Tuesday, August 16, 2016

August 16


2 comments:

  1. I have always felt that “Howl” was something I was born into.
    Not just heard about. Although there’s something about that, too.
    When the world was finally presented to me it was “Howl,”
    Alongside Dylan and Kerouac. What I set out to find.
    I hung on and my toes drifted along barely touching
    the places of the Sixties. I sat for 28 years at the original Rainbow Foods
    cheese table. The People’s Food System. The People’s Warehouse.
    A collectivized network of political food distribution. Every college town
    had its health food Co-Op. When I was 18 I bought that food and carried
    it to the mountains. For 18 years I sat at that cheese table, disguised
    as magical realism. For 10 years it has been a bar.
    Today is the day I read “Howl” to my daughter.
    And the bartender makes my sandwich.

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  2. After Allen Ginsburg
    "Howl"

    Calling

    Whisper in a chorus
    The word "corrupt"
    in the wars of wealth and abundance
    Whisper a page out of Bibles torn beyond
    the poles of paradox contradicting the symbolism
    we once were disillusioned in belief
    Forward to empty knowledge among the
    halls
    we taught whispering words of treacherous
    thought forbidding pleasure
    among the Gods
    once pondered as ours and now theirs
    Whispers in the mountains loft
    Reclusive to the vultures
    sinking into the caves in the night
    to pick the portion from our eyelids
    spitting the sensibility we were accustomed to
    Believe
    from our youth to elder sacrifice on the backs
    in the cities from the blocks to pity
    Whisper among the parody where
    madness fails to wonder the sympathy in helpless
    hungry mongers as money gloats
    the tragedy in the wake of war
    and the fruitful desire become the pain of many
    Whisper the water shed to the brink of bastards
    where whores are no longer wandering the streets
    but sleep in the crevasses of opportunity
    the laying down
    culminating in truth
    The disease is in the bleeding a righteousness
    As we all gale with masters of our devices
    We are whispering
    the pieces of hearts that pay tribute to the
    hopelessness
    Whisper sense to creak off the plank
    As volunteers blindfold a passive calling
    And the angels welt the backs of sweat
    and thoughts of swindle
    Whisper aside the breaking we progress to
    the whole without a step into greed
    or a bow unto the crises
    Make the partaking amount to the passions
    of our mistakes as the bombs
    are the old and the terror of surprise in now
    are new
    Whisper the meaning of the soul not to burden
    the fate of our people
    let worlds forsake the plenty
    as we scrape on by

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