overdone cathedrals, luxury hotels. And so a boy, with the weathervanes magically following him, waves his arms in the rain, as if summoning the storm. The poem ends with the poet learning that it’s spring, season of thawing, and, like the angry God, and the boy commands the waters of the high seas, the bursting rain, the pond, to rise and bring the Flood again, to destroy the unbearable world he knows and doesn’t know, in another apocalypse. In the original and in Varèse’s superb translation, we can hear the rising of the liquid ‘r’ – the sound of the waters.
This reading skirts over the actual poetry, which is remarkable for the way it fails to represent. Poets before Rimbaud would imagine a scene and develop it, incrementally and continuously. “After the Deluge” cuts from a meadow to a village on the coast, then without transition to the Alps, the North Pole, the deserts, the orchard, the budding forest. Where are we? The setting is the whole world. But with hares praying, stones hiding, flowers looking, weather vanes understanding, and the moon listening, it’s not our world but a fictional one. The characters are a monster from a folktale, children in a glass house, the boy in the square, the unnamed Madame, shepherds named for the pastoral poems about them, Eucharis, from the poetic novel The Adventures of Telemachus by François Fénelon, the poet, who suddenly appears, and the Witch. But who are they? Other people aren’t shown, but are implied by their place in society: commerce, they set up stalls; travel, haul boats; culture: install pianos; religion, go to Mass; exploration, join caravans; tourism: build hotels. Their actions are as in dreams. The boats are going towards an ocean that looks like a crude etching. The piano is installed in the mountains. The cathedral has a hundred thousand altars. The caravans set out from nowhere, to nowhere. The hotel is built in the Arctic Circle. The settings are dissociated, as are the characters and the actions, and all are unreal.
Reading the fourth paragraph, after a metaphorical look at the sanctity of nature, with the hare praying, we’re in a coast town, with a fictive-looking ocean, when with “Blood flowed at Blue Beard’s,” we’re in a fairy tale by Charles Perrault, from a book which includes “Sleeping Beauty,” and which can be taken as a metaphor for human vice. Then the blood flows “through slaughterhouses, in circuses” – we’ve left the town and the tale, and entered the world, but when does blood flow in a circus? – “where the windows” – slaughterhouses and circuses with windows into their awful or strange spectacles? – “were blanched by God’s seal” – if the seal is the rainbow, the sign of the covenant after the flood, it’s many-colored; does it pale the windows by being glorious? “Blood and milk flowed” – what milk? Is it flowing where the blood’s flowing? at Bluebeard’s? in the slaughterhouse? inside a child? Each phrase has many possible meanings, but flies away from the others. Tzvetan Todorov, who discovered how to read Rimbaud, defines this discontinuity – “…each word may evoke a representation, but taken together they do not make a whole, and we are thus led to settle for the words.” Rimbaud has reinvented poetry as abstract art.
There’s a parallel in painting, as in the collages of Kurt Schwitters, which use scraps of paper found in the street, and make no attempt to represent reality, only their own internal harmony. In A Season in Hell, Rimbaud proposed a new poetry, inspired not by what was eminent in the past, but by what was scorned: subliterary genres, which occur as collage elements in “After the Deluge.”
A Season in Hell “After the Deluge”
I loved. . .
old inn signs, popular prints; the sea, high tiered as in old prints
antiquated literature, Caravans set out
church Latin, Mass and first communions
erotic books. . . the Queen, the Witch who lights her fire
the novels of our grandfathers, Eucharis told me it was spring
fairytales. . . Blood flowed at Blue Beard’s
Critics with mystical leanings, encouraged by Rimbaud’s saying, “I am working to make myself a seer” and the sense of illumination as enlightenment, have tried to read spiritual meanings into these enigmatic poems, but as Marjorie Perloff, in The Poetics of Indeterminacy, said of a similar misreading, “Nothing in the text…either confirms or refutes this interpretation.” Perloff was developing the ideas of Todorov, who, looking for symbolism in these prose poems, said they were “structurally. . . undecidable, rather like those equations with several unknowns that can have an indefinite number of solutions.“ He reasoned that, “Rimbaud has used the absence of organization as the very principle of organization that governs these texts.” It’s as if the poem is rebelling against itself.
Rimbaud appeals to rebels. Kerouac wrote Rimbaud, a long biographical poem which eventually became a City Lights broadside, alluding to “After the Deluge”:
Study of languages!
On foot Rimbaud walks
& looks thru the Alpine
passes into Italy, looking
for clover bells, rabbits. . .
In his first novel, The Town and the City, he accurately portrayed Allen Ginsberg as carrying “under his arm, the works of Rimbaud.” Ginsberg was obsessed with Rimbaud, including him in the first draft of the “who read…” reading-list line of “Howl.” In his Naropa University lecture on “The History of Poetry,” after quoting and reflecting on “After the Deluge,” he said: “I was in love with Rimbaud. I was, in fact, physically, erotically, in love with Rimbaud when I was eighteen. It was my first…‘Voici le temps des Assassins’ just turned me on completely, and I went downtown to Times Square to meet the local criminals with their ‘pretty Crime howling in the mud of the streets.’”
During the rest of his life, Rimbaud went on the road, as a teacher in England, a student in Germany, a soldier in Java, a circus manager in Sweden, a farm worker in Egypt, a quarry foreman in Cyprus, a coffee exporter in Arabia, and a trader, explorer, and gun-runner in Abyssinia, where he published reports of his travels, and lived with a native girl for one year, and a native boy for eight years. On November 10, 1891, stricken with syphilis and cancer; delirious, paralyzed, his right leg amputated, he died in Marseilles, at the age of thirty-seven.
Critics have called Rimbaud the father of symbolism, antisymbolism, surrealism, primitivism, and existentialism. The prose poet René Char was closer to the truth when he said, “Rimbaud is the first poet of a civilization which hasn’t appeared yet.”
Ginsberg, Allen, “The History of Poetry, Part 15”, 1975
Hackett, C. A., Rimbaud: A Critical Introduction, 1981
Houston, John Porter, The Design of Rimbaud’s Poetry, 1963
Kerouac, Jack, Rimbaud. Scattered Poems, 1971
Perloff, Marjorie, The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage, 1981
Rimbaud, Arthur, Illuminations and Other Prose Poems, translated by Louise Varèse, 1957
Rimbaud, Arthur, A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat, translated by Louise Varèse, 1961
Rimbaud, Arthur,Rimbaud Complete, translated by Wyatt Mason, 2002
Starkie, Enid, Arthur Rimbaud, 1961
Todorov, Tzvetan, Genres in Discourse, 1978
Todorov, Tzvetan, Symbolism and Interpretation, 1978
But yet, but yet, woe, woe unto those who think that the Beat Generation means crime, delinquency, immorality, amorality … woe unto those who attack it on the grounds that they simply don’t understand history and the yearning of human souls … woe in fact unto those who those who make evil movies about the Beat Generation where innocent housewives are raped by beatniks! … woe unto those who spit on the Beat Generation, the wind’ll blow it back. — Jack Kerouac
The core of the Beat Generation – Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs – have often been castigated as privileged kids who slummed it for kicks, essentially pretending to join a lower-class in order to gain something to complain about in their writing. Yet at the height of their fame, there were many who considered them a genuine threat to the morality of America’s youth.
It is certainly true that Burroughs came from a higher social class, and that all of them were superficially enthralled at times, with the criminal underworld; and each of them gained a criminal record in the course of creating a literary movement that was mired in murder and drug use. Most famously, they explored the seedy Times Square scene, celebrating people like career-criminal, Herbert Huncke. In their books, these people became the downtrodden heroes of the street. Petty crime was celebrated, and drugs venerated as an essential component of being hip and having a good time. As a consequence, the Beats became vilified in the press, and their image forever connected to the criminal.
But they were no angels, that’s for sure. Burroughs, the eldest and purportedly the wisest of the Beats, grew up with a sense of alienation and rejection that caused him to seek people with whom he shared something in common. For him, that was an attachment to the criminal underground that he gleaned through reading. Most notably, he took his inspiration from Jack Black’s You Can’t Win, which portrayed a strong set of ethics as existing among criminals, in stark contrast to the morally corrupt code followed by the law.
As a boy his parents had sent him off to the Los Alamos Ranch School, where the spoiled sons of America’s elite were toughened up and turned into real men. Burroughs, however, took the chance to experiment with chloral hydrate, a drug which nearly proved fatal, and landed him in hospital. This was also during Prohibition, and he was picked up by the police whilst drunk.
Burroughs’ psychiatrist, during his early days in New York, referred to his patient in journals as a “gangsterling,” due to the man’s seemingly infantile preoccupation with criminals. Burroughs was fantasizing about robbing Turkish baths and armored trucks, with ludicrously devised plans that would never come to pass.
His real entry to the world of crime came through the friend of a boyfriend, who had a gun he wanted to sell. This was also Burroughs’ first dabbling in hard drugs; along with the gun, came a large quantity of morphine. Burroughs relished the opportunity to sell these items and make shady acquaintances, although he never did sell the gun, and took most of the morphine himself.
The men to whom Burroughs attempted this first arms deal were Phil White and Herbert Huncke. They were experienced criminals and, as Burroughs had hoped, his entry to the underworld. Through these men, Burroughs also met Vickie Russell, “Little Jack” Melody, and Bill Garver, three more criminals who bore striking resemblances to the sort of characters Burroughs adored from You Can’t Win.
When Kerouac and Ginsberg met the man who would become their mentor and friend, he charmed and humbled them with gifts of classic literature. He expanded their minds with poetry and literature and philosophy, and he quoted Shakespeare at length. Yet Burroughs was presently more enamored with pulp crime novels. He was greatly taken by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, whose gritty depictions of urban violence meshed with his own observations.
Like Burroughs, Kerouac and Ginsberg were looking for experiences that they would not find in their coursework at Columbia University. They wanted their minds opened, and in addition to the books Burroughs bestowed upon them, they soon found themselves sampling various illegal substances, and hanging around with criminal types like Huncke. They never delved as deeply as Burroughs, but nonetheless the experiences were formative.
Perhaps the biggest crime in Beat history, and certainly the best documented, was the murder of David Kammerer by Lucien Carr. Carr was a precocious and obnoxious student. He had known Burroughs in Chicago and became friends with Ginsberg in New York. Kammerer, a much older man, whom Burroughs knew from St. Louis, had an infatuation for Carr that caused him to follow the young man around America. It all ended with Carr stabbing Kammerer in self-defense and rolling his body into the Hudson River.
Carr ran to Burroughs for help, and Burroughs told his friend to turn himself in with the support of a good lawyer. Carr then went to Kerouac, who helped him dispose of the remaining evidence. For their troubles, both Kerouac and Burroughs were arrested when Carr eventually followed Burroughs’ advice and turned himself in. Burroughs’ parents, in what was becoming quite a predictable pattern, came to bail him out, while Kerouac languished in jail, having a somewhat less wealthy and forgiving family.
Despite Carr’s protestations, the event was documented or at least referenced throughout Beat history. Most memorably, it was the subject of Kerouac and Burroughs’ chapter-by-chapter collaborative effort, And the Hippos Were Boiled in their Tanks. In Burroughs’ chapters, the influence of his crime fiction reading is far more apparent than elsewhere in his oeuvre.
Burroughs was spiraling into the criminal world. With Phil White he was robbing drunks on the subway who sometimes woke and turned violent. Eventually White was sent down for killing a man with Burroughs’ gun. Fortunately, as it turned out, Burroughs was picked up for forging a prescription, and the judge sent him home to St. Louis, where his parents attempted to keep him out of trouble.
With Burroughs’ departure, the group was falling apart. Critical female Beat, Joan Vollmer, broke down from amphetamine abuse and was taken to Bellevue Mental Hospital, Huncke was arrested for possession and went to prison, and Ginsberg escaped back to his father’s house. Then the arrival of another career criminal came, one who would take Huncke’s place as inspiration to the Beats: Neal Cassady. Besides, between stints in prison, Huncke’s selfish and compulsive criminality was wearing on the patience of everyone, including Ginsberg, whose things he stole and pawned.
Cassady grew up on the streets of Denver. The legends around him are myriad, thanks to Kerouac’s mythologizing, but he appears to have been a legendary car thief and womanizer, who knew how to have a good time. He was first picked up by the police at seven, stole his first car at fourteen, and did six stretches in prison for auto theft by the time he appeared on the Beat scene.
Back in St. Louis, Burroughs met his old friend, Kells Elvins, and together they moved to Texas as farmers. Burroughs attempted to grow opium and marijuana with limited success. He moved from South Texas to East Texas to Louisiana, always in search of the freedom of the frontier, but he never found it. Instead, he was arrested for fornicating by the side of the road, and picked up for riding in a car with a known junky. The police raided his home and found his letters to Ginsberg, containing numerous references to drugs. He was looking at several years in the notorious Angola Prison, so he skipped the border and settled in Mexico City, where the next big Beat crime would occur.
At this time, Ginsberg’s New York apartment was being used by Huncke and Vickie Russell to store stolen goods. Ginsberg became understandably paranoid that the police would raid his apartment, and wanted the goods out. Carr was also furious that his name was included in letters between Ginsberg and Burroughs, as he was now out of prison for the Kammerer murder, and eager to keep his name clean. These letters also contained incriminating references to homosexuality, and so Ginsberg wanted to be rid of them, too.
When Ginsberg enlisted the help of Russell’s boyfriend, Melody, to help move the stolen goods and letters from his apartment, Jack appeared in a stolen car. They loaded it up and headed out, but soon after they were pulled over for making an illegal turn and a high-speed chase occurred. Ginsberg escaped but his letters led the police right to his door, and he was locked up until his father bailed him out.
In Mexico City, Burroughs railed against the tyranny of the American government, and praised the freedom that came with living in Mexico, where the police would leave you alone, and if they did have cause to pick you up, they could easily be bribed. Here he wrote Junky, his first novel. It loosely fictionalized his life as a criminal, from his childhood obsession to his life as an addict.
It was there in 1951 he shot Joan Vollmer, now his common law wife, above the Bounty bar whilst attempting to sell a handgun. Although details have always been disputed, it appears they were playing a game of William Tell and the bullet flew too low. Burroughs spent thirteen days in jail before his brother arrived and bailed him out. His lawyer managed to bribe the ballistics expert and the witnesses, friends of Burroughs, corroborated his story that it was an accidental discharge. Burroughs was sentenced to probation, which meant checking in at the police station once a week. Instead, he fled to Europe and ended up in Tangier, where he was once again on heroin, and thankful for the lack of police intervention in his life.
The year 1951 also saw the completion of Kerouac’s On the Road, a chronicle of his travels across America and into Mexico. The book was not published for another six years, when Viking Press released it in 1957, and the Beat Generation exploded into infamy.
Public sentiment towards those who now became known as “Beatniks” turned decidedly sour. Kerouac’s use of pseudonyms caused him a spot of trouble, but most of it fell on the head of Neal Cassady, whose sudden fame as Dean Moriarty resulted in his 1958 arrest for marijuana possession. He was sentenced to five years in San Quentin.
Two years earlier, Ginsberg had read his seminal poem, “Howl,” and electrified the poetry community. It was picked up in the same year by Lawrence Ferlinghetti for City Lights Books,’ Pocket Poets Series. In 1957, the same year On the Road sparked a backlash against the Beat youth of America, Shigeyoshi Murao, legendary manager of City Lights, was arrested; more than five hundred copies of Howl and Other Poems were impounded on their way from London. An obscenity trial ensued, and the poem was judged “not obscene.”
Ginsberg shocked the literary community by abandoning San Francisco and moving to Paris, to take residence in what became known as the Beat Hotel. Soon he was living with Burroughs and Gregory Corso, and numerous other artists and writers. It was here that Burroughs’ classic, Naked Lunch, was edited and published, having been written mostly in Tangiers. Published in 1959, the book made its way to the United States slowly, relying on word of mouth. By 1962 it was banned, resulting in the second Beat obscenity trial. This time, however, it took significantly longer to convince the judge, and it was only in 1966 that Naked Lunch could legally be sold in the U.S.
By now the youthful exuberance of the Beats had waned as Burroughs, Ginsberg, and Kerouac mellowed with age. Ginsberg’s championing of various freedoms and support for protests throughout the sixties caused him to continually come face-to-face with the police in America and other countries. In 1965 he was deported from both Cuba and Czechoslovakia because of his homosexuality and perceived trouble-making. After the publication of On the Road, Kerouac became closer to his mother and spent much of his time at home, more or less out of trouble. Even Burroughs, the most criminally-inclined of the Beats, more or less kept out of trouble for his remaining years. He had always sought his own space in life away from the control of police and the government, and aside from continual searches at the airport, he was largely able to avoid the law.
There are few places around the globe that fully encompass all things Beat Generation in the same way as the City Lights Bookstore. Situated in the heart of San Francisco and owned by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, one of the most prolific Beat Generation poets there is, the City Lights Bookstore is a Mecca for all beatniks and book lovers. A visit to City Lights is enough to transport anyone back to simpler times where you can focus on words, lyrics and meanings rather than your groceries, prescriptions or health insurance renewal.
City Lights Background
The City Lights Bookstore champions independent publishers and first published a huge number of now legendary cult titles including Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. The store exudes warmth and despite its cramped interior, it’s easy to see that every spare space is filled with the books that make San Francisco famous. Of course, to remain afloat, you’ll find the main floor stacked out with modern and contemporary fiction but also an astonishingly large collection of translated works from around the world, an area the shop’s founder Ferlinghetti has been said to be particularly interested in. The area we’re looking for however is found on the top floor. Book after book of poetry is stored up there and you can peruse the titles of your favourites and also indulge in some newer contemporary writers.
The store itself was founded in 1953 by Ferlinghetti and Peter D. Martin, a close friend and the publishing company, responsible for so many of the classic Beat generation texts, began at the same time. This combination of both a publishing company, a bookstore and of course the name of a cult legend above its door has meant that City Lights is one of the most successful independent bookstores worldwide. When visiting City Lights, many pilgrims have even had the great honour of meeting Ferlinghetti, who still uses the store to read, write and relax. Since 2001, the store has been recognised as an official historic landmark thanks to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, due to its role in the literary history of the city.
City Lights Publishing House and the Pocket Poets Series
The publishing arm of the bookstore is also very popular. The instantly recognisable covers of the Pocket Poets Series included sixty books by Beat Generation poets as such as Kerouac, O’Hara, Levertov and of course, Ferlinghetti himself. The books were initially designed to make the poems of the Beats affordable and accessible to all and gave many people their first foray into an alternative, somewhat avant-garde area of poetry. Many of the collections originally published by City Lights Publishing in the Pocket Poets Series have gone on to be considered real classics such as Lunch Poems by Frank O’Hara and Diane di Prima’s Revolutionary Letters. In the late sixties the publishing arm began to operate from a different location but was nevertheless successful, continuing to publish works by alternative, off-beat authors, branching out to specialise in world literature too. Recent developments in the non-fiction political arm of the publishing house has meant that City Lights can now include Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn among the authors they’ve published.
City Lights Foundation: giving something back to San Fran
The development of the City Lights Foundation is also a testament to the influence of the store. The foundation works with the aim of advancing deep literacy which roughly translates as their desire to strengthen literacy skills but also those essential elements of knowledge which enable people to develop and evolve as individuals and community members. This all sounds pretty deep and a lot of the works published via the Foundation are non-fiction dealing with very sensitive topics including homelessness, prison life and social justice.
The City Lights Bookstore describes itself as a specialist in world literature, the arts and progressive politics and hosts readings from modern day new generation Beat-style writers and pioneers the work of independently published authors.
Any self-respecting fan of the Beat Generation has the City Lights Bookstore among their top five places to visit before they die and in reality, it does not disappoint. On just entering the building you can begin to understand and immerse yourself in the world that your idols once inhabited. The City Lights Bookstore is a beacon for all beat pilgrims and somewhere which continually revolutionises and seeks to enhance the modern readers’ understanding of literature.
Article by Izzy Woods
Photo by David S. Wills
A look around at the landscape of today’s world reveals cultural melee and sexual malaise. Everybody looks the same – and not in a good way. To paraphrase Fran Lebowitz, we have been recycling the same culture for the last thirty years waiting for something new.
Where do we find not only something new but something that is helpful and healing, a balm for the new age of psychic sores? Where do we look for hope and help in what is new in 2011? Flip a coin. One side comes up Lady Gaga, the other side reveals Justin Bieber with his new tattoo; two very different sides of the same coin. After all the techno-info-socio-revolution we weathered during the last century, this is the best we can do?
Prior to this recycling, people did things to achieve change, whether it was rain/reign dollar bills on the cashnivorous New York Stock Exchange to watch brokers crawl on the floor in a comic display of true greed, or whether it was getting shot in the back on campus by our own National Guard. We had our own heroes, we did something.
In the face of such world-moving counter-cultural events, our Heroes stepped up for youth. These were well-established men, like Allen Ginsberg, Norman Mailer and William S. Burroughs, they faced the tear gas, nightsticks and rubber bullets to back up their young compatriots; with a lot to lose, they literally put life on the line to defend our Right to ‘Freedom of Speech’.
Life was put on the line.
Today life is lived online.
Men like these were part of the American Dream, no matter how much they railed against it and the conformity which deadened the world until the late-1950s. They demonstrated how the dream worked…how it could work for us. Recently, two biographies were released which shine a light on the lives of a pair of these men.
They are the re-release of The Life and Times of Allen Ginsberg and the February 2011 debut on PBS’s Independent Lens series of the Yony Leyser film, William Burroughs: A Man Within.
If you saw Jerry Aronson’s documentary on Ginsberg when it was first released, you see an inspiring and devoted, loving but truthful account of the life of the Poet. If you saw it in the theatre, bought the DVD a few years ago or watched it on streaming video on Netflix, you haven’t seen the half of it…in fact you have seen perhaps a quarter of it.
With the re-release of L&T, Aronson treats us to six and a half hours of previously unseen footage, all stored on two discs imprinted with the jubilant, Krishna-dancing, hippie-era version of the man. This is the original documentary restored to ‘director’s cut’ with tons of ‘extras’ thrown in. Some of these can be found, at times and in parts, on video-sharing sites. Like the 1965 appearance with Neal Cassady at the City Lights Bookshop or the tender reading with Bob Dylan at Jack Kerouac’s grave, these clips are usually seen in choppy renderings, the 1965 City Lights footage, for instance, is often found cut into four or five sections, one of which is invariably missing.
Here, Aronson puts it all together…Ginsberg with Cassady, with Burroughs, with Dylan, reading selected poems, guiding us through a collection of his photos, making the music video A Ballad of the Skeletons, his own photo gallery and Jerry Aronson’s own wondrous photo gallery. Sadly, we also see the 1998 memorial for him as well as excerpts from Jonas Mekas’s Scenes From Allen’s Last Three Day’s On Earth As A Spirit.
The menu on Disc One presents Allen reading his Howl over the contents, while Disc Two’s contents are scored by a very touching version of Ginsberg’s New Stanzas for Amazing Grace, performed by Paul Simon at his own request.
Tacked on for good measure are the interviews. Joan Baez, Beck, Bono, Stan Brakhage, William Burroughs, Johnny Depp, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Philip Glass, John Hammond Sr., Abbie Hoffman, Jack Johnson (who foregoes the interview but performs a song dedicated to the inspirations handed down by Ginsberg and Dylan), Ken Kesey, Timothy Leary, Paul McCartney, Thurston Moore, Yoko Ono, Gehlek Rimpoche, Ed Sanders, Patti Smith, Steve Taylor and Andy Warhol are among the many who give insight and inspiration in their memories and anecdotes about Ginsberg.
Aronson worked for 25 years to edit over 120 hours of Ginsberg footage for this effort. It is hard to find fault in… usually tributes like this are marred by being too short. This seems like a perfect crystallization. Since much of the original release has been seen and a lot of scraps of film have leaked onto YouTube and other places, we focus mainly on the Extras we have not seen, the memorial – Planet News: A Tribute to Allen Ginsberg and the interviews, which together paint a loving portrait of a great man.
The tribute, filmed in May, 1998, at The Cathedral of Saint John The Divine in New York City presents an uplifting and righteous ‘howl’ back to Allen, from those left here to love and remember him.
Ed Sanders related how the Poet had arrived at Columbia University with the ambition of being an attorney who could help the world’s wronged. Although he never made it to the Bar exam, Sanders pointed out that he was “a bardic attorney for the betterment of the human condition,” at once “chanting to us, singing to us, exhorting us to save and heal the spirit of America.” You have to admit that no matter how badly the government treated him, it took strong moral fiber to keep believing in America the way he did.
Anne Waldman recalled from the Boulder, Colorado, Rocky Flats protests that, in the beginning, a sense of “Am I gonna stop that?” prevailed but was overcome by Allen, who “knew that regular folk, when properly informed could enact and force regulation and legislation.” Something we still need today. She said he “inspired students summer after summer during his 23-year tenure at the Jack Kerouac School (of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University in Boulder). He inspired them to stay engaged. He talked to the enemy. He took on (their) poison…”
After Waldman spoke, Steven Taylor, who purchased the Late Poet’s famed harmonium at auction, used it to play New Stanzas for Amazing Grace as he harmonized with other celebrants.
Pianist Philip Glass, a longtime Ginsberg-collaborator on Hydrogen Jukebox worked with Patti Smith to present a version of On Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa Vidyadhara. Glass and Ginsberg performed this together often… Patti took the stage unsmiling, uncharacteristic for her, but before launching into the composition, she giggled and thanked all those present “for sacrificing (seeing) the last episode of Seinfeld to be here tonight”. Near the end, lost in the words, she broke into tears but never missed a word of his message.
After the number, she emotionally told the gathered, “When I lost a loved one, Allen said to me… (he) gave me the words that his teacher had given to him… ‘Let go of your loved one and continue your life’s celebration’, and so, of course, we must let go of Allen but in continuing our life’s celebration, if we are active, if we speak out, if we are unpassive, if we open our hearts, if we cry out, if we spit upon injustice – we are still holding Allen a bit with us”.
Again the message to move, to do, to be…in the words of a dead Poet.
The rest of the Patti Smith Group joined Glass and Smith to perform A Footnote To Howl, a selection which has popped up in Patti Smith Group setlists for a few decades. After a heartfelt performance of the piece, she again brought the Message of Allen to the living.
“I am not ashamed to admit that I, myself, am not a politician and am not politically articulate… not even a very good activist… but we all do what we can… if you feel that you can do more, remember that that one man, just think of all the shit that one man did and we can’t forget. We don’t even have to remember him… remember his energy… Everybody, the time is now. Do what you can. It’s time to wake up. Wake up once again. Wake up again.”
As a finale, Ed Sanders and the Fugs performed Sanders’ Song For Allen, an uptempo number which puts to music a partial list of famous literature and poetry Ginsberg had committed to memory and was known to refer to when the situation lent itself. The Fugs lent a purposeful, joyous moment to the occasion as the lyric He was my hero hung heavy on the cathedral air. In the ‘Interviews’ section of the extra features, An emotional Sanders remembers interactions with Allen over the years, from San Franscisco to the Chicago riots…he speaks of the Pied Piper of Ohm, who developed “ohmitis” from “over-ohming”. He went on to discuss the grieving process, “This thing about closure…we really don’t want closure with him. He is very alive and still a big influence…
“In law school there is a course called What Would Jesus Do? and lawyers take it to test (their) ethics… my own personal course is What Would Allen Do?… refuse to get painted into a corner, be cordial to your opponents, never give up on anybody and demand a better world.”
The names of the diverse group of subjects who were interviewed about Ginsberg show the scope of his activities and interests and most importantly, his humanity.
We hear the great, booming, drawling William Burroughs’ unmistakable voice, “I first met Allen at Columbia…” and it is a joy just to hear the narrative. Burroughs does let on that “Allen did regard me as a teacher. I remember he said that he would follow me around with questions until I turn around and bite him with the information… Kerouac did more to encourage me in my writing but when it came down to the actual things that were done to help me, it was Allen… (he) was instrumental in getting Junky, my first book, published through Carl Solomon… He was also the one, more than anyone else, who was instrumental in getting Naked Lunch published.”
Burroughs saw Ginsberg’s work as part of “a sociological movement of great importance.” When Burroughs fell on hard times in London, it was Ginsberg who got him a job at New York University, an event which changed his life direction.
“That’s what he does,” said Burroughs, “When some friend of his is in a difficulty, he will go to any length to help him.” He admitted the move back to New York was “a major turning point in my life and I owe it all to Allen”.
Hunter S. Thompson weighed in, too. “He was always fun. He was always interested. He was always a participant. Whatever was happening, Allen wanted in…He has always been an ally. I got him involved with the (Hells) Angels. I wouldn’t have done that on my own, ‘Here, Allen, I got some people I want you to meet.’…He insisted on it. We’re all outlaws. All of us.”
There is almost too much good material here to write about and fit into a single essay. The interviews present a diamond-mine of accolades. Musician and pop star Beck, whose grandfather had Beat connections and whose mother was part of the Warhol scene, had quite a bit to say about the Beats and their influence on him but pegged it quite succinctly when he regarded the volume of Allen’s collected work in his hands and commented, “I’m glad he spewed!”
Johnny Depp recounts meeting Ginsberg via telephone, when the Poet called to interview him. He likened it to being on the phone with Walt Whitman. He speaks of driving around with Allen, holding hands, for an hour or a half, or so, admitting it would be a strange event with most people but that with Allen, it felt perfectly normal. Ginsberg called him to let him know his prognosis of cancer and that he had little time left. Depp told him that he was taking it very well, that he seemed calm for a man so close to death… to which Ginsberg replied, “It’s just a ripple in the sea of tranquility.”
Activist and Outlaw Abbie Hoffman spoke on what Howl meant to him, “The world of nuclear bombs, of witch hunts, of plastic society – seeing it in its proper perspective and offering us a choice. It was also a ‘call to arms’. He was saying we could change this. We don’t have to accept that world. That is what the Beats gave us…a choice”.
Professor and LSD advocate, Timothy Leary, who brought us the message to turn on, tune in and drop out, reveals that a visit by Ginseberg and Peter Orlovsky to the “rather straight Harvard professor” put him on his path of proselytizing. “To know Allen, ” Leary said, “to spend an hour with him, changed my life right then… I knew I was never going to be… part of the system after being exposed to the historical power of a liberated, avante garde… artistic mind.
“He instigated, in my mind, the politics of ecstacy – the notion that we had to go around the country turning on influential artists, writers, poets, philosophers…then pass onto the world the benefits of their trips.”
His former ‘knitting buddy’ from the Rolling Thunder Review, Joan Baez, said, “Allen could be such a goof and ‘do insanity’ and I was jealous of that in him. I couldn’t ohm and get naked on somebody’s front lawn and get myself arrested. There was something very liberating about it and something very liberating about him. He could behave like a nut but he was serious about something…about other people…about ending the war in Viet Nam. Allen took risks and was serious at the same time and was very colorful and very crazy and we need that!”
Irish rocker Bono spent quite a bit of time with the Bard. “He was a kind of a Muse and it’s a strange thing to be both artist and Muse. One of his kicks was setting fire to people’s imaginations along the way, whether they were his students or whether they were people like Joe Strummer…or Bob Dylan…or, indeed, me. He got kicks out of setting fire to you. You saw the world differently after spending time with him. He had this still-childlike view of the world, where anything was possible, if approached in love. It’s hard to be around that and not be influenced.”
Yoko Ono recalls hanging around with Ginsberg during her split with John Lennon, visiting museums and galleries and generally passing time. “The reason people why love Allen is because he had a very genuine love for life and for people and he was very open about that,” she said. After reading one of Allen’s poems on dying, written in 1948, she describes being safe around “the big mountain of a person” and of his affect on her son, Sean. “It’s hard to believe that he’s gone. In a way he is not gone…whenever they read his powerful words, he is there.”
Aronson includes interviews from before and after Ginsberg’s death, such as the aforementioned comments by Depp. Most show the same love and affinity for Allen. Bono related story about hearing that all of Ginsberg’s possessions were to be put up for auction after his death. “I went through the catalogue and saw a copy of Oscar Wilde’s Lady Windermere’s Fan and I thought, ‘I used to have a copy of that and I lost it somewhere. I’m gonna try and get it back. Wouldn’t it be sweet if I could buy it out of HIS library’…so I bid for it and I got it. I was thrilled. It arrived by post. I thought, ‘Wow! I’ve got this back from Allen Ginsberg.’ I opened it up and written in it was ~ to Allen, from Bono ~ and then I realised that I had given him the book that I was then buying back. I could hear him laughing at that.”
Ken Kesey spoke a little more generally about the Beats before getting to Allen. “I think nothing affected this nation like On The Road in… maybe fifty years. It got people moving around and gave people a new way to look at America and it stirred us up.
“Allen was the Great Leveler. He brings us together in some way. He’s like a sponge; he can sop up all our poisons and never gets sickened by them…Burroughs is a powerful writer but there’s a distance that you never cross and Kerouac…I never got to know Kerouac…there was that great distance that, with Ginsberg, was never there. You feel very close to him always.” [The Life & Times of Allen Ginsberg is available at www.amazon.com and also from www.allenginsbergmovie.com. The complete set, with all the extras, is not available in streaming video.]
While Yony Leyser’s William S. Burroughs: A Man Within presents us with many of the usual suspects as actors, his documentary shows a man who is more engaged with self than society. When he is so engaged, it is with snarl and pith that cut to the core.
“I bring not peace but a sword,” he says leering into the lens to start the action.
Andy Warhol, who seems vaguely bored with ‘beatniks’ in the Ginsberg biography, shows much more warmth when speaking of Burroughs and photos show that the pair spent quite a bit of time together. One can only wonder if it was an ‘alien attraction’ – both of them being so far ahead and so far out of society that only they could begin to understand each other. This is supposition but it is hard not to notice when you see both documentaries. There is also the warm conversation between the pair, recorded at a dinner party. You can feel how close they were.
“Do you want to be loved?” asks Ginsberg, in one of the bits of conversation between the two which are presented in the film.
“Mmmmm, not really,” answers Burroughs, “It depends – by who or what? (laughs) By my cats, certainly.” A bit later, Marcus Ewert, ex-boyfriend, goes back to an interview he read, in which Burroughs sobs when asked about nuclear war. “It was really hard for me to picture him sobbing, period, but what he was sobbing about is… he was…thinking about nuclear war and then he was struck by this horrific thought of ‘what would happen to my cats, my six cats, if I died.’ That just wrecked him. You could just see that cats were this kind of pure spirit beings for him… I think that was just a safe place for his love to flow.”
Filmmaker and author John Waters, no stranger to alien territory, appears, noting. “Everybody is enamored by William because he was famous before anybody else and he was also famous for all the wrong things. He was the first person who was famous for things we’re supposed to hide. He was gay. He was a junkie. He didn’t look handsome. He shot his wife. He wrote poetry about assholes and heroin. He was not easy to like.”
A little background on the documentary…narrated by Peter Weller, star of David Cronenberg’s 1991 film treatment of Naked Lunch and scored by Patti Smith and Sonic Youth, the work is a break-out accomplishment for Leyser, who dropped out of film school to devote his energy to the film. Leyser moved to Kansas to be close to his subject and the resulting footage comprise the base of the documentary.
While Ginsberg made us wake up, Burroughs gave us the reasons not to go to sleep in the first place – his dreams splayed out naked on the page. Leyser shows how Burroughs planted his nasty, little worms in our heads, recorded in ‘cut-ups’ and extended them towards us, luridly petitioning us to experience them. He embarked on the project upon being ejected from film school for an act of student rebellion, aimed at the Dean of Students. The impressive list of interviews includes Weller, Laurie Anderson, Regina Weinreich, Amiri Baraka, Anne Waldman, Gus Van Sant, Jello Biafra, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop and others who point out the influence Burroughs had on their lives and work.
The footage is juxtaposed so that film clips and footage from the writer’s later years dominate, while the less-prevalent linear progression of his life story is interspersed with scenes from his last ten years. There is touching, personal footage of him feeding and talking to his beloved cats. We also see the celebrated ‘marksman of odd targets’ shoot off a lot of rounds at the range, as well as creating ‘art’ by discharging firearms at containers of paint which are placed so as to catch the splatter on pieces of old wood or boards placed behind the paint. In older footage we see another kind of shooting…we are treated to the vision of Burroughs injecting himself with a syringe but the camera fades before we get to see the effect which the rush of drug has on the recipient. It does take courage to allow yourself to be filmed while shooting up. You have to hand it to him for not hiding his head and habits, rather showing them to the world, warts and all… like the close up of the finger he cut off above the second joint to show the pain of an unrequited love.
Death is among the many ugly things in all lives and A Man Within begins and ends with death, from the writer speaking on the smell of death as the camera shows the weathered map of his face, a map of years and continents and living on the edge. It draws to an end with him in his casket, the familiar, ever-present fedora placed on the lid of the box which holds him.
Scenes with Allen Ginsberg give us the two great men discussing the meaning and sociological importance of the Beat Generation but we do not see not much interaction with any of his other compatriots… Kerouac, Cassady, Corso, etc, in fact, it seems conspicuously absent. Author Victor Bockris, as well as Patti Smith, shine a light on the influence of his words in 1960-70s pop culture, noting phrases he coined, such as steely dan, soft machine, blade runner, heavy metal and others.
“Burroughs once said to me”, Bockris explains, “If one man stands up and rejects the bullshit of society, it makes it possible for everyone else to follow on… and he was that man to some extent.” This seems opposed to Weller recounting a press conference, where Burroughs responds to a question regarding the gay rights movement. “I have never been gay a day in my life and I’m sure as hell not a part of any movement”, he quotes the writer as saying. Obviously, this had more to do with his hatred of being labeled or put in a box than with sexuality. Burroughs was a “deconstructor of labels,” Weller says.
Brion Gysin, said to be the true love of Burroughs’ life, is shown at work in the studio, producing the cut-ups which were the basis of three of William’s novels. His description of Gysin, read over close-ups of Gysin’s hands at work and Gysin’s ‘dream machine’ in action, paint a portrait of an almost impossibly omnipotent artist.
While there is not much new ground broken, the film is rich in footage of the Man in his last years, mostly shooting guns of various calibers. Anybody who is a collector or has a strong interest in William S. Burroughs will find the DVD of this documentary to be an essential piece of property to own. The non-linear jumps may throw someone not already versed in Burroughs life, however, the excellent editing by Ilko Davidon make the jumps easy to absorb.
One odd touch is a 1989 interview, in which Burroughs’ voice is heard over film of a cassette tape with the date of the interview handwritten on it. While it does give insight into his thoughts about the creative process of his gunshot art, the method of presentation is as unusual as the subject.
In the end, as the opening chords of Patti Smith’s Beneath the Southern Cross play like a hymn, we see the last entry in his journal, written before his death on 1997…
“Love? What is it? Most natural pain killer what there is. LOVE.”
Despite the distance, despite the outward show of being aloof, the one truth the documentary makes most evident is that William S. Burroughs WAS loved and still is.
On this day in 1925, Bob Kaufman was born.
From Beatdom Issue One:
Bob Kaufman: The Unsung Beat
It always baffles me to find Bob Kaufman omitted from a great many books and documentaries and websites and talk about the Beat Generation. For me, Kaufman is the embodiment of Beat. That is not to say that the more well known names and faces did not embody the spirit they are most widely credited with creating and fulfilling, but rather that Kaufman was as Beatnik as any of them, and people today forget that all too easily. Hell, many critics argue that it was Kaufman who actually coined the phrase “Beat”, and not Jack Kerouac.
What would Kerouac say? Kerouac and his well-known Beat Generation contemporaries respected Kaufman as much as anyone, but he has been downplayed by later critics and fans. In France, where his largest following existed, he was known as the ‘Black American Rimbaud”.
Maybe there is a simple explanation for this apparent amnesia… Kaufman only wrote his poetry down on paper when forced to, preferring instead to read it aloud in public, or to indulge in a little guerrilla poetry, posting notes on shop windows, criticising society and the police. He preferred to recite his works in coffee shops and on the streets, once reading to Ken Kesey before the two knew each other, and frightening the young Kesey with his mad appearance, but impressing him nonetheless. Consequently, little accurate biographical information is available for willing scholars, and Kaufman remains for most a mythical Beat figure.
“My ambition is to be completely forgotten,” he once told Raymond Foye, editor of his collection of poems, The Ancient Rain.
His poetry had many of the influences of the works of other Beats, primarily jazz and Buddhism. He also had drug problems and run-ins with the law. And his life consisted of stories the equal of those that made famous. For example, when John F Kennedy was assassinated, Kaufman took a vow of silence that he never broke until the end of the Vietnam war. When he spoke, he recited a poem he had written, entitled “All Those Ships that Never Sailed.” Although he did speak after this, he remained more or less in solitude until his death in 1986.
The following bio is drawn from an extremely wide selection of reading, containing a number of conflicting dates and stories. Although this is testament to the wonderfully elusive life and times of the poet, it also means: Take the info with a pinch of salt, friend.
Bob Kaufman was born in New Orleans in 1925, to a German Jewish father and a Martinican black Catholic mother. His grandmother was a practitioner of Voodoo, while he was active in both Catholic and Jewish traditions, and later he became a Buddhist. It could therefore be stated that he was influenced in one way or another by a variety of religions and had an unusual and diverse racial heritage.
To add to these experiences, Kaufman joined the Merchant Marines when only thirteen, survived four shipwrecks, and travelled the world, meeting Jack Kerouac. He read widely and studied literature at New York’s The New School, where he met William S Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg. He led unions and spoke on the docks on both coast, and was friends with Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk and Charles Mingus. In 1944 Kaufman married Ida Berrocal, in 1945 their daughter, Antoinette Victoria, was born, and in 1958, he married his second wife, Eileen Singe.
So when he moved to San Francisco in 1958, with Ginsberg and Burroughs, it would be fair to say that he had gained quite a bit of life experience. He met Ferlinghetti and Corso in San Francisco and helped develop the local literary Renaissance. Here he devoted himself to spontaneous oral poetry that flowed to the beat of jazz and bebop, the music that pulsed through the dives and haunts of the Beatnik North Beach area. He often took his son, Parker (named after Charlie Parker), into coffee houses and cafes, to “hold court”.
With Allen Ginsberg, John Kelly and William Margolis, Kaufman founded Beatitude magazine in North Beach, in 1959 (or ’65 or ’75 depending on the used resource). The magazine today exists in name and memory through Beatitude Broadside and Beatitude Press. Coupled with this accomplishment, and the creativity of his poetic performances, Kaufman read at Harvard and was nominated for the English Guinness Award.
However, as with so many Beats, Kaufman found himself addicted to drugs, in financial strife, and in frequent trouble with the law. Then when arrested in New York City for walking on the grass of Washington Square park, he was arrested and forced to undergo electro-shock therapy. So, with the assassination of JFK, Kaufman withdrew into silence. After the end of the war in ‘Nam, he regained some creativity, but soon went into a sort of retirement until his death in 1986.
He published three volumes of poetry, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness, Golden Sardine, and Ancient Rain: Poems 1956-1978. He published Golden Sardines, as well as a number of chapbooks in the mid-sixties, through City Lights. He also founded Beatitude and a variety of ‘Abomunist’ texts, including theAbomunist Manifesto.
Kaufman’s poetry blends high English with street language, the structure and rhythm of African-American speech, surrealism, and the beat and improvisational qualities of jazz. He would recite his poetry aloud in the Coffee Gallery or in diners or during traffic jams, rarely writing them down, except perhaps in loose note form on napkins. Many listeners state that his best performances were done alongside a jazz musician.
Naturally, for a poet so obsessed with the orality of his poems, Kaufman’s work reflects speaking patterns – and not just through reciting his poems aloud. The words that make up his poems are everyday words, and the rhythms reflect everyday speech, in keeping with the style of Walt Whitman, although imbuing it with contemporary streetwise language.
He frequently features in volumes of African-American and avant-garde poetry, but seems forgotten in the predominantly white world of Beat history. But I guess that although he embodied Beat ideals and poetics, he was extremely unique within the bohemian world and was so occupied with new poetic ideas that he is of greater interest to more specific schools of thought than the often overarching generality of Beat literature studies. Of course, more likely than that is the fact that he preferred to not write down his poetry. Conflicting sources would have us believe that Kaufman’s wives wrote his poems down on his behalf, and also that they encouraged him to write them down himself. Either way, published collections of his work only reveal a small section of the full body.
However, although it is mostly true that he was averse to writing down his poetry, a handwritten manuscript was found by incredible fortune in the burning rubble of a hotel fire, from which Kaufman had narrowly escaped. Many of these poems went into The Ancient Rain.
But back to the poems… And Kaufman is frequently compared to twentieth century surrealist painters for his appreciation and use of strong and madly juxtaposed imagery. His use of symbolism is incredibly vivid and sensual. His Whitman-esque use of lists to build images imbued with sound, colour and feeling also draws upon Pound and W.C. Williams in its minimalist economy and effective conveyance. ‘Jazz Chick’ is a great example of such devices, and is easily available to read online.