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Allen Ginsberg (Renowned American Beat Poet Activist 1926 - 1997)
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Allen Ginsberg (Renowned American Beat Poet Activist 1926 - 1997)
Published by MsJacquiiC
04-27-2008
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Allen Ginsberg (Renowned American Beat Poet Activist 1926 - 1997)

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)


Irwin Allen Ginsberg was an American poet and cherished Member of the San Francisco Renaissance. He would later be associated with the Beat Generation in a broader sense; His poetics did center around attacking what he saw as the destructive forces of materialism and conformity in the United States at the time. As a poet, he will probably be remembered most for lengthy masterworks “Kaddish” -- the heartbreaking biography of his mother, Naomi Ginsberg, who spent most of her adult life in a state of mental torment -- and “Howl”. With Howl's famous opening line (“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness”) - Ginsberg became known and still is known as the subject of interestingly controversial discourse. In fact the publication of “Howl” went to obscenity trial and served as a catalyst in fomenting Ginsberg’s lifelong obsession with First Amendment issues in particular.

In 1954 in San Francisco, Ginsberg met Peter Orlovsky, with whom he fell in love and who remained his life-long lover, and with whom he eventually shared his interest in Tibetan Buddhism. As the leading icon of the Beats, Ginsberg was involved in countless political activities, including protests against the Vietnam War, and he spoke openly about issues that concerned him, such as free speech and gay rights.

Ginsberg went on to publish numerous collections of poetry, including The Fall of America: Poems of These States (1973), which won the National Book Award. In 1993, Ginsberg received the Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres (the Order of Arts and Letters) from the French Minister of Culture. He also co-founded and directed the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute in Colorado.

On April 5, 1997, in New York City, he died from complications of hepatitis.






 A Supermarket in California
By Allen Ginsberg

     What thoughts I have of you tonight Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
     In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
     What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

     I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
     I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
     I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective.
     We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

     Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
     (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
     Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.
     Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
     Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

Berkeley, 1955



Allen Ginsberg, “A Supermarket in California” from Collected Poems 1947-1980. Copyright © 1984 by Allen Ginsberg. Reprinted with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.



 selection from America
By Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.



 Autumn Leaves
Recited Too By Allen Ginsberg

At 66, just learning how to take care of my body
Wake cheerful 8 a.m. & write in a notebook
rising from my bed side naked leaving a naked boy asleep by the wall
mix miso mushroom leeks & winter squash breakfast,
Check bloodsugar, clean teeth exactly, brush, toothpick, floss, mouthwash
oil my feet, put on white shirt white pants white sox
sit solitary by the sink
a moment before brushing my hair, happy not yet
to be a corpse.



Quoted November 5, 1992: In case the point was not quite clear, Mr. Ginsberg said yesterday, "It means that I am glad to be alive." Which is good, because after more than four decades of public adulation and controversy, he seems as busy as ever.




Howl Part 1 by Allen Ginsberg
Animated by markmm1953

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ERROR: If you can see this, then YouTube is down or you don't have Flash installed.



  #1  
Old 04-27-2008, 08:35 AM
MsJacquiiC's Avatar
JPiC Creator: Poetica Magnifique
 
Quote:
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
Tribute.

Such truth, demand-ripped from the bowels
of America. She who dawns beauty draped in silver-
stars, stripes of blood pooling at the southern
border that's freshly lit with freshly rolled maryjane
thangs. Such insane freedom; she gleans gaiety
and who are we to mock her? Poets.

Yay - that she may never go down,
for her torch might signify Ginsberg's pen.


Happy National Poetry Month!

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  #2  
Old 04-27-2008, 08:36 AM
PaintedDiary's Avatar
JPiC Senior Moderator Extraordinaire
 
I never heard of this American Poet before. Ya know, reading these bios are just sensational...I am learning and getting more and more inspired! Also, lets me view what other poetry was before me, and in front of me....outside of my box, if you will. The Supermarket and Autumn Leaves is outstanding. Selection from America...still has me going...wow. It is an honor to read the poetic lives of many whom we have built a foundation upon. Great great post Ms Jacquii!

Kim
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  #3  
Old 04-27-2008, 09:35 AM
MsJacquiiC's Avatar
JPiC Creator: Poetica Magnifique
 
You hadn't heard of Ginsberg? - He's the scandal of the Poetry world LOL - And I tell ya - it WAS A TREAT researching this o-so talented and creative genius - I like his style because of how abstract and how "out-there" it is - It takes a certain amount of personal truth to be on a Ginsberg type of level LOL - More like a truthful personal insight is a better wording... I tell ya - I found some very very interesting stuff online about Ginsberg - least of all his poetry.... Just do a google image search --- Wildly creative stuff... And probably rated "MA" for Mature Audience muuuuuuuaaaaaaahahahaaaaaaaaaaa!

Jacquii.
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