If you’re interested in what Allen Ginsberg wrote in his journal, while in Seattle, on this date in 1956, it’s after the jump.
More Super Bowl musings later tonight.
Feb. 2 Seattle 1956
Once a gain a second time with you, Hart Crane? This time I understand, your visions were solid, your sex was real. It breaks up out of Atlantis and is completely expressed. And the suffering struggle to belive your own senses despite the fear you were mad & sordid?
Allen Tate that Catholic iron head thin bleak nasty fool? Weak sisters Malcolm Cowley & John Peale Biship at the time.
Go be a saint Hart Crane suck all the cock you want . . . . as for the god of the Bridge he was listening & weeping when you cried out “Unspeakable Though Bridge to Thee, O Love” and when you asked “Thy pardon for this history” the pardon was granted with ten thousand more sunrises over your grave in the Caribbean and the sunrise of the natural holy.
waters of my tears tonight, thought over your book.
“Forgive me! Forgive me!” that was your cry—But “a tear is an intellectual thing.” Everybody gave you good advice instead.
Off now to teach “Howl.” Or, really, to unleash it. It cannot be taught.
are you an English teacher, Chicago Fan? If so take a look at this…cracked up my coworkers.
http://www.theonion.com/content/news_bri…
I love Allan, and feel for the poetry instructors whose stoner students endlessly submit ghastly imitations. Let ’em down gently, sir.
God damn it. First Charles makes me feel like a simpleton because I can’t follow half of his posts, and now you, Chicago Fan.
What the hell does “waters of my tears tonight, thought over your book” mean? And who is Hart Crane? DAMN IT I NEVER WANTED TO BE STUPID.
Was Crane (“Brooklyn Bridge”) from Seattle?
@ y’all
Hart Crane was not from Seattle, but Ginsberg was reading a biography of him while in Seattle. And Dee, you’re not stupid; just, perhaps, not poetic. And I don’t teach creative writing, so I don’t have to deal with the bad imitations of Ginsberg. And with all the slogging over the 520 Bridge–no Brooklyn Bridge, I admit–and cocksucking in general, I found this journal entry to be apropos as hell.