There was one line from that play I'll never forget. It was uttered by my friend Lynne's sister Gloria. She was a junior, and had an actual speaking part. After a coffee house reading by one of the Beat poet actors, she said, "Dig that iambic pentameter!" The beatniks in the scene (of which I was one) snapped their fingers in response. It was, like, crazy, man!
I haven't thought of that play in years. This week, I can't stop thinking about it. Damn you, William Shatner! It's all your fault. The only way to claw these images from my mind is to howl. (My apologies to Allen Ginsberg.)
My offering for this Poetry Friday is Howl by Allen Ginsberg. Click over to experience this poem as it was meant to be experienced. I know. I know. This version has been slightly edited. Click here to read the complete (I believe) poem. The performance, however, by Ginsberg and John Turturro is, like, outstanding, man. Snap your fingers if you agree.
Poetry Friday is being hosted by Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children.
12 comments:
Your post made me remember that I saw Ginsberg in Lowell, at a Jack Kerouac festival, not too long before he passed away. He was just a shadowy figure physically by that time. I wish I could remember what he spoke about, but alas, it's gone.
Wait. You went to Woodstock AND you saw Ginsberg!? That makes you the Hippie Beatnik Queen of The Write Sisters, Diane. I'm jealous.
Snapping here on Wallace Road . . .
Snapping madly from Virginia, and totally jealous of anyone who went to Woodstock and saw Ginsberg (he was a soup maker, BTW)! Cool, daddy-o . . .
Like Crazy-cool. A post of penultimate proportions
that glows in the glittering phantasmagoric light,
exploding like a supernova bursting into sleepy-eyed
peacock feathers that tickle the nose of a nebulous God,
gone undercover until the ultimate Armageddon
Dig it, man.
I hear you snapping, Jet.
You, like, blew my mind, Barb.
We should start a Jealous of Diane club, Jama. (Nice to meet you, by the way!)
Thanks for weighing in, Jet, Jama and Barb.
Did I ever tell you I heard Timothy Leary speak, too? At Columbia, I believe it was. I remember even less about him than I do about Ginsberg, but that was a hundred years ago. Does anyone even remember who Timothy Leary was?
Timothy Leary's dead.
No, no, he's outside
looking in.
OMG! You saw Timothy Leary, too?! Are we going to learn that you flew to India in '68 after you quit using LSD to study transcendental meditation under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi?
Hmmm. Saw Allen Ginsberg, but don't remember anything about it. Saw Timothy Leary, but don't remember anything about it. There weren't any hallucinogenics involved in these sightings, were there?
Here's a challenge:
"Now that I've dropped out
Why is life dreary dreary
Answer my weary query
Timothy Leary dearie . . ."
Anybody know what that's from?
Manchester England England
Across the Atlantic Sea
And I'm a genius genius
I believe in God
And I believe that God
Believes in Claude
That's me that's me
Win!
Snaps to you! Love this flashback. And thanks for linking with the Poetry Friday cafe this week!
Sylvia
It was entirely my pleasure, Sylvia!
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