7 AM, Paoli, Pennsylvania, The Mews
Up betimes and with nary a thought to John Clellan Holmes, Charles Bukowski, Beatrice Wood, Allen Ginsberg, Diane DiPrima, Carolyn Cassady, Gary Snyder, Carl Solomon, Ken Kesey, Simon Vinkenoong, Kaviraj George Dowden, John Montgomery, Jack Kerouac, Ken Babbs, Bruce Fearing, Ray Bremser, Al Aronowitz, Ana Christy, Gerald Nicosia, Diane Wakowski, Bob Kaufman, Steve Richmond, Janine Pommy Vega, Antler, Herbert Huncke, Pradip Choudhuri, Jack Micheline, Gregory Corso, Joan Reid, Allen Cohen, Yusuke Keida, Barbara Moraff, A.D.Winans, Tuli Kupferberg, Richard Morris, George Montgomery, Frank Moore, Erling Friis-Baastad, t.k.splake, ruth weiss, elliott, Ted Berrigan, Neeli Cherkovski, Clayton Eshleman, Gerald Locklin, Joy Walsh, Anne Waldman, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Michael McClure, Kurt Nimmo, Ron Androla, Graham Cournoyer, Bill Costley, Jan Kerouac, Jeanne Conn, Stephan Ronan, Christine Zwingman, Chris Challis, Lyn Lifshin, Ulvis Alberts, Lorrie Jackson, Tony Seldin, Judson Crews, Steve Allen, William S. Burroughs, Dinah Shore, Neal Cassady or Ted Joans.Roseanna Warren is so hot! Read Billy Collins while sitting outside in the great garden here in Paoli. Buttermilk scone and a quart of Dewars. One must keep his edge for tomorrow for there’s a John Donne festival at West Chester University! I impersonate a rag and bone and hank of hair and walking about I wonder if any young people will recognize that I am a very allegorical fellow and represent seven types of ambiguity along with one great truth: there are a lot of shit for brains bohemian poseurs out there pissing in the Well of English.
Thought of the word “lucid” for one hour -- oh how I love creating poetry. Thinking of combining “lucid” with the word “light.” But one must be cautious. The “lucid light” Perhaps too incautious I am. But think of it – one could do end as poem that way. Van Gogh at Arles blah blah etc. then the last line “lisping the lucid light.” Do I dare????
Oh, “Verse” has arrived in the mail! Can there be too many poets named after birds? One doubts this.
Off to the mall at Exton for a pedicure.
Every day I seem more and more to resemble Maria Ouspenskaya. I’ll be 60 soon. What care I? Lisping the lucid light.
The moon was full last night. The wolfbane blooming. I can already feel the change.
I am afraid to peek at my other blog – as always. What did I do last night?
Oh dear God help me – naked pictures of Corso and Ginsberg!
God forgive the beast in me!
posted by & @ 1:36 PM
1 Comments:
I looked for Locklin
where last we lingered,
a bar between us
and beers galore.
No poets perching
upon those stools now,
nor poems dripped
from lips to floor
from the likes of
Chuck Bukowski
Locklin, Stetler,
and many more.
Many dead
and all are gone.
Too bad, adieu;
chin chin, so long.
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