The Beat era may have ended long ago, but in the last few decades there has been a resurgence of interest in these fascinating artists. There are now, it seems, about a million books on Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, and quite a few devoted to William Burroughs.
But what of Gregory Corso? Alas, in death as in life he has a modest fanbase and tends to be overlooked by scholars. There are various possible reasons for this, but one can hardly deny that he was one of the major poets of the Beat era and that the lack of critical attention afforded him is conspicuous. There is the occasional essay but books about Corso are few and far between.
Thankfully, we now have Ten Times a Poet, edited by Leon Horton and Michele McDannold. This excellent new book (published in March 2024) is a welcome addition to Beat Studies.
Ten Times a Poet is comprised of essays and poems, short memoirs and photos, interviews and paintings. It is a collage of sorts, a nice change from the overly academic essay collections devoted to most poets. Its diversity of style is, I think, an appropriate form that ought to be used more often when studying the Beat writers.
The book begins with a reprint of a section from The Golden Dot, Corso’s final collection of poems. Raymond Foye, who edited that book, tells us that he “never knew anyone who worked harder than [Corso] did” and explains that “there was never a time when he wasn’t with the poem.” Indeed, throughout the book we will see that, for all his unfortunate character traits (and these were legion), Corso was a man utterly dedicated to poetry.
Kurt Hemmer then takes us through Corso’s childhood. Hemmer is working on a biography of the poet and from the various sections published so far (including parts in Beatdom issues 23 and 24), it looks like a great book. However, as he says in this essay, Corso’s childhood is to a great extent hidden behind his own incorrigible mythmaking. It is “enough to drive any biographer to despair,” Hemmer tells us. He rather modestly tells us that the essay is a “rough sketch” but it is clearly the result of fantastic amounts of research. The essay also helps us to understand—to a degree, at least—the various sides of Corso that will emerge later in the book, for here we see the young Corso abused by a number of people during his brutal and tragic early life.
Gregory Stephenson, whose long essays and short books dive into hidden but fascinating parts of Beat history, then takes us through Corso’s teenage crime spree. It is a great piece of detective work that draws upon many newspaper articles and letters.
Westley Heine then explores arguably Corso’s most famous poem, “Bomb”:
Bomb demonstrates that inside us all is a secret fascination with destruction. Corso shows how absurd we are: children holding the power of god. By praising the bomb he shows us by example that this horrible blast is human nature. Einstein’s Theory of Relativity unlocked the secrets of the universe. That there are vast amounts of energy locked away in every atom! That matter and energy are one! What did we do with this knowledge? We built a bomb so big it could vaporize cities.
A. Robert Lee then asks whether Corso really was the “junior partner” in the Beat Generation before Kirby Olson (interview by Michael Limnios) shows how Corso could have a broader appeal than his peers:
Corso has no natural group. In American culture the ecological people have Gary Snyder, the gay groups align with Ginsberg, and the drug addicts have William Burroughs. Corso has no natural group, but everyone feels drawn to his humor. He defies groups, and group orientation. He expresses a need for individualism. He is also very popular in Europe, where the socialist impulse is stronger, but where there is also a natural affinity for Bohemian individualism going back many centuries.
Olson’s interview is an excerpt from a longer interview, which can be found here. Olson wrote about Kerouac and Shakespeare for Beatdom and that can be found here.
The book’s editor, Leon Horton, has an excellent and very long essay on Corso in Greece. This originally appeared in Beatdom #22.
Gerald Nicosia writes about meeting Corso at Naropa. He recalls hearing Corso bet he could get $100,000 by writing an autobiography—if only he had! What a book that would have been! Nicosia notes that Corso may have “harbored the secret hope that someday I would write his biography.” And indeed that would also have been a great read.
There is a nice collection of photos and then a piece by Kaye McDonough, who reflects on being Corso’s lover. Robert Yarra next tells us that Corso “was a naturally great and intuitive teacher before we hear from the late Neeli Cherkovski, whose aptly titled “An Elder Scamp” recounts various memories.
Ryan Mathews is a writer of great clarity with an interest in weird avenues of inquiry related to the Beat Generation, whose obsession with the material leads to impossibly readable and yet outrageously deep essays, which is why we’ve now published him in many issues of Beatdom. Here, he explores Mindfield, a 1989 collection that Mathews notes is “the print equivalent of ‘Gregory Corso’s Greatest Hits.’” He then proceeds to show where these poems came from why they may have been chosen for this collection. It is a wonderful “deep dive” into the Corso universe.
Ron Whitehead then offers up his poetic reflections of a road trip from New York to Lowell with Corso, an entertaining story that shows us some of the more frustrating aspects of Corso’s characters, such as his propensity for heckling his poet friends.
Speaking of Corso’s less admirable traits, Hemmer is back with a memoir of meeting Corso at the University of Connecticut, where Ann Charters, who happily allowed Herbert Huncke into her home, put her foot down at the prospect of Corso visiting. Fair enough. I’m not sure if I’d have let him into my house, either. More interesting, though, is the depiction of Corso’s self-doubt. Even late in life, as a famous poet, he worried before going on stage to read. “They won’t like me,” he said. “Do these kids even know who I am?”
There is much more. I have merely mentioned some of my favourite pieces here.
It is thus a portrait of a complex figure. Corso was a poetic genius. That much these contributors can agree on. However, as a man he could be pleasant but often chose to be otherwise. He could be difficult, childish, and selfish. But then he had a difficult life and his childhood… Well, perhaps that explains him as an adult, if not entirely excusing his behaviour.
This is a great book and much needed in the Beat world, where Corso—though admired by many—is too often omitted or consigned to a footnote role. I love that the contributions vary so much in style and focus, and that there are photos and paintings accompanying them. I love the mix of the personal and the more scholarly (although seldom too scholarly—it is about Corso, after all). This is definitely a book any self-respecting Beat fan should have on their shelf.
The book is available on Amazon.
