Ginsberg, The Mayan Jungle & a Bear Who Will Eat You.

Via Karl Saliter
on Jan 27, 2012
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via Wikimedia Commons

Ready?  Crank that mind open and let’s

go. Seven minutes of reading = elevation. 

I promise.

But you don’t know me from a guy in a deli with a ham and cheese in one hand and a beer in the other. Why should you take my word for it?  Well let me just say this, about that.  I’m no expert in poetry, but I’m not a guy in a deli either, know what I’m saying?

Maru Garcia

This is the jungle.

There is way more

life force here

than at the deli.

This poem is a gigantic bear about to eat your heart and leave you in pieces, wondering why your former self gave up so easily.  It is your mom’s love in a direct transmission from your father’s deepest soul, bright side, without any of the filters or stoppage blocks, if you follow me there.

This poem is Arwen saving you from the black riders and you, my friend, are Frodo, desperately in need of saving and unaware of your need.  Remember Arwen praying that any grace alloted to her pass to Frodo?

This poem is Allen praying his grace transfer to you, reader. Praying for you to snap out of it, with the considerable evocative nuance of this master poet. He prays for you and to you, and none of it comes off as prayer.

What the hell will it take, to get you to read this poem?  It has been lovingly typed on an ancient machine by the poet Joel Schapira, whose poetry is featured in this article. Yes you could read it more easily from some wikipoemesque sonnet sourcing site, but the richness in this yellow paper is singular. Undaunted by the screen, it retains more soul than a poignant song. It and the mild difficulties of reading this way will serve to bring you closer to the you to which Allen points.

So what do you say.  Seven minutes?  You’re a bright one, I bet you could drink it in in five.  Yes, I’ll stoop to flattery. Now hit the apple key and the plus key, or take whatever action the pc tribe use to make the words bigger, and drink down this passion wisdom love perspective strength  smoothie of a poem.

It will drink you right back.



Thanks for reading that, you sunflower you.

You unbridled force of nature on wheels, you repository of divinity, you unapologetic windswept

lover, you muse you!





About Karl Saliter

Karl is a circus artist sculptor writer miscreant gypsy, living in Mexico. He has written two novels, "Compassion's Bitch," and "Breakfast In A Cloud," and has published neither. He often feels as if he was born under a silver whale of a frisbee moon in the back of a red cartoon pickup truck. That careening down route 66 at speed, he leapt up into the cab, took the wheel, stuck his baby elbow out the rolled-down window, and that though the truck had awesome chrome mirrors, he never looked back. He hopes you frequently feel the same.


10 Responses to “Ginsberg, The Mayan Jungle & a Bear Who Will Eat You.”

  1. karlsaliter says:

    May your black riders be unhorsed for decades.

  2. Andréa Balt says:

    Thanks for this, you awesome Karl, you!

  3. karlsaliter says:

    Cheers, Andrea. Love this poem.

  4. maru says:

    I relate, sadly, to the gigantic bear about that eats your heart and leaves you in pieces,…
    Amazing poem and amazing presentation by Joel Schapira who I have the pleasure to know.
    And awesome writing, great post Karl.

  5. Lorin says:

    Posted to the Elephant Journal main page on Facebook.

    Lorin Arnold
    Blogger at
    The VeganAsana
    Associate Editor for Elephant Food
    Editor for Elephant Family

  6. karlsaliter says:

    Thanks Maru! Joel is an amazing man, and a simple man, and, well, a guy with a cool collection
    of ribbon typewriters. Lorin thank you for the facepost!

  7. ValCarruthers says:

    Just read it, aloud, to myself and one of my two cats who liked the sound so much jumped on my lap for more. A poem's muscles only really show when given voice. Purrs to you, Karl and Schapira and Ginsburg.

  8. Karl Saliter says:

    Thanks for that, Val! Nice to hear it from you. Once, I was reading this poem aloud, and at the end I noticed I had been shouting.

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