Showing posts with label Italian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italian. Show all posts

Friday, April 22, 2016

Friday's Weekly Round-Up - 265




                                                               [Scrap Leaves (1968) and Sad Dust Glories (1975) - two early Allen Ginsberg pamphlets]

Michael Schumacher, author of The Essential Ginsberg and the biography, Dharma Lion,
reviews the UnCollected Poems:

"Allen Ginsberg’s harshest critics have claimed that he published every word he’d ever written, regardless of value as poetry.

This, of course, is nonsense. As someone who has seen all of his journals, I can attest to the fact that he published only a small portion of his writings. There are some real jewels buried in his journals, just as there were numerous published poems that neither made his small poetry books nor his gigantic 1,200-page, posthumously issued Collected Poems.
Beat Generation scholar Bill Morgan, who compiled Ginsberg’s bibliography, catalogued his archives, wrote a biography of Ginsberg, and edited six volumes of his letters and journals, has sifted through scores of old poetry pamphlets and journals, newspapers, magazines and other sources to gather what he considers to be the best of Ginsberg’s uncollected poems. The resulting volume, Wait Till I’m Dead (Grove Press), touches on Ginsberg’s writings from six decades, beginning with the poet’s earliest work and concluding when he was growing old and ruminating about his mortality and the deaths of some of his closest friends.
Some of this book’s 103 poems were published in such Ginsberg pamphlets as Scrap Leaves and Sad Dust Glories, but were not included, for whatever reason, in Collected Poems.
Most appeared in tiny publications, many no longer in existence. A handful were never published at all. Morgan arranges the poems in chronological order, broken into sections arranged by decades, with annotations that offer readers brief histories of the works.
All this makes me think of how Ginsberg’s friend, Bob Dylan, would write and record wonderful songs that were never included on his albums, but which are now being released as part of his Bootleg Series. Some of Ginsberg’s poems, like Dylan’s songs, were crying out to be issued in a wide-circulation format, and Wait Till I’m Dead, similar to Dylan’s better Bootleg Series albums, gives you a look at the lifelong development of the artist, as well as offering meritorious work.
I’m partial to Ginsberg’s travel poems, which seem to find him at his most observant of detail; this book offers a strong sampling, from the long “New York to San Fran” to a few outtakes from his National Book Award-winning The Fall of America. “Notice what you notice,” Ginsberg advised, and what he noticed was an enormous range of interests, from the banal to the sublime. I’ve always been impressed by how Ginsberg’s poems never seem to age, how his mind remained fresh until his final days. His publisher claims this will be his “final major contribution.” Knowing what’s still out there, hidden in his journals, I wouldn’t bet on it.
In the meantime, we have Morgan to thank for assembling another volume from one of the greatest poets of the 20th century."




















One of the most rare (and seemingly unlikely) Ginsberg items - Allen's direct connection to "hard-core" -  "Hard-core legend", Harley Flanagan's 1976 children's book, Stories & Illustrations by Harley (surely the only children's book Allen ever wrote an introduction to!) 















[Stories and Illustrations by Harley - Introduced by Allen Ginsburg [sic], Charlatan Press, 1976]

This is what he wrote (on May 6, 1976):
"Harley Flanagan lives in Denmark. He is nine years old. He started this story in Morocco. The Shopkeeper and The Donkey. His mother Rosebud was a Lower East Side hippie, and a friend of mine. Harley is also a friend of mine since he was a year old. We lived on a farm together. I'm glad he grew up to be an Artist. His sense of perspective is vast. His choise [sic] of details, mud-wall bricks, triangular mountains, arabic writing on bottles, paths of the Bee to the Moon, baloons [sic] with big music notes out of the mouth, teeth in the sun, big donkey ears - is bold and smart. I'm proud to know he is a member of the Sensitive Family."

Harley puts the book in context: "I have often been asked about the book of poetry I did when I was a kid with the introduction by Allen Ginsberg. Well this is the story...
 When I was a kid in the early 70's, me my mother and my stepfather traveled to Morocco, and while living there at the foothills of the Atlas mountains I wrote and drew two short stories, it wasn't poetry at all. One was about a Shopkeeper his donkey and a bee, the other was a story made up only of drawings involving a saber-tooth tiger family and some sort of mammoth or elephant and their fight for survival. Maybe a year or two after I had drawn this little book and stapled it together, for whatever reason, this Danish press, called Charlatan Press, decided it was amazing child art, or something to that effect, and wanted to put it out, so (much to my embarrassment) it came out, nearly three years after I had drawn and written it. Allen Ginsberg was a friend of my mother and my family, I had known him since birth. He did the introduction for it.
The funny thing is Allen, one of the most important writers of his age, he did the introduction for the book, and if you look at the cover you'll notice that the press spelled his name wrong! [Ginsburg again! - see here]
This book is very rare and was on display in the children's museum of NYC [the children's center at the New York Public Library] right next to the original copy of Winnie the Pooh. My Mother was extremely proud and went there to take pictures of the display."

Plenty of water has passed under the bridge since 1976, since those "hippie" days, Harley did indeed become "an Artist" (tho' perhaps not quite the kind that Allen expected!) - "...cheated of  rocknroll money, twenty thousand people in stadiums/cheering his tattooed skinhead murderous Hare Krishna vegetarian drum lyrics", as Allen remembers him, (from his 1992 poem, "The Charnel Ground"). Harley has a new (very different) book coming out Hard-Core - Life Of My Own, his memoirs (due out from Feral House in September) and new CD of his genre-defining music (more details here
  














[The Travel Agency Is On Fire - William S Burroughs - edited by Alex Wemer-Colan CUNY Poetics Documentary Initiative, series 5 (2015)] 

Coming soon, series 6, the next installment of the extraordinary Lost & Found - CUNY Poetics Document Initiative. For the previous five series (a positive cornucopia of poetics rediscoveries - in short - and not so short - pamphlets) - see here
William Burroughs'  The Travel Agency Is On Fire was one of the titles in the last series,  Gregory Corso's  Naropa Lectures 1981 (edited by William Camponovo, Mary Catherine Kinniburgh and Oyku Tekten with a preface by Anne Waldman), spearheads the new series. But, singling these out does a disservice to the range and relevance and intelligence of the endeavor. They are all essential books.











And another book - 
Herbert Huncke's Guilty of Everything  (published by Endemunde) recently appeared in Italian. For a review of the book in La Stampa - see here  



Paul Iorio's nearly 4,ooo word  Lawrence Ferlinghetti interview, (from 2000), covering Beat history, the Six Gallery reading, and much more (Lawrence setting the record straight) may be read here.

Jay Babcock, Larry "Ratso" Sloman, and Michael Simmons' oral history, of another historic counter-cultural moment, the Yippie 1967 Exorcism of the Pentagon, "Out Demons Out", (originally published in 2004 in Arthur magazine), can likewise be read in its entirety - here



Big news - Jack Kerouac's French writings (scheduled to be published-in-translation and included in a new volume published by the Library of America, later in the year) appeared this month (in their original language) from Les Editions du Boreal in Montreal.



Gregory Corso's papers (some of them, anyway!)  are now available at Brown.

Here's an entertaining little piece from The Paris Reviewa profile of Don WilenAllen's accountant.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Ferlinghetti's Birthday


                           [Lawrence Ferlinghetti, "Godot," 2008, Oil paints on canvas, 11 x 14 in. Photo by Ron Jones]

Two Moscow memories from the recently-published Writing Across The Landscape



"On the walls of the Writers Union Cafe, I saw Allen's three-fish symbol, drawn by him here in summer 1965  & I drew woman nude with inscription, "The door to the invisible is visible"


"Zoja Voznesensky concluded, after a discussion of Ginsberg (who had visited Moscow, summer of '65) that Ginsberg was concerned with the interior world while I was concerned with the outside world and therefore my poetry was "more comprehensive" (or something like that - this was through an interpreter). I asked why, then, was his poetry so much more universal than mine. She replied that because the interior was more important than the exterior………. Later I reflected that if she knew Allen better, she might realize that it was Allen who is in fact the extrovert, I the introvert…."

Lawrence Ferlinghetti turns, believe it or not, ninety-seven today.  
Happy Birthday, Lawrence! - 
Check in on all-things-Ferlinghetti on Lawrence's City Lights page - here 
(and his Facebook Fan Page - here)

Ferlinghetti interviewed by Jonah Raskin for the local San Francisco newspapers (in June of last year)

Recent interviews - (and Beat-international interviews) - Following up our recent notice of an Italian one, the ever-sprightly Lawrence Ferlinghetti interviewed in Spanish - here 


Here's Lawrence's elegy  (from 1977) on Allen: 



And don't forget, of course, this book:



Friday, October 30, 2015

Ezra Pound's Birthday

                                                        [Ezra Pound (1885-1972)]

We featured a couple of days ago, the early English lyric, "Summer is Icumen in" (commonly known as "The Cuckoo Song")

Ezra Pound made a playful parody of it

AG:    ...And I forgot there's this little paraphrase by Ezra Pound of "The Cuckoo Song". Has anybody heard that or seen that?..How many know of Pound? (It's) called "Ancient Music" - So let's go back to that. where is that? " The Cuckoo Song"? - " Sumer is Icumen in,/Loudly sing, cuckoo!/Grows the seed and blows the mead,/And springs the wood anew." 

(and Pound):


"Winter is icummen in,/Lhude sing Goddamm./ Raineth drop and staineth slop,/ And how the wind doth ramm!/ Sing: Goddamm./ Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,/ An ague hath my ham./ Freezeth river, turneth liver,/ Damn you, sing: Goddamm./ Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,/ So 'gainst the winter's balm./ Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm./ Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM."

 And then, (a) note, "This is not folk music, but Dr. Ker writes that the tune is found under the Latin words of a very ancient canon." (here he's being mock-pedantic/campy) 

[Audio for the above can be heard here, beginning at approximately twenty minutes in and concluding at approximately twenty-one minutes in]

Ezra Pound's birthday today. We draw your attention to previous birthday postings - here, here, here and here

Harvard's Woodberry Poetry Room has recently preserved a rare acetate from 1939 of Pound reading - see here

The publication of the curiously-named Posthumous Cantos is noted here 

Here's Pasolini and Pound together (Pier Paolo Pasolini reading to Pound (in Italian) from his Cantos  (Canto LXXXI) ("Pull down thy vanity")  




Quello che veramente ami rimane,
il resto è scorie
Quello che veramente ami non ti sarà strappato
Quello che veramente ami è la tua vera eredità
Il mondo a chi appartiene, a me, a loro
o a nessuno?
Prima venne il visibile, quindi il palpabile
Elisio, sebbene fosse nelle dimore dinferno,
Quello che veramente ami è la tua vera eredità

La formica è un centauro nel suo mondo di draghi.
Strappa da te la vanità, non fu luomo
A creare il coraggio, o lordine, o la grazia,
Strappa da te la vanità, ti dico strappala
Impara dal mondo verde quale sia il tuo luogo
Nella misura dellinvenzione, o nella vera abilità dellartefice,

Strappa da te la vanità,
Paquin strappala!
Il casco verde ha vinto la tua eleganza.

Dominati, e gli altri ti sopporteranno
Strappa da te la vanità
Sei un cane bastonato sotto la grandine,
Una pica rigonfia in uno spasimo di sole,
Metà nero metà bianco
Né distingui unala da una coda
Strappa da te la vanità
Come son meschini i tuoi rancori
Nutriti di falsità.
Strappa da te la vanità,
Avido di distruggere, avaro di carità,
Strappa da te la vanità,
Ti dico strappala.


Ma avere fatto in luogo di non avere fatto
questa non è vanità 
Avere, con discrezione, bussato
Perché un Blunt aprisse
Aver raccolto dal vento una tradizione viva
o da un bellocchio antico la fiamma inviolata
Questa non è vanità.
Qui lerrore è in ciò che non si è fatto, nella diffidenza che fece esitare



What thou lovest well remains,
the rest is dross
What thou lovst well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lovst well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lovst well shall not be reft from thee
The ants a centaur in his dragon world.
Pull down thy vanity, it is not man
Made courage, or made order, or made grace,
Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down.
Learn of the green world what can be thy place
In scaled invention or true artistry,
Pull down thy vanity,
Paquin pull down!
The green casque has out done your elegance.
Master thy self, then others shall thee beare
Pull down thy vanity
Thou art a beaten dog beneath the hail,
A swollen mag pie in a fitful sun,
Half black half white
Nor knowstou wing from tail
Pull down thy vanity
How mean thy hates
Fostered in falsity,
Pull down thy vanity,
Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,
Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down.
But to have done instead of not doing
This is not vanity
To have, with decency, knocked
That a Blunt should open
To have gath ered from the air a live tradition
or from a fine old eye the uncon quered flame
this is not vanity.
Here error is all in the not done,
all in the diffidence that faltered

Friday, August 7, 2015

Friday's Weekly Round-Up - 230



Yesterday was Diane Di Prima's 81st birthday.

Here's the extraodinary class she gave last May (with Professor Steven Goodman) at the California Institute of Integral Studies - in two parts, here and here 






Earlier Diane Di Prima birthday shout-outs on the Allen Ginsberg Project here, here, and here


Here's a two-part story on another prominent Italian-American - Lawrence Ferlinghetti - here and here

and  an excerpt from his forthcoming book - Writing Across The Landscape

(a further excerpt may be found - here)




& keeping the Italian theme, Gregory Corso's Gasoline appears in a new edition in Italian


Here's Fred Misurella and George de Stafano considering Gregory's Italian-ness and reviewing The Whole Shot

Here's Gregory on Italian tv (appearing approximately half-way through - he's interviewed (he speaks in English), and reads ("The Whole Mess..Almost"), appearing in a sympathetic forum, ("Blitz" - un programma innovativo"), alongside the great and much-lamented Fabrizio de Andre)  











Another wonderful piece of vintage footage on You Tube -  William S Burroughs and Alex Trocchi, in London in the early 'Sixties, in a seemingly well-attended Project Sigma gathering - "I'd like to make a rather unpopular statement here..." 
Burroughs suggests a true "underground" figure should consider dressing like him, straight, invisible, inconspicuous - Trocchi's not buying it.
  



Jonah Raskin's review of the Philip Whalen biography, Crowded By Beauty, appeared this week in the San Francisco Chronicle


Beat fetishists - check out these items  

                      [Jack Kerouac inscription to Joyce Johnnson's presentation copy of On The Road]

and - (Beat exploitation corner) - oh, dear, oh dear !



Not to be perceived as a thanato-blog - but it (inevitably)  keeps happening - the "best minds" - (Lee Harwood last week) - keep fading away. Ken Irby's passing to report on this week (he actually died eight days ago, but we omitted mention last week). 


         [Ken Irby (1936-2014) - Photograph by Robert Amory from the 2005 exhibit, The Light of Others

The magisterial Collected Poems - The Intent On was expertly and lovingly compiled by Kyle Waugh and Cyrus Console for North Atlantic Books in 2010. Kyle was also instrumental in the gathering (along with William J Harris) in 2014 of a special feature for Jacket .

Invaluable are his readings on Pennsound (Lee Harwood is featured there too

and Irby poems and commentary - here and here.   A chronology - here,   

- recent memories from Steve Dickison Tom Raworth, Pierre Joris & others



Saturday, June 27, 2015

Gay Pride Weekend



Celebrating sexuality, coming out, and of course Marriage Equality on an extraordinarily euphoric Gay Pride Weekend!

"Some situations are exuberant, like "Howl" or "Plutonian Ode". Some situations are "Gee, I feel so good, I think I'll write down what I see at this moment". Some situations, I'm trying to locate what is my erotic imagination and write it down as a sample, like "Please Master". You know, to locate my fantasy and put it down exactly, to see how far out I can go into my own mind, into the real fantasy inside, deep inside my mind and then make an external object of it. Because, you know, other people have the same fantasy but are ashamed of it, or think it isn't real, or think they're the only ones who ever have "Please Master" fantasies, when it turns out that everybody's had it one way or another, or some variances that would be equally hidden. You know, if not that one, another one but something that's their own, some secret erotic delight."  (Allen Ginsberg)



Please Master 


Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet
please master can I loosen your blue pants
please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly
please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes
please master can I take off my clothes below your chair
please master can I kiss your ankles and soul
please master can I touch lips to your hard muscle hairless thigh
please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach
please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass
please master can I lick your groin curled with blond soft fur
please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole
please master may I press my face to your balls,
please master order me down on the floor,
please master tell me to lick your thick shaft,
please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull
please master press my mouth to your prick-heart
please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed
till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base
till I swallow and taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please
Master push my shoulders away and stare in my eyes & make me bend over
the table
please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist
please master your hand's rough stroke on my neck your palm down to my
backside
please master push me, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of 
your spit and your thumb stroke
please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please
Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet baselines
please master stroke your shaft with white creams
please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole 
please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped round my breast
your arms pushing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your fingers
please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,
please master sink your droor thing down my behind
& please master make me wiggle my rear end to eat up the pink trunk
till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over,
till I'm alone sticking out, your sword stuck throbbing in me
please master pull out and slowly roll onto the bottom
please master lunge it again, and withdraw the tip
please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please
Master drive down till it hurts me the softness the
Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center & fuck me
for good like a girl,
tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee
& drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood
you fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris
carlots
please master drive methy vehicle, body of love drops, sweat fuck
body of tenderness. Give me your dough fuck faster
please master make me go moan on the table
Go moan O please master do fuck me like that
in your rhythm thrill-plunge & pull-back-bounce & push down
till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be
loved
Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole,
& fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull
& plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish
& throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat
over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you
please Master. 

& in Italian   (translated by  Luca Fontana and Leopoldo Carra),

Ti Prego padrone posso toccarti la guancia

ti prego padrone posso inginocchiarmi ai tupi piedi
ti prego padrone posso aprirti i pantaloni blu
ti prego padrone posso dare un'occhiata alla tua pancia dorata di peli
ti prego padrone posso com delicatezza tirarti giù le mutande
ti prego padrone posso avere le tue cosce nude ai miei occhi
ti prego padrone posso togliermi vestiti sotto la tua sedia
ti prego padrone posso baciarti stinchi e anima
ti prego padrone posso sfiorarti di labbra la coscia dura musculosa senza peli
ti prego padrone posso premerti l'orrechio sullo stomaco
ti prego padrone posso stringerti tra le braccia il culo bianco
ti prego padrone posso leccarti l'inguine riccio di morbida pelliccia blonda
ti prego padrone posso toccar di lingua il tuo roseo buco del culo
ti prego padrone posso strofinarti la faccia sulle palle, 
ti prego padrone,  ti prego guardami negli occhi,
ti prego padrone ordinami di gettarmi a terre,
ti prego padrone dimmi di leccarti quella grossa stanga
ti prego padrone mettimi la mano ruvida sul cranio-calvo con peli
ti prego padrone premimi la bocca sul tuo cazzo-cuore
ti prego padrone premimi la facci fin sulla pancia, lento con pollici forti
finché la tua durezza muta mi riempie la gola fino alla base
e io ingoio e gusto il tuo cazzo-carne-calda delicata fusto venato Ti Prego
Padrone spingimi via per le spalle e fissami negli occhi, e piegami sul
tavolo 
ti prego padrone prendimi per le cosce e alzami il culo alla tua altezza
ti prego padrone la carezza ruvida della tua mano sul collo e la palma giù 
per la schiena
ti prego padrone rovesciami in su, coi piedi sulle sedie, finché il mio buco
sente l'alito del tup sputo la carezza del tuo pollice 
ti prego padrone fammi dire Ti Prego Padrone Chiavami subito Ti Prego
Padrone ungimi palle e boccapelosa de dolci vaseline
ti prego padrone carezatti la stanga con bianchi creme
ti prego padrone accosta la cappella al mio grinzoso buco-sé
ti prego padrone spingilo dentro con grazia, i tuoi gomiti mi serrano il petto 
e le braccia van giù verso la pancia, il pene toccamelo con le dita
ti prego padrone caccialo dentro di me un po', un po', un po',
ti prego padrone affondami quel tuo grosso robo nel didietro
ti prego padrone fammi scodinzolar col culo ingoiar poco il tronco
finché le mie due metà di culo ti carezzan le cosce, io piegato in due,
finché io solo ho un doso dritto fuori, la tua spada infilata mi palpita dentro
ti prego padrone tiralo furoi poi infilato lento fino in fondo
ti prego padrone fai un affondo ancor, e ritralo fino alla punta
ti prego ti prego padrone chiavami dài col tuo sé, ti prego chiavami Ti Prego
Padrone caccialo dentro finché mi fa male là dov'è morbido
Morbido ti prego padrone fai l'amore col mio culo, dai corpo al centro,
chiavami sul serio come una ragazza,
stringimi con tenerezza ti prego padrone mi ti cedo tutto,
e ficcami in pancia quella stessissima dolce croce-calore
te la toccavi in solitudine a Denver o Brooklyn o chiavavi in qualche ver-
gine a Paris nei parcheggi 
ti prego padrone guidami io tuo veicolo, corpo d'amor chinato, sudor
chiavato
corpo di tenerezza, Dammelo alla pecorina più veloce
ti prego padrone fammi fare mmmmm sul tavolo
Fare mmmmmmmm Oh ti prego padrone si scopami cosi
col tuo ritmo fremito-affondo e poi indietro-e-calcone e spingo tutto
finché allento del tutto il buco un cane sul tavolo che guaisce di terror
goduria d'esser amato
Ti prego padrone chiamami cane, cul de bestia, buco di culo umido,
e scopami più violento, a occhi coperti dalle tue palme attorno al mio cranio
e tuffati dentro una staffilata dura brutale nel morbido cic ciac pescioso
e pulsa per cinque secondi schizzando fuori il tuo seme caldo
ancora e ancora, calcandolo dentro mentre io grido il tuo nome Si ti amo
ti prego Padrone.

(1968)


from 1994:




Jimmy Berman!




[& see previous various Gay Pride postings -  hereherehere -   and here]