RIP #DanielEllsberg. This account of how #poet Gary Snyder inspired the Pentagon Papers whistleblower is one of the most fascinating and least-known literary anecdotes of all time. Via #BeatGeneration scholar Randy Roark.
Is this signature written by hand directly onto the book, or is it a printed version of a handwritten signature? I want it to be the former, but my colleague thinks it's the latter.
It's of Rabindranath Tagore, Bengali poet and winner of the Nobel Prize for literature
One of my projects these days has been to digitize my old Super 8 films from long ago and far away. Here's one I shot in California of Allen Ginsburg and his partner Peter Orlovsky. I had forgotten that Lawrence Ferlinghetti was even there that day until I saw this.
Unfortunately, there is no sound.
Hopefully this link takes you right there.
#Poet Gary Snyder, "Japhy Ryder" in #Kerouac's "Dharma Bums," was born OTD in 1930 and is still with us. One of the most amazing things he ever did is virtually unknown: Helping inspire #DanielEllsberg to leak the #PentagonPapers, which helped end the #VietnamWar. From #Beat scholar Randy Roark.
The Had Matter
looked on uffishly
as photons and
gluons danced
around tea time.
“We want matter!”
they screamed in
frenetic frenzy.
“We want to matter!”
“Both are important,
but you can’t be both,”
Had Matter said.
That is how photons
and gluons
lack matter,
but always will.
Square Peg (recently
of Round Hole)
bites everyone’s legs
at LexiCon Shack,
where a “the” and the “a”
sign art in the back.
The lines run-on
on adverbial tracks
in panel discussions,
where everyone’s
rushing for a
girl from Flushing
with free Oxford
commas in a
sack.
I was fortunate, early in my online broadcasting life as a poet and writer, to learn that my tweets and posts and tiny ramblings, were considered as "published" by most journals. It's one of the reasons I only share published (by journals) work here. Thought this tip might help other poets and writers. @poets@writers#PoetryCommunity#WritingCommunity#poet
Just be me, just
a tree, with a path
and a brook, and
infectious shade
that cajoles you
into smiling. At me.
At that tree.
And my only
eccentricitree
is you am you
and me am me,
and I’m working
on ambulating,
but evolution
takes time.
Benjamin Zephaniah has died, aged 65. The poet, novelist and activist had been diagnosed with a brain tumour only eight weeks ago.
Last year he shared his life story, his passion for language and his love for all people (and animals) with Ian McMillan on Radio 3's The Verb (and there's plenty of his wonderful verse too).
Yesterday was scheduled
as the best day ever, but
no one invited me. It
was spar for the spores,
except I was the organizer.
Hurdle turtles but
me did forgets and
all I could do was
send me regrets,
get solace from my
pets, and generally
be general
(or less)
Today in Labor History February 4, 1900: Jacques Prévert was born (1900-1977). Prevert was a poet, surrealist and libertarian socialist who glorified the spirit of rebellion & revolt.
Excerpt from “Song in the Blood”
There are great puddles of blood on the world
Where’s it going all this spilled blood
Murder’s blood. . . war’s blood. . .
Misery’s blood. . .
And the blood of men tortured in prisons. . .
The blood of children calmly tortured by their papa
And their mama. . .
And the blood of men whose heads bleed in
Padded cells
And the roofer’s blood
When the roofer slips and falls from the roof
The amygdala gala,
where synapses exceed
plasticity. Red carpet
flash and scowl. All
the dresses… it’s
for charity, really.
Sterilize rationality
and empathy, unite
untied emotions.
While here try the
buffet. The sushi’s
been out for days
and it’s all the rage.