This Poem was Submitted By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-07-21 09:47:15 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Kaddish for Ginsberg
Hold back the edges of your gowns,
Ladies, we are going through hell
-William Carlos Williams introduction to "Howl and other Poems."
Okay, Alan-so you
up and died and there was
Robert Hass, (quoting
something someone said )
which lead to how you
have disappeared
into poetry
that’s true-- you
have, I think,
been disappeared into
your muse and God willing into
mine and into
graffiti of yellow restroom
walls and whitewashed
windowless cells and
G-d help us, the pages
of Newsweek. And time.
holy, holy, holy
The finest
blown minds
of our generation
are floating in
or headed toward
that dark sea
near Sausalito
near North beach
near nirvana
in the final baptism
of Absolut reality
2.
holy, holy fools
the best minds of the
new generation
are tattooing slogans
and insects on
breasts, hips
thighs, smoking the
dope you threw into
garbage pails
following you up mountains
toward gurus and coming
home to Starbucks
to throw themselves
naked over cliffs of cant
or worse
taking LSATs and
growing into polished
wing tips and
jumping out of buildings
when their job is downsized
or their computer develops
a fatal error
and all data,
Dada,
datum
disappearing in a blink
and a whine
You say, Ferlinghetti,
that Alan is with the great
lover death and death is
going down on him
in a continium of bliss
but that sweet companion
is going
down on you and
me and the best and
worst minds
of all generations
3.
so, fine… we might as well
wrap ourselves in
Jazz or k.d lang
and howl with you
Alan, like so many deserted
deranged ,disheveled,
angel coyotes
barking up all trees
to find the right one
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose
Holy, holy , holy
But you, Alan,
are lying cupped
with the great lover death--
your mantra simmering in
the animal soup of time
in spite of your dictum:
"Die when you die."
|
|
Copyright © July 2004 Rachel F. Spinoza
Additional Notes:
Mark, I just read your marvelous Ginsberg tribute so I dug up this one of mine.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-08-07 10:54:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Whoa! Damn, this is a rich elixir. The imagery is woven from Ginsberg's own life and times and poetry. Even your title has dual meanings, both your own prayer for his soul and the title of one of A.G.'s books (yes, I'm pretty sure it's Allen ... ).
He has "disappeared" into [his] poetry, yes, and into mine also, although he's a more recent influence. I did not grow up and cut my teeth on Ginsberg but discovered him later - we were far off the literary track in those days. The restroom walls and graffiti are the real deal, not the rarefied air of elegant readings and deckle-edged chapbooks. Great wordplay all through this piece, including "Newsweek. And time." "Finest blown minds." "Absolut reality". There's homoerotica, drugs, booze, celebration! The vision of a new generation "throwing themselves over cliffs of cant ..." is a terrifying one. The metonymy of "polished wing tips" is very apropos. Brave new poetry has been replaced by data, careful attention to correctness, e-culture.
Ginsberg himself alluded to the best minds of HIS generation. "Howl" took a hard look at the way the world seemed to be at that time and I don't think it's really changed all that much. Except that now, those "best minds" have further deadened themselves, are afraid to shout and dance. All they can do is let machines do their thinking for them, and bail out when challenged.
all data,
Dada,
datum
disappearing in a blink
and a whine
Wow, what a great sequence! The shift through data-Dad-datum into the blink and whine (more whimper than bang) is right on. We lose ourselves when the system crashes. Whatever happened to the mind storehouse, the sheaf of genius scribbles? The imagination that leaps like an uncaged animal from the skull fontanels and grabs life by the throar? Ginsberg knew that one well, I think, but we want to quantify and sterilize everything.
we might as well
wrap ourselves in
Jazz or k.d lang
and howl with you
Alan, like so many deserted
deranged ,disheveled,
angel coyotes [subtle connection to G's angelheaded hipsters]
barking up all trees
to find the right one
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose
Oh my G-d, this is wonderful stuff! If we accept Ginsberg's substance and allow ourselves to embrace everything he cared about, we might find the right tree after all. I find much of modern prose rather tepid; we do need to be inhabited by an original Muse. The "great lover death" going down on the subject could be expanded to imply that the subject's own brilliance could descend onto us as well. The sexual metaphor translates also into a descent of the Spirit - the holy, holy, holy madness and bliss that might fire us up.
"Mantra simmering in the animal soup of time." Whew, yes! Absolut-ly.
This is a terrific poem. You and Mark deserve kudos for your complementary tributes, vastly different in style and content, yet both bold and memorable. As I said to Mark, it's a wonder I wasn't fired the year my English 12 kids read parts of "Howl" in class (they wanted to). I think a few of them probably went on to delve into some of the other Beats after that.
One typo: continuum.
My mind's not 100% ready to do the critiquing thing this month but I couldn't let it pass without trying.
Take Care,
Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-08-04 13:59:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Rachel,
I read and enjoyed this, although not a dedicated fan of the Ginsberg club. I saw a few little things I could suggest for improvement, so will offer them. The piece was a dramatic and image-filled read, and well done [in my amateurish Ginsberg opinion]. Now, to the nits [tiny & few]:
Okay, Alan-so you - [space the hyphen?]
up and died and there was
Robert Hass, (quoting
something someone said )
which lead to how you - ["which led..."?]
have disappeared
G-d help us, the pages
of Newsweek,[. A] and time. - [even tho it isn't the Time mag?]
holy, holy, holy
near Sausalito
near North [B]each - [Isn't this a name of a real town?]
near nirvana
in the final baptism
of Absolut reality - [Nice!]
2.
to throw themselves
naked over cliffs of can[']t- [contraction of cannot?]
going down on him
in a continium of bliss - [sp. continuum?]
3.
Jazz or k.d[.] lang
and howl with you[,]
Alan, like so many deserted
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose - [emphatic imagery]
I admit it's powerful, and well done - [in spite of myself];>)
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-07-25 16:06:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rachel:
This poem led me on a long-ing journey of introspection. About what I remember of
the Beat Generation, of Ginsberg, born on my birthday. I re-read his "Kaddish" for
his mother just now, which also evokes a whole host of emotions. All of this by
way of saying your poem speaks eloquently, breathes like a living thing. Your
"Kaddish" for him is an immense banquet for any reader. Your dialogue with
him invites each reader into the ambience of the times. Older readers will recall
where they were and how they felt about things during his peak years. ANYONE
reading this poem will come away richer for having done so. Just a few of the
gems which made me catch my breath:
"how you
have disappeared
into poetry
that’s true-- you
have, I think,
been disappeared into
your muse and God willing into
mine and into
graffiti of yellow restroom"
holy, holy, holy -yes!
in the final baptism
of Absolut reality --been there
holy, holy fools--indeed
the best minds of the
new generation
are tattooing slogans
and insects on
breasts, hips
thighs, smoking the
dope you threw into
garbage pails
following you up mountains
toward gurus and coming
home to Starbucks
to throw themselves
naked over cliffs of cant
or worse
taking LSATs and
growing into polished
wing tips and
jumping out of buildings
when their job is downsized
or their computer develops
a fatal error
(So sadly, sadly true.)
so, fine… we might as well
wrap ourselves in
Jazz or k.d lang
and howl with you
Alan, like so many deserted
deranged ,disheveled,
angel coyotes ---MARVELOUS, I love it
barking up all trees
to find the right one
This part -- "barking up all trees/to find the right one" offers a lot of freedom
to explore. There is no 'wrong' way to do it, so long as one is true to oneself.
This, written by one of the writers whose work I most admire, & it sets *all* free.
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose (Yes!)
are lying cupped
with the great lover death--
your mantra simmering in
the animal soup of time --amazing
in spite of your dictum:
"Die when you die."
Wonderful, awesome and Ginsberg-ian. Now I need to find more of Ginsberg's to re-read.
A fitting tribute from someone who writes authentically of the man and his work.
Brava!
My best to you,
Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2004-07-21 12:09:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rachel,
Yours is much richer in the memories of Ginsberg and his work. I, as I often do, do not care much for the detail, but try to distil essences in short, elliptic speak that often has heads being scratched. Too different voices - but not so different, in many ways - approaching the great Beat poet who had a way of cutting through the bullshit and presenting "The Lion For Real."
Great work, particularly the part about the deplorable "coming / home to Starbucks" etc etc. Yuck. Of course, i've always been physically "in" Starbucks while mentally off - metahporically speaking - with Ginsberg and the gurus. I was born a little too late to be part of the flower crowd. And life has basically lead me by the nose, rather than me leading it. But I think i can say with some conviction that IF my nose had been led up those moutains to those gurus I would NEVER have come back. What the hell is the matter with those people, those backsliders?
You gotta love Ginsberg!
Mark
This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-07-21 10:00:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Rachel,
Wow, this is quite an epic piece. I'm glad Mark's poem sparked your rememberance of this one. I enjoyed the whole thing, and I am impressed at how well you sustain this longer form of poem for the reader. I certainly wasn't bored as I read my way down the page. Wow. You take the reader on quite an amazing journey, and your tribute to Ginsberg is apropos. Very well done.
Here are a few thoughts:
Okay, Alan-so you
up and died and there was
Robert Hass, (quoting
something someone said ) [I would take the space out from between "said" and ")"]
which lead to how you
have disappeared
into poetry [what an amazing way to put that. I love this line!!]
that’s true-- you
have, I think,
been disappeared into [are you sure you want, "have,...been disappeared..." ?]
your muse and God willing into
mine and into
graffiti of yellow restroom
walls and whitewashed
windowless cells and
G-d help us, the pages [you use "God" above and "G-d" here. Do you mean to do that?]
of Newsweek. And time. [did you purposely not capitalize "time" here? It still conveys both meanings either way...]
holy, holy, holy
The finest
blown minds
of our generation
are floating in
or headed toward
that dark sea
near Sausalito
near North beach
near nirvana
in the final baptism
of Absolut reality [nice double meaning here. I love how you do this throughout, "vodka/Absolute..." nice combo of meaning here]
2.
holy, holy fools [nice tension with the change from "holy, holy, holy" to "holy, holy fools..." works well!]
the best minds of the
new generation
are tattooing slogans [I really like this section. I really feel the connection with Ginsberg]
and insects on
breasts, hips
thighs, smoking the
dope you threw into
garbage pails
following you up mountains [zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance, anyone?]
toward gurus and coming
home to Starbucks
to throw themselves
naked over cliffs of cant [should this be, "can't" here?]
or worse
taking LSATs and
growing into polished
wing tips and [ha ha ha, I laughed at this line...my dad got me a pair of those once! yikes]
jumping out of buildings
when their job is downsized
or their computer develops
a fatal error
and all data,
Dada,
datum [nice work here with the sounds of words and the "d" sounds...works well]
disappearing in a blink
and a whine
You say, Ferlinghetti,
that Alan is with the great
lover death and death is
going down on him
in a continium of bliss [This was my favorite part...I really like how you crafted this section]
but that sweet companion
is going
down on you and
me and the best and
worst minds
of all generations
3.
so, fine… we might as well
wrap ourselves in
Jazz or k.d lang
and howl with you
Alan, like so many deserted
deranged ,disheveled, [again, remove space between "deranged" and the comma, add it before "disheveled,"]
angel coyotes
barking up all trees
to find the right one
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose [this is by far the BEST line of the poem. WOW!!!!!]
Holy, holy , holy
But you, Alan,
are lying cupped
with the great lover death--
your mantra simmering in
the animal soup of time
in spite of your dictum:
"Die when you die."
So many wonderful things going on here. You said you dug this up, so it's an older poem of yours. Wow. I am very impressed, and quite enjoyed reading this wonderful tribute to Ginsberg. Very well done. Thank you for sharing it with us. I'm glad Mark sparked your interest in going back to find it.
Warm regards,
Don
Poetry Contests Online at The Poetic Link
Click HERE to
return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!