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kvetchlandia · 9 months

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Uncredited Photographer Beat Poets Allen Ginsberg, Harold Norse, Jack Hirschman, Michael McClure and Bob Kaufman, Caffe Trieste, San Francisco 1975

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust— —I rushed up enchanted—it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake—my visions—Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past— and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye— corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb, leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear, Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then! The grime was no man’s grime but death and human locomotives, all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis’ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt—industrial—modern—all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown— and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos—all these entangled in your mummied roots—and you there standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form! A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze! How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of the railroad and your flower soul? Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower! And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not! So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen, —We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra," 1955

my head felt stabbed

by a crown of thorns but I joked and rode the subway

and ducked into school johns and masturbated

and secretly wrote

of teenage hell

because I was “different”

the first and last of my kind

smothering acute sensations

in swimming pools and locker rooms

addict of lips and genitals

mad for buttocks

that Whitman and Lorca

and Catullus and Marlowe

and Michelangelo

and Socrates admired

and I wrote: Friends,

if you wish to survive

I would not recommend

Love

-- Harold Norse, "I Would Not Recommend Love" 1973

I ran down the street and into the house smelled of oregano and shook Mickey Monaco, said C'mon, Balaban's got a breadloaf climbing over old Gruber's fence, he thinks the mad dogs is doves.

But Mickey grew up in the bed till he was too old and besides Balaban was crazy, he sucked his tongue and got left back twice.

So I ran to Joey Bellino's house but his mother's black stocking said Joey was out early shoe shining. And besides a, that Balaban he's a crazy a kid, he suck a the tongue and Joey says he get lefback three times.

So I banged on Bitsy Beller's window yelled he was near the top, the mad dogs waiting down below he thinks is doves.

But when Bitsy stood up he turned into a stiff cue stick. And didn't want nothing to do with nobody cracked upstairs. And Dickie Miller became a semipro. And Howie Fish a doctor. So I ran down the street full of hope

by myself because I was on fire. But I got there too late for Balaban. Two of them had a stretch of skin between their teeth fighting over it,

and the foam of their mouths and Balaban's blood spattered in such a way, the most the greatest picture looked me straight in the eye, made me sit in the gutter and cry,

and when I got up vow to be Balaban from that day on

-- Jack Hirschman, "Balaban" 1969

for Jack Kerouac

IN LIGHT ROOM IN DARK HELL IN UMBER IN CHROME,

I sit feeling the swell of the cloud made about by movement

of arm leg and tongue. In reflections of gold

light. Tints and flashes of gold and amber spearing

and glinting. Blur glass…blue Glass,

black telephone. Matchflame of violet and flesh

seen in the clear bright light. It is not night

and night too. In Hell, there are stars outside.

And long sounds of cars. Brown shadows on walls

in the light

of the room. I sit or stand

wanting the huge reality of touch and love.

In the turned room. Remember the long-ago dream

of stuffed animals (owl, fox) in a dark shop. Wanting

only the purity of clean colors and new shapes

and feelings.

I WOULD CRY FOR THEM USELESSLY

I have ten years left to worship my youth

Billy the Kid, Rimbaud, Jean Harlow

IN DARK HELL IN LIGHT ROOM IN UMBER AND CHROME I

feel the swell of

smoke the drain and flow of motion of exhaustion, the long sounds of cars

the brown shadows

on the wall. I sit or stand. Caught in the net of glints from corner table to

dull plane

from knob to floor, angles of flat light, daggers of beams. Staring at love’s face.

The telephone in cataleptic light. Marchflames of blue and red seen in the

clear grain.

I see myself—ourselves—in Hell without radiance. Reflections that we are.

The long cars make sounds and brown shadows over the wall.

I am real as you are real whom I speak to.

I raise my head, see over the edge of my nose. Look up

and see that nothing is changed. There is no flash

to my eyes. No change to the room.

Vita Nuova—No! The dead, dead world.

The strain of desire is only a heroic gesture.

An agony to be so in pain without release

when love is a word or kiss.

-- Michael McClure, "The Chamber" 1961

I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night, Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time, Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes. And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game, And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me, And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes the gray unicorn. No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday’s disasters, Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday’s pains. Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey. And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold summer nights. And yes, I have refought those unfinished encounters. Still, they remain unfinished. And yes, I have at times wished myself something different.

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet; The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity.

-- Bob Kaufman, "I Have Folded My Sorrows" 1965

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poesiablog60 · 6 months

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Vai al tuo cuore infranto.

Se pensi di non averne uno, procuratelo.

Per procurartelo, sii sincero.

Impara la sincerità di intenti lasciando

entrare la vita, perché non puoi, davvero,

fare altrimenti.

Anche mentre cerchi di scappare, lascia che ti prenda

e ti laceri

come una lettera spedita

come una sentenza all’interno

che hai aspettato per tutta la vita

anche se non hai commesso nulla.

Lascia che ti spedisca.

Lascia che ti infranga, cuore.

L’avere il cuore infranto è l’inizio

di ogni vera accoglienza.

L’orecchio dell’umiltà ascolta oltre i cancelli.

Vedi i cancelli che si aprono.

Senti le tue mani sui tuoi fianchi,

la tua bocca che si apre come un utero

dando alla vita la tua voce per la prima volta.

Vai cantando volteggiando nella gloria

di essere estaticamente semplice.

Scrivi la poesia.

Jack Hirschman

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alcalavicci · 20 days

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Dean impressions from Dancing on the Edge:

When Russ met Dean on the set of The Boy with Green Hair, Dean was a high-energy kid who hated attention and was learning how to play the drums

Dean asked Russ if he could bring Wallace Berman and his wife to a party he was having. Thinking he meant the comedian Alice Berman, Russ said yes but was shocked by this weird mute guy who didn't say a word at his party.

One time, Russ was hanging out with four other former child actors (Dean, Billy Gray, Bobby Driscoll and Robert Blake). Talking about that day years later, Blake said they were a bunch of drowning puppies going down the rapids while hanging onto a lifeboat together. Says a lot, doesn't it?

Russ described Dean as intelligent, intuitive and practical- Jack Hirschman said as much too. Both said that Dean would help other people out as well. It's interesting that Russ says Dean was dedicated to his career and never dropped out unlike Russ, but that's not how Dean saw his career during this time, according to interviews. I think Russ was more significantly dropped out than Dean, however.

The Last Movie: Russ and Dean, along with Billy Gray, got to see Machu Picchu on their days off, but poor Billy got lost and missed the last scenes to be filmed.

Dean invited Russ to be in Another Day at the Races (which was apparently a spoof of the Marx Brothers classic A Day at the Races), but the title was changed to Win, Place or Steal. Apparently the movie was already kind of darkly lit in the original print too and got bad reviews at the time.

Jack, Russ and Dean all liked puns - that came from Wallace.

Russ' second wife, Elizabeth, had major problems with drinking and he eventually left her because she refused to get help for her problem. Dean was incredibly supportive to Russ during this time. Elizabeth ended up drinking herself to death five years after they got divorced. Must've been so heartbreaking to Russ to see Dean struggling like Elizabeth did near the end of his life.

Between Dennis, Dean and Russ, Russ could be trusted to come back with a full order of cocaine because he was allergic to it. So Dennis would ask him to pick up cocaine for him.

Russ says Dean was dating this woman in summer 1980. Interesting, Dean must've been just friends with Joy until the year or so before they got married. But this woman, Valerie Valente, is important because she invited Dean and Russ to her friend Bonnie's show, and Russ ended up married to Bonnie.

Russ does mention Dean meeting Joy and falling in love fast but I get the impression Russ didn't know about them keeping in touch for a few years. Russ said he needed to move out fast so Joy could move in after they got engaged (? my impression). I wonder if there was any overlap between Valerie and Joy...

Dean was the one who recommended Russ to the producers for his Quantum Leap episode- he didn't even have to audition!

The Wallace stories in this are also amazing so I'd definitely recommend reading this book for them as well.

#Russ Tamblyn #Dancing on the Edge #dean stockwell

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canesenzafissadimora · 1 year

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C’è una felicità, una gioia

nell’anima che è stata

sepolta viva in ciascuno di noi

e dimenticata.

Non si tratta di uno scherzo da bar

né di tenero, intimo umorismo

né di amicizia affettuosa

né un grande, brillante gioco di parole.

Sono i superstiti sopravvissuti

a ciò che accadde quando la felicità

fu sepolta viva, quando essa

non guardò più

dagli occhi di oggi, e non si

manifesta neanche quando

uno di noi muore – semplicemente ci allontaniamo

da tutto, soli

con quello che resta di noi,

continuando ad essere esseri umani

senza essere umani,

senza quella felicità.

Jack Hirschman

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poetryidiots · 1 year

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David A. Romero is a Mexican-American spoken word artist from Diamond Bar, CA. Romero is the author of My Name Is Romero (FlowerSong Press), a book reviewed by Gustavo Arellano (¡Ask a Mexican!), Curtis Marez (University Babylon), and founding member of Ozomatli, Ulises Bella. Romero has received honorariums from over seventy-five colleges and universities in thirty-three different states in the USA. Romero was a guest for the inaugural Elba Poetry Festival in Tuscany, Italy and has featured for Paris Lit Up in Paris, France. Romero's work has been published in literary magazines in the United States, England, and Canada. Romero has opened for Latin Grammy winning bands Ozomatli and La Santa Cecilia. Romero's work has been published in anthologies alongside poets laureate Joy Harjo, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Luis J. Rodriguez, Jack Hirschman, and Tongo Eisen-Martin. Romero has won the Uptown Slam at the historic Green Mill in Chicago; the birthplace of slam poetry. Romero's poetry deals with family, identity, social justice issues, and Latinx culture.

#poetry idiots #David A. Romero #mexican-american #poetry #Two Idiots Peddling Poetry #Searching for Mexicans in Suburbia

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basicallyanotherwitchesthing · 1 year

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Marcus Van Heller (intro by Jack Hirschman, Ph.D) - The Wantons - Brandon House - 1967

#witches #wantons #occult #vintage #the wantons #brandon house #marcus van heller #1967 #complete and unexpurgated #introductions #Jack Hirschman #ph.d.

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cinader · 29 days

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ABC's

Neeli Cherkovski grew up in Los Angeles where he edited The Anthology of Los Angeles Poets with Charles Bukowski and Paul Vangelisti. He moved to San Francisco in 1974 where he was associated with Jack Hirschman, David Meltzer, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Greg

S2E13 Neeli Cherkovski ABC’s Neeli Cherkovski grew up in Los Angeles where he edited The Anthology of Los Angeles Poets with Charles Bukowski and Paul Vangelisti. He moved to San Francisco in 1974 where he was associated with Jack Hirschman, David Meltzer, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Gregory Corso, and a whole tribe of poets. His essay collection Whitman’s Wild Children, originally published in…

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#Poetry #s2e13

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micro961 · 1 month

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Biagio Accardi - “Il bene”

Il nuovo singolo del cantautore calabrese è il primo estratto dal nuovo album “Fai che accada” in uscita il 29 marzo.

«Così come non esiste il giorno senza la notte, non può esistere il bene senza il male, e viceversa. Dobbiamo riconoscere e accettare entrambe le entità e curarne l'aspetto migliore, poiché il bene si annida nei posti più segreti». Biagio Accardi

“Il bene” è il nuovo singolo di Biagio Accardi, performer e autore musicale calabrese le cui sonorità sono ispirate al panorama della World Music.

Il singolo, prodotto da Talìa Produzioni, etichetta discografica indipendente, è il primo estratto dal disco “Fai che accada” in uscita il prossimo 29 marzo.

Il bene è un invito ad accettare e accogliere gli accadimenti, senza escludere il male, seppur non accettandolo passivamente. Per Accardi, che negli ultimi anni è impegnato nel comprendere il potere “terapeutico” della musica, non esiste una contrapposizione tra i due elementi, ma un’unica forma da contemplare poiché tra le due forze esiste una completezza, un equilibrio.

Nella sognante canzone “Il bene”, la voce di Biagio Accardi è accompagnata dalla finezza del violino e della viola di Massimiliano Gallo.

Il singolo precede l’uscita dell’album “Fai che accada”, composto da 9 brani, alcuni dei quali cantati in dialetto, in cui si rimarca fortemente il legame dell’autore con la storia e il suo territorio. Il disco arriva dopo i precedenti lavori “Ritüale - Shamanic Meditation” (2023), “Antiche Forze” (2021) e “Parole” (2019).

Biagio Accardi porterà presto i nuovi brani in concerto, con le prime date previste in Bretagna, dal 20 aprile al 5 maggio a cui seguirà il tour italiano in definizione.

Biagio Accardi è performer, viaggiatore, autore di canzoni, libri e produzioni teatrali. Le sonorità delle sue canzoni sono ispirate al panorama della World Music e sono state definite “un affresco poetico e ammaliante dall'intenso potere arcaico”.

Fondatore dell'Eco Campo degli Enotri, realtà innovativa che unisce ecologia, arte, spettacolo e spiritualità, impegnato negli ultimi anni a comprendere il “potere terapeutico” del suono, approfondito in seminari e corsi tra cui i laboratori di canto armonico con Tran Quan Hai e una formazione come musicoterapeuta, è ideatore di "Viaggiolento", una passeggiata che svolge nel Parco Nazionale del Pollino insieme alla sua asina Cometa per riscoprire il bello della lentezza, raccontata nel libro “Viaggiolento nel Pollino. In cammino con il cantastorie” (Andrea Pacilli Editore, 2016).

Dal 2006 al 2010 fa parte del trio di musica tradizionale calabrese I Nagrù, esibendosi in numerosi festival internazionali, da questa collaborazione viene alla luce il lavoro discografico “A nasci e a morì e ‘na cantata”, opera che è stata distribuita solo su supporti fisici.

Nel 2010 pubblica il primo album “Fuoco” iniziando la sua carriera di compositore. Nel 2011 realizza lo spettacolo “Canto e Cuntu”, ideato dopo un’attenta ricerca sulle tecniche e i repertori dei cantastorie e dei guaritori della tradizione del Sud Italia. Il tour dello spettacolo tocca diverse tappe nelle città Europee. Dall’esperienza uscirà nel 2013 il libro e cd audio “Cantu, cuntu… e mi ni fricu!”. Lo stesso anno riceve il premio Francesco Manente per aver esportato la cultura locale e le tradizioni del sud a livello nazionale e internazionale, inoltre viene ospitato dal programma televisivo "Buongiorno Regione tg3".

Nel 2015 pubblica l'album “L’albero che cammina” dalla quale prende spunto per lo spettacolo “Kairos”, mentre nello stesso anno ha l’occasione di suonare le sue musiche ad una performance del poeta americano Jack Hirschman.

Nel 2019 pubblica l’album “Parole” e nel 2020 i singoli "Grande spirito” e “Aspetto la marea". Con questo nuovo repertorio apre il concerto di Francesco Baccini durante la rassegna “Note al Tramonto” di Sangineto (Cs). Sempre nel 2020 si esibisce al “Festival Nazionale dei Cantastorie” sullo stesso palco con il grande “mastru cantaturi” Otello Profazio. Continua la sua produzione musicale pubblicando nel 2021 l’album “Antiche forze”, dalla quale trae le musiche per un nuovo spettacolo che viene interamente arrangiato nella versione live dal bardo e musicista Andrea Seki, uno tra i più importanti suonatori di arpa celtica, realizzando numerosi concerti in tutta Europa con il tour “Zèphyr - Ritual Meditation Sound”. Dalla collaborazione con Andrea Seki nasce il singolo “Invocation to the mother” e la partecipazione al singolo “Errare Humanum Est” del cantore bretone Kristen Nikolas, opera prodotta dall’etichetta discografica Atlanteans Resonances Records diretta dallo stesso Andrea Seki.

Nel 2023 pubblica l’album “Ritüale - Shamanic Meditation” e il libro di poesie “Foglie tra i palazzi" (Introterra Edizioni), haiku e acquerelli ispirati al personale percorso di ricerca dell’artista. Lo stesso anno fonda il collettivo artistico “Talìa Produzioni” e l’omonima etichetta discografica. “Il bene” è il suo ultimo singolo pubblicato il 15 marzo 2024, primo estratto dal suo nuovo album “Fai che accada” in uscita il 29 marzo, lavoro che vede la collaborazione con il musicista madrileno Luis Paniagua.

CONTATTI E SOCIAL

www.biagioaccardi.com

#radio #Biagio Accardi #il bene #news

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