1
Look! I’ll level with you. I bought a traveler’s backpack, a 150 dollar World Atlas book, and a lot of other gear suitable for hitting the road, and why, because Jack Kerouac’s book On The Road connected with something deep inside of me, a resonating happening of some sort took place and it’s still echoing some mysterious reverberation. Actually, I asked for all of that as my Christmas gift from my parents long before I decided to sign up for our 1950s poetry class, but still!
2
Having all that gear already and then reading the book made for an enticing temptation to say the least. How many times did Neal Cassidy and Jack Kerouac decide to hit the road in the spur of the moment? Let me answer that for you, several times. These drugged out, alcoholic, misogynistic men are my heroes in many ways. In many respects, I look up to them, not for the descriptions mentioned above, but because they decided that they weren’t happy with where they were at in life, and because of that, went elsewhere. Now granted, I know very well that traveling place to place isn’t going to solve your problems, but cut them some slack; at least they went out hopeful that they would find something substantial in their searching travels. And let’s be honest, that’s a whole lot more than a lot of people can say with any degree of truthfulness, whatever that means.
3
Now you may be asking yourself why I’m so excited and how this has anything to do with me. Well let me tell you my friends and acquaintances, it’s simple. I’m in college and I’m an emerging adult. Did you catch that? I said in that last part that I’m an emerging adult, not adult as in I pay my bills and do what I want when I want. It’s comical and sad, but I’m almost 21 and I still depend on my parents for almost everything. Sure, I have a car (that they bought me), and a few thousand dollars in the bank, but that’s all. How long will that realistically last me though? Within a half a year or so I would either be in between a rock and a hard place, drudging my way through a low-wage job, or I would be a starving artist/homeless person waiting for stars to align that most likely won’t. With this understanding comes an immediate, at least for me, desire to prove my manhood, to prove my independence, to prove that despite my young age, despite the unlikelihood, I could survive and thrive on my own, that I could make it in this world with a smile on my face!
4
Torn between completing my undergraduate degree and packing my bags today to see the world with my own eyes, I seem to always favor the former and leave the latter for another hour, another day. So I’m here. I’m stuck. I want to succeed, but we’re never granted tomorrow. And then there’s that old thing called wisdom. You know, that talk about tact, about doing the right thing at the right time, hence completing college before I travel to San Francisco, Las Angeles, Denver, NYC, Mexico, and everywhere in between, like Jack and Neal did. That’s the only real thing stopping me from hitting the road, not love, not family, not friends. Do I want to love a ‘significant other’ one day? Maybe. Do I love my family and friends? Yes. But none of those answers or reasons is good enough answers or reasons to inhibit me from doing what I love; from doing what I feel I was made to do—travel!
5
There are a few things that are scary though. Let me be perfectly frank, or Phillip. I like that better. Let me be perfectly Phillip. Do I want to travel? Yes. Am I scared that a devastating blow could knock me off from ever establishing myself in the future because of my travels? Yes, I’m scared shitless. But that’s the beauty of it. I’m scared. I said I’m scared! Maybe I’ll run out of money. Maybe I’ll get beat up in a neighborhood that’s hostile to strangers. Maybe I’ll get lost. Maybe I’ll have a friend ditch me and leave me out in the cold. But so what, without risk there aren’t rewards. Neal and Cassidy took risks and now we’re reading about those risks. They worked crap jobs to fund their crazy life styles and now we’re reading about those crap jobs. They went out and saw America and now were reading about those adventures. They saw America for what it really was at that time. They saw the people in the bars and the stations and the jazz clubs and the motels and the mountains and the coasts and the cities and the towns and the country and everywhere else. They saw America. They were miserable sometimes, but they saw America, that elusive country wide and long that stretches seemingly infinitely, that land that’s as beautiful as its ugly, that place where dreams are built and shattered, that magnificent terrain of monks and maniacs and presidents and pedestrians and rich and poor alike. They saw America!
6
Perhaps I’m being a little irrational, or a lot irrational. Perhaps I’m glorifying their successes but forgetting their failures. Perhaps I’m glorifying their travels but forgetting their miseries along the way. Perhaps! But I know that something special was in their souls, something holy! Look past all their sexual espionages and messed up characteristics and you’ll see something holy! You’ll see men that had great yearnings for that ultimate high. Men that went to great extremes to find that settlement of soul! Men that traveled coast to coast multiple times in search for a home in the truest sense of the word! And for this realization I’m not irrational, in fact, I would argue that I’m saner than ever!
7
Now that I’ve finished worshipping them as gods in some regards, let me defile their names and kick myself out of the temple I constructed for them. They were idiots. They were raving madmen trekking mountains and driving through Mexican villages looking for cheap prostitutes and beer. They were neurotically-challenged voyagers looking for a fix. They were spiritual vagabonds travelling, having week long affairs with strangers they would meet on a bus one moment, and the next moment, situating themselves in some city with the idea of establishing a livelihood. They were men who ran away from most of the people that ever loved them. They were idiots. The most beautiful, intelligent, soulful idiots I’ve ever read about!
8
I’m so glad I read On The Road. I didn’t read a stylistically phenomenal masterpiece that used big words and fancy-sounding French words to describe a character and a story that I couldn’t relate to, but that’s why I’m glad I read On The Road. I read about 2 guys who saw our great country. I read about their highs and lows, about times when they were broke and hitchhiking their way through 3000 miles of land, and times when they had money to blow and satisfy all their carnal cravings day after day after day. I got a fairly complete picture, the ying and the yang, the beautiful and the ugly—I got life!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Dear holy classmates,
1.) I’ve read Howl yet again and have only recently come to the realization, nay the epiphany, that there’s no understanding it, and yet, I feel I know the poem more thoroughly and intimately than I’ve ever known any poem. It’s this juxtaposition that’s brought me to the knowledge of the brilliance of Allen Ginsberg as a revolutionary of expression, and I say that in the most poetic and meaningful use of the idea/word. As I was reading through the poem initially, I felt this subtle angst that I was incompetent and out-of-touch with the higher levels of consciousness, and why, because every other line seemed to be virtually incapable of providing me any concrete sense of meaning or fixed image that I could deconstruct and understand at its foundation. Were there lines that I could digest? Sure, I’d have to be missing a few chromosomes to say otherwise, but there wasn’t that cohesive, traditional beginning, middle, and end that I so desperately wanted, not really anyways. And I had a problem with that at first, because I wanted to make sense of something that could only be understood when you realize that you can’t make sense of it per se. I wanted to finish the last line with a grim on my face saying, ‘I’ve read a fine piece of literature and fully understand its meaning.’ I wanted to do a lot of things that didn’t work out in relation to understanding Howl, but let’s not be negative; instead, I’d like to share some further thoughts I’ve had about the poem.
2.) Did anyone get that vague feeling that the poem was a work of genius equal in its madness and immortality? I certainly did! I wouldn’t have re-read it multiple times if I thought otherwise, and I’ll tell you what, about the second of third time reading it, I was hit with this strange, dark peace, as if I’ve finally connected with something higher, but not anything supernatural-like, just something powerfully natural— something powerfully human! I attribute this feeling to Ginsberg say-anything-that-comes-to-soul approach in writing poetry. Although this has led to some debatable questioning on the necessity of some of the more vulgar elements, it’s also led to some of the, what I and many licensed experts consider, brilliant lines in all of poetry. I find the brilliance in his ability to combine multiple aspects of life, ranging from religious imagery and spiritual themes, to drugs, alcohol, and sex. With Ginsberg these elements mix and are what life is at its most basic element. This incorporation of that which is holy and profane makes for poetry that I believe tears down walls, poetry that re-unites parts of humanity that have conservatively been separated by centuries of traditionalism.
3.) On that note, I must say that I was saddened upon hearing that Howl had to undergo an obscenity trial, but was also happy upon learning that it was judged permissible or allowable based off of its redeeming social importance! And to that I say amen! I say amen a thousand times more, too! What I’ve never understood about those who oppose what they deem to be morally corruptible material, is how they can think that it’ll prevent or even save those who otherwise would have been ‘corrupted’ had they gotten access to it. It’s my belief that if someone genuinely wants something, then they’ll search for it and generally find it.
4.) It’s interesting how the case actually had the reverse effect the prosecutors intended for it to have. They wished to shut it up, so to speak, but instead aided in the publicity and popularity of the City Lights published poetry book. I think it’s important here to point out how often times certain societal advocates desire to make taboo, and consequently, as the defense attorney of the film Howl remarked, “ fuel the fire of ignorance,” that which should not be so. If there’s an issue or aspect of life that is troubling, then I believe artists should have every right to express their feeling and not have to suppress them and subsequently feel like a social misfit. Artists like Ginsberg didn’t feel the need to censor their writings and in the process only communicate certain aspects of their thoughts, instead they freely wrote it all, and as a result, as my mom comically puts it, ate the whole enchilada!
5.) Furthermore, I’ll never forget the day I first read Howl! The day when every emotion in my body was rattled and roused at every line of the work. Was the use of allusion and imagery masterly solid and greatly artistic? Absolutely, but that’s not why my emotions acted the way they did, rather they acted so because I knew that I finally had before me someone who experienced life the way I do. Someone who, despite the frowns of the traditionalist, spoke what was on their heart and wasn’t afraid to let it all out, or to leave any stones unturned!
Sincerely, Enlightened Egghead
1.) I’ve read Howl yet again and have only recently come to the realization, nay the epiphany, that there’s no understanding it, and yet, I feel I know the poem more thoroughly and intimately than I’ve ever known any poem. It’s this juxtaposition that’s brought me to the knowledge of the brilliance of Allen Ginsberg as a revolutionary of expression, and I say that in the most poetic and meaningful use of the idea/word. As I was reading through the poem initially, I felt this subtle angst that I was incompetent and out-of-touch with the higher levels of consciousness, and why, because every other line seemed to be virtually incapable of providing me any concrete sense of meaning or fixed image that I could deconstruct and understand at its foundation. Were there lines that I could digest? Sure, I’d have to be missing a few chromosomes to say otherwise, but there wasn’t that cohesive, traditional beginning, middle, and end that I so desperately wanted, not really anyways. And I had a problem with that at first, because I wanted to make sense of something that could only be understood when you realize that you can’t make sense of it per se. I wanted to finish the last line with a grim on my face saying, ‘I’ve read a fine piece of literature and fully understand its meaning.’ I wanted to do a lot of things that didn’t work out in relation to understanding Howl, but let’s not be negative; instead, I’d like to share some further thoughts I’ve had about the poem.
2.) Did anyone get that vague feeling that the poem was a work of genius equal in its madness and immortality? I certainly did! I wouldn’t have re-read it multiple times if I thought otherwise, and I’ll tell you what, about the second of third time reading it, I was hit with this strange, dark peace, as if I’ve finally connected with something higher, but not anything supernatural-like, just something powerfully natural— something powerfully human! I attribute this feeling to Ginsberg say-anything-that-comes-to-soul approach in writing poetry. Although this has led to some debatable questioning on the necessity of some of the more vulgar elements, it’s also led to some of the, what I and many licensed experts consider, brilliant lines in all of poetry. I find the brilliance in his ability to combine multiple aspects of life, ranging from religious imagery and spiritual themes, to drugs, alcohol, and sex. With Ginsberg these elements mix and are what life is at its most basic element. This incorporation of that which is holy and profane makes for poetry that I believe tears down walls, poetry that re-unites parts of humanity that have conservatively been separated by centuries of traditionalism.
3.) On that note, I must say that I was saddened upon hearing that Howl had to undergo an obscenity trial, but was also happy upon learning that it was judged permissible or allowable based off of its redeeming social importance! And to that I say amen! I say amen a thousand times more, too! What I’ve never understood about those who oppose what they deem to be morally corruptible material, is how they can think that it’ll prevent or even save those who otherwise would have been ‘corrupted’ had they gotten access to it. It’s my belief that if someone genuinely wants something, then they’ll search for it and generally find it.
4.) It’s interesting how the case actually had the reverse effect the prosecutors intended for it to have. They wished to shut it up, so to speak, but instead aided in the publicity and popularity of the City Lights published poetry book. I think it’s important here to point out how often times certain societal advocates desire to make taboo, and consequently, as the defense attorney of the film Howl remarked, “ fuel the fire of ignorance,” that which should not be so. If there’s an issue or aspect of life that is troubling, then I believe artists should have every right to express their feeling and not have to suppress them and subsequently feel like a social misfit. Artists like Ginsberg didn’t feel the need to censor their writings and in the process only communicate certain aspects of their thoughts, instead they freely wrote it all, and as a result, as my mom comically puts it, ate the whole enchilada!
5.) Furthermore, I’ll never forget the day I first read Howl! The day when every emotion in my body was rattled and roused at every line of the work. Was the use of allusion and imagery masterly solid and greatly artistic? Absolutely, but that’s not why my emotions acted the way they did, rather they acted so because I knew that I finally had before me someone who experienced life the way I do. Someone who, despite the frowns of the traditionalist, spoke what was on their heart and wasn’t afraid to let it all out, or to leave any stones unturned!
Sincerely, Enlightened Egghead
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