Growing up in Boulder, with my ma a fellow Buddhist and teacher, famous Beat poet and activist Allen Ginsberg was one of those old school arty celebs I was used to seeing. He was sweet, and kind, voluble, bottle-lensed and weak-limbed—and he probably paid a tad more attention to me, being a young lad, than I deserved.
I last saw him…on July 4th one of those years at Naropa University, where he co-founded the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics with fellow poet/Buddhist/activist Anne Waldman. Here he is with a bunch of distracting idiots on Charlie Rose. It’s an hour long, so you can afford to skip past all the other schlubs and zero in on the inimitable Allen.
Bonus: The Fourth of October, 1963, Philip Whalen:
Bonus bonus, this incredible silent footage of Jack and Allen strutting around and arguing with woman and fooling, smoking, babysitting, in their prime, around at E 9th St. and 3rd Ave in Mad Men era NYC, 1959. Play a good 5-minute song while you watch it, watch the whole thing. I’m playing ‘Bruises,’ no I’m gonna play Charlie Parker or Lester Young or Billie Holiday, some of Kerouac’s faves.
hot on elephant
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