Η Ανθολογία της Beat Poetry

[Nascentes morimur]

https://www.jiosaavn.com/lyrics/charlie-parker-feat.-steve-allen-lyrics/MicndRAIYks

 

[Nascentes morimur]

“I just sit. Or I walk and walk.
Or I stand somewhere looking at one spot.
And it seems to me as I stand here that I am totally disconnected from the rest of the world around me. Nothing, absolutely nothing connects me with it.
The world around me goes on being busy, conducts its wars, enslaves countries, kills people, tortures. The real world...
My life till now seems to have slipped through this real world without participating in it, without caring about it, without any connection to it. Even when I was in the very middle of it, I wasn't really there.
My only life connection is in these scribbles.
Here I stand, this moment, now, with my arms hanging down, the shoulders fallen, eyes on the floor, beginning my life from point zero.
I don't want to connect myself to this world.
I am searching for another world to which it would be worth connecting myself.”
Jonas Mekas, I Had Nowhere to Go

https://el.wikipedia.org/wiki/Τζόνας_Μέκας

 

[Nascentes morimur]

I wonder why our life must quiver between beauty and guilt, consummation and sadness, desire and regret, immortality and tattered moments unknowable, truth and beautiful meaningful lies."

Jack Kerouac, Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954

 

[Nascentes morimur]

“If it sounds good, it is good.”
Louis Armstrong

 

[Nascentes morimur]

In the morning
After taking cold shower
—-what a mistake—-
I look at the mirror.
There, a funny guy,
Grey hair, white beard, wrinkled skin,
—-what a pity—-
Poor, dirty, old man,
He is not me, absolutely not.
Land and life
Fishing in the ocean
Sleeping in the desert with stars
Building a shelter in the mountains
Farming the ancient way
Singing with coyotes
Singing against nuclear war—
I’ll never be tired of life.
Now I’m seventeen years old,
Very charming young man.
I sit quietly in lotus position,
Meditating, meditating for nothing.

Suddenly a voice comes to me:
“To stay young,
To save the world,
Break the mirror.”

—Nanao Sakaki​

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nanao_Sakaki

 

[Nascentes morimur]

 

[Nascentes morimur]

Diamond sounds
Gentle without bounds.
What I hear in heaven is what I hear on earth.
Jack Kerouac​

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Jack-Kerouac/Legacy

-


Kerouac sings renditions of Jazz hits from the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s alongside songs and poems of his own composition.

 

[Nascentes morimur]

 

[Nascentes morimur]

“I am living with these pigs, with these horses and with these cows.
Every day I have to look at their blank eyes, their stupid bellies.
They call themselves by the names of various nationalities. As if that would make any difference!
Germans, French, Italians, Croatians, Russians, Poles, and other animals.
Thank you for the pleasure!
I love animals, but only real animals.
I love animals who do not pretend to be humans.
You should look, sometimes, into the eyes of real cows. They are serene, quiet, round. They are good, so good. Like medicine.
I like being with cows. I have spent much of my life with them. They do not know greed, they do not play politics. I love them.
Protect me from human beings!
Let me live with cows!
I'll live as a shepherd, if that's the only way.
You are driving me out of my mind, you, the Thinking Animals!”

Jonas Mekas

 

[Nascentes morimur]

“I am my mother’s son. All other identities are artificial and recent.
Naked, basic, actually, I am my mother’s son. I emerged from her womb and set out on this earth. The earth gave me another identity, that of name, personality, appearance, character, and spirit.
The earth is my grandmother; I am the earth’s grandson.
The way I comb my hair today has nothing to do with myself, who am my mother’s son and the earth’s grandson. I am put on this earth to prove that I am my mother’s son.
I am also on this earth, my grandmother, to be her spokesman, in my chosen and natural way. The earth owns the least to myself; she shall take me back, and my mother too. We have proven the earth’s truth and meaning, which is, simply life and death."
Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems

 

[Nascentes morimur]

Initially in a letter to Allen, written June 21 1960, and appearing in The Yage Letters, andredacted to appear as part of the first chapter of Nova Express the spoken version (from which the following transcription is taken) appeared on the 1981 Industrial Records release (spearheaded by Genesis P. Orridge, now Genesis Breyer P.Orridge), Nothing Here Now But The Recordings- The Last Words of Hassan Sabbah

The Last Words of Hassan Sabbah

Oiga amigos! Oiga amigos! Paco! Enrique!
Last words of Hassan Sabbah,
The Old Man of the Mountain!
Listen to my last words, anywhere!
Listen all you boards, governments, syndicates, nations of the world,
And you, powers behind what filth deals consummated in what lavatory,
To take what is not yours,
To sell out your sons forever! To sell the ground from unborn feet
forever.

I bear no sick words junk words love words forgive words from Jesus.
I have not come to explain or tidy up.
What am I doing over here with the workers, the gooks, the apes, the
dogs, the errand boys, the human animals?
Why don’t I come over with the board, and drink coca-cola and make it?

Explain how the blood, and bones, and brains of a hundred million
more or less gooks went down the drain in green piss!
so you on the boards could use bodies, and minds, and souls that
were not yours, are not yours, and never will be yours.
You have the wrong name and the wrong number!
Mr Luce Getty Lee Rockefeller

Don’t let them see us, don’t tell them what we are doing!
Not the cancer deal with the Venusians, not the green deal –
don’t let that out,
disaster, automatic disaster.
Crab men! Tape-worms! Intestinal parasites!
Like Burroughs, that proud American name?
Proud of what exactly? Would you all like to see exactly what
Burroughs has to be proud of?
The Mayan Caper, the Centipede Hype,
Short-time racket, the Heavy-metal gimmick?
All right, Mister Burroughs, who bears my name and my words buried
all the way
for all to see,
in Times Square, in Piccadilly,
Play it all, play it all, play it all back!
Pay it all, pay it all, pay it all back!

Listen to my last word, any word
Listen, if you value the bodies which you would sell
all souls forever, short time,
minutes to go, blue heavy-metal people –
don’t let that out,

Are these the words of the all powerful boards, syndicates,
of the earth?
The great banking families, French, English, American,
squeezing the air.
You want Hassan Sabbah to explain that,
to tidy that up.
You have the wrong name and the wrong number.
for this you have sold your sons forever?
the ground from unborn feet forever
And you want the name of Hassan Sabbah on your filth deals
To sell out the unborn?
I rub out all the formulaes and directives of the Elders of Minraud forever
I rub out the word forever.


https://www.phinnweb.org/neuro/assassins.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hasan-i_Sabbah
https://www.alamut.com/subj/ideologies/alamut/secDoctrines.html
https://www.phinnweb.org/neuro/assassins2.html

 

[Nascentes morimur]

This 5-minute film by Robert Frank was no doubt shot around the time Frank was working with Alfred Leslie on the Beat classic 'Pull My Daisy' featuring Jack Kerouac & Allen Ginsberg. In this short clip we see Lucien Carr & his wife Francesca & their three sons Simon, Caleb & Ethan as well as Mary Frank with her & Robert's children Pablo & Andrea.

 

[parafernalia]

transcendence...

 

[Nascentes morimur]

All lyrics by Allen Ginsberg

 

[Nascentes morimur]

Ω σκληρέ ήλιε της αττικής
δεν είσαι ακριβώς αυτό που επιθυμώ
ούτε η γιορτή των ματιών μου
Τριγυρνάς σαν φιλόδοξος πράκτορας
Οι εμπρηστές τρίβουν τα χέρια τους
Η κυβέρνηση ποστάρει Οδυσσέα Ελύτη
Τρελαμένοι ρεπόρτερ σαν ιδρωμένοι κολίγοι
γράφουν ύμνους για τη γραμμή εκκένωσης
εμβατήρια για το πυροσβεστικό σώμα
Κουνέλια τρέχουν να κρυφτούν
κάτω απ’ τη χαρά του βάρβαρου οίστρου σου
Ήλιε σκληρέ της αττικής
κάψε το καζίνο της Πάρνηθας
κάψε τα μαγιό και τις πετσέτες
πυρπόλησε τις αβέβαιες λαθροχειρίες της νιότης μου
ακόμα και την ποίηση που ανακάλυψα πάνω στην τύφλα μου
Τ’ αστέρι εκείνο αυτό το σκότος προμηνούσε
Εκατομμύρια πίτσες καταναλώθηκαν απόψε στην αττική
Οι πυροσβέστες ξέρουν πως η σιωπή κερδίζει το παιχνίδι
Πως το Ισραήλ θα κόψει το λαρύγγι του καύσωνα
γιατί ο θεός αργεί και το Ισραήλ ξέρει να βοηθά το θεό
όταν τα πάντα γύρω είναι φωτεινά
και η γη μαλακή για το φτυάρι
Άλλα ζώα θα γεννηθούν
Νέες ιδέες θα γκρεμίσουν την πόλη
Νέρωνες οικοδομικοί συνεταιρισμοί
Κι άλλα παιδιά που φεύγουν κυνηγημένα απ’ την επαρχία
ψάχνουν τα ενοικιαστήρια
για να βρουν μια τρύπα να ξεψυχήσουν
κρατώντας στο χέρι το μεγάλο πτυχίο
το φευγιό απ’ το σπίτι
Ήλιε της Αττικής πάνω από τουριστικά σχέδια
από βιοτεχνίες και σπιρτόκουτα
από ασθένειες φόνους καυγάδες για το σεξ
δίκες πρώην ευτυχισμένων ζευγαριών
που τώρα κόβουν τα παιδιά τους στα δυο
κάνοντας πικνίκ δίπλα σε νεκρές χελώνες
πνίγοντας ζεστές σφήκες μες στις παγωμένες γκαζόζες
Τι νόημα θα είχε ο θάνατος αν δεν ήταν οικείος
Η τέφρα και ο άνεμος
Τι νόημα θα είχε η ψυχανάλυση δίχως δράματα
Ναι ήλιε σκληρέ της αττικής
ήμασταν συνεταίροι σε μια επιχείρηση που δεν πήγε καλά
Μικρά κοπάδια πάνε τώρα για προσκύνημα
Η άγρια φύση θα ημερέψει κι άλλο
Και τούτα τα παραπήγματα της κόλασης
θα γίνουν παιδικές χαρές κι εκπτωτικά χωριά
οι τελευταίοι δρόμοι της αγάπης και του κέρδους
Ήλιε με τη λάμψη της ποίησης και της σκληρής σήψης
Είμαι ο πρόσφυγας του στρατού της μοχθηρίας
Είμαι ο πρόσφυγας του πολέμου και των ανέμων
ο πρόσφυγας του μεγάλου έρωτα
Το θύμα περιμένει το θεό η γη περιμένει βροχή
Πάρε μια πέτρα και βάλτην εδώ
Όπου τόπος και τάφος
Ήλιε οι φτωχοί σβήνουν με κουβάδες τη φωτιά
όμως καμιά φωτιά δεν σβήνει με κουβάδες
Οι μεγάλες φωτιές σβήνουν μόνο με περίστροφα
Ήλιε που ξυπνάς γυμνός και ανήθικος
βγάζουν λεφτά από σένα οι βιομηχανίες
σε γιορτάζουν οι καπιταλιστές και σε παντρεύονται
Ήλιε η φήμη σου μόνο κυβερνά
Το φεγγάρι και τά έμμηνα έρχονται δεύτερα
οι κύκλοι όλοι που σε μιμούνται
Ήλιε σκληρέ της Αττικής
σκλάβοι από άλλες χώρες θα έρθουν να σιδερώσουν μπετά
Νυφούλες θα’ ρθουν να σου χαϊδέψουν το δέρμα
Χωρίς εσένα ούτε πόνος ούτε πάρτι στην παραλία.

Νέες προσφωνήσεις για τον σκληρό Ήλιο της αττικής​

Aν. Αντωνάκος

 

[parafernalia]

Fais-moi mal, Johnny​

Σηκώθη σα πλησίασα
κι όρθιος εφάνη πιο κοντός.
Είπα από μέσα μου:
"Τον έχω στο τσεπάκι μου,
είναι για το κρεββάτι μου
ετούτος ο μικρός"!

Μου έφτανε μέχρι τον ώμο
αλλά ήταν μια χαρά καρδαμωμένος
μ' ακολούθησε στο σπίτι
κι εγώ εκεί του φώναξα:
-"Όρμα μου λύκε μου κακέ!"

Κάνε μου ζημιά, Τζόνυ
ανέβασέ με στ' άστρα... ζουμ!
κάνε μου ζημιά, Τζόνυ
μ' αρέσει ο έρωτας που κανει μπουμ

Δεν φορούσε παρά τις καλτσούλες του,
κάτι ωραίες κίτρινες με ρίγες μπλε
με κοίταξε σαν το χαζό
ο έρμος τίποτα δεν έπαιρνε χαμπάρι
και μου είπε απολογητικά:
"Δεν θα πείραζα ούτε μύγα"!
Με τσάντισε, τ' άστραψα μια
και τσίριξα εκνευρισμένη:

Κάνε μου ζημιά, Τζόνυ
δεν είμαι μύγα εγώ! ζζζζζ
Κάνε μου ζημιά, Τζόνυ
εμένανε μου αρέσει
ο έρωτας να κάνει μπουμ

Βλέποντας πως δεν ερεθίζεται
τονε προσέβαλλα βαριά
μ' όλες του κόσμου τις βρισιές
κι άλλους πολλούς του έσουρα
χαρακτηρισμούς πρωτότυπους πολύ.

Αυτό άξαφνα τονε ξύπνησε
και μου 'πε "Κόφτο κοπελιά
με παίρνεις για κανένα ψόφιο
και θα σου δείξω γω καλά
τώρα τι θρίλλερ πα να πει!"

μου κάνεις ζημιά Τζόνυ!
οχι με τα πόδια! ζινγκ!
μου κάνεις ζημιά, Τζόνυ!
δεν μ' αρέσει έρωτας που κάνει μπινγκ

Ξανάβαλε το πουκαμισάκι του
τα παπουτσάκια, το κουστουμάκι του,
κατέβηκε τις σκάλες
και μ' άφησε μ' ένα βγαλμένο ώμο.

Για τέτοια υποκείμενα λοιπόν
καθόλου δεν αξίζει ο κόπος
τώρα έχω έναν πισινό
γεμάτο μελανιές
και πια ποτέ δεν θα ξαναπώ:

Κάνε μου ζημιά, Τζόνυ...

Boris Vian

Με τη Σιμόν, τον Ζαν-Πωλ και τη σύζυγό του.

 

[Nascentes morimur]

Sunflower Sutra​

BY ALLEN GINSBERG

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.

Berkeley, 1955

 

[Nascentes morimur]

Psychopathia Sexualis
I'm in love with a horse that comes from Dallas
Poor neurotica me!

When my family found out they raised the roof
'Cause I bought a ring to fit her hoof
Poor brain, the size of a pea

She looked so nice against the rail
With her pretty long legs and her pony tail
I guess against convention I'll never win
I'll probably end up in the loony bin
But in my heart I'll always be free

The head shrinker said my societal concept had been
Warped by an Oedipus Rex
Which caused me to hate the opposite sex
But what he doesn't know is that my second wife
Was a ten pound goose named Dex

I'm paranoid and subliminated
In love with a horse that ain't been spaded
Traumatic scene please let me be

I been hypnotized, tranquilized, analyzed, rationalized
Taken every pill from Seconal to Dexamyl
Sitting with my wife necking in the dark
And knowing her ex-lovers are running at Hollywood Park
Can be a bug I will admit
But it's all made up when i see her running around the house
In a negligee, brace and bit

Like most young couples we had our fights
Deciding what's fair about her rights
We finally got adjusted and I was boss
When I woke one mornig and on the lawn I found a firey cross

The Ku Klux Klan said we had to get out that day
"Move everything! Lock, stock, horse and carriage!"
The Klan wouldn't stand for no mixed marriage

So I'm feeling blue
Ain't got a penny in my pocket
We're gonna volunteer for a satellite rocket
So me and her can sit and spoon
And visit my first wife
Who jumped over the moon

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lenny_Bruce

 

[Nascentes morimur]

"I hate endings. Just detest them. Beginnings are definitely the most exciting, middles are perplexing and endings are a disaster. … The temptation towards resolution, towards wrapping up the package, seems to me a terrible trap. Why not be more honest with the moment? The most authentic endings are the ones which are already revolving towards another beginning. That’s genius."

Sam Shepard​

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sam_Shepard

 

[Nascentes morimur]

WH Auden: If I could tell you

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._H._Auden