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Jest in Literature - A two-story tale !
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Gunjan Saraf
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Jun 10, 2002 11:07 PDT
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JEST in LITERATURE
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10th June 2002 # 011
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I have a new method of poetry. All you got to do is look over
your notebooks... or lay down on a couch, and think of anything
that comes into your head, especially the miseries. Then arrange in
lines of two, three or four words each, don't bother about sentences,
in sections of two, three or four lines each.
~ Allen Ginsberg (American Poet)
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IN THIS DIGEST :
Nostalgia -
~ The Doc
A Poetic Experiment
~ The Doc
Humorous Extract
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---------------- MESSAGE -----------------
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---------------------------------------------------------
====> Nostalgia
No house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill.
Belonging to it. Hill and house should live together each the happier for
the other.
~ Frank Lloyd Wright
The Wright surname has played a big role in the yesterdays that shaped
what we live with today. Frank Lloyd's perception of utility and
integration offered us poetic construction. The home as a poem. How many
of us can say our home sings our song? It's so incredibly important to have
a home that keeps one safe and warm, is free from bad memories and bad
spirits, and that is part of the earth, not an intrusion upon it.
After reading Lloyd's quote, I was thinking about the houses that I've lived
in, and the homes that I've owned before my current one.
One of the more intriguing places I've lived was in a small two-storey brick
house just off campus at Fresno State University back in the sixties. For
some reason, this little house remained for a time as the only one that
bordered the campus since all the others had been torn down to make
room for things like Greek Row, some new administration buildings, and
other accouterments that signal the growth of a campus.
As the sole residence within any reasonable distance from the public forum
stages at the University, I was dealt a mixed blessing. Whenever a speaker
or entertainer would come to campus, I would be asked to lend my house
as a changing and staging area for the person who was the guest.
Over a two year period, these guests ranged from Robert Kennedy
(the night before he was assassinated, which is a whole 'nother story) to
Janis Joplin (who chased me up the stairs and grabbed my cajones from behind
thereby launching me on my longest self-propelled flight-to-date, powered
only by a squeal) to Joan Baez, and a few lesser knowns like
Pat Paulson, the Black Panther party leaders, and a few writers.
Of the writers, one of the more memorable was a gay, rotund, heavily
bearded, long haired poet named Allen Ginsberg.
The only person I can think of who might be stranger than Allen is
Hunter S. Thompson whom I would still like to meet someday.
("I don't recommend alcohol, drugs and weapons as a solution
for everyone, but it's always worked for me.")
Allen, from U.C. Berkeley, did some class swapping with a professor of mine
at the time named Robert Mesey. Mesey was vying for the number
one spot on the FBIs "give me five minutes alone with that freak" list. He
had really pissed off the Bureau Chief, and the fact that the agents had
been notified to ruin his life any way possible was more than obvious.
I don't know what became of Mesey, but I do know that the Agency bit
off more than it figured when it tried to put a gag on Ginsberg. The guy
was so far out, he was untouchable.
"A poem from 1955 that I sent to Kenneth Rexroth & I thought it was
good because it was a dream & it had this illumination of a dream & it
was about William Burroughs's late wife..."
A drunken night in my house with a
boy, San Francisco: I lay asleep:
darkness:
I went back to Mexico City
& saw Joan Burroughs leaning
forward in a garden chair, arms
on her knees. She studied me with
clear eyes & downcast smile, her
face restored to a fine beauty
tequila & salt had made strange
before the bullet in her brow.
--- Allen Ginsberg, "Dream Record, June 8, 1955":
Ginsberg wrote that forty-seven years ago today. I wonder how many
of you know this guy? He is the author of a poem called "Howl." That is
probably his most famous, or at least it is probably the one that made him
famous. Maybe "infamous" would be a better term.
I recall when he was called to testify in the trial of the Chicago Seven, he
was limited to fifteen minutes of recitation of his work. It seems like the
entire poem could take up to an hour or more to recite. That all depended,
of course, on how long he took to get the universe in synchronization by
chanting "Om." When he did that on the stand in Chicago, the judge about
went nuts. Of course, Ginsberg was a little bent himself so he thought the
judge was joining him, not yelling at him. It was a funny scene.
If for no other reason than he was well-known, Ginsberg's lessons had an
impact on most of the students in the class. It was a laughable dilemma for
us then to want to get close to greatness, but not so close that the
"gayness" might rub off on us, or at least want to rub us.
{Gunjan butts in ..... Talking of Ginsberg I had found an interview of his
in which he read out his poem "Ballad of the skeletons" ..........Hold your
hats (or whatever you want to hold on to) while I find the link for you....
Here it is ....
http://hotwired.lycos.com/talk/club/special/transcripts/96-12-16-ginsberg.ht
ml
Oops ... it's long .... so the link may not work! If it doesn't copy the
entire damn thing and paste it into your browser. That should do it.
And if you do enjoy it, don't forget to send me a Thank you note.
I searched long and hard for it ... jest for you! ;-)}
Comments or Questions :
mailto:li-@workinghumor.com?Subject=Nostalgia
====================================
***NAUGHTY-RAUNCHY-FUNNY***
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====================================
====> A Poetic Experiment
I suspect this is about the same for you as me: when I think back on my
student years, there are really only a couple of teachers that really stand
out as having an impact on me. Sadly, in the teaching profession, many
are chosen, but few are really called.
The same holds true for students, however. A few students inspire a
teacher to rise above his usual presentation, but it seems that students
seldom realize the truth of this. They believe that a teacher sets the whole
tone of a class, when, in fact, the class is what sets that tone, and those
rare students who inspire, do even more than that.
I tried an experiment this year, as I usually do, and I half expected it to
fail, which it usually does. I continually extol students to use words to
paint pictures. I did a literal application of that this year, and what
follows
are some of the results.
I worked with two students on an independent basis. I would give them
each a one word topic. Each would get the same word. One of them
would paint whatever she envisioned, and the other would write a poem. They
did not collaborate, and their connotations for the single words
were very dissimilar. The result is very pleasing, however.
Since we are restricted with what we can do with this format, I don't
guess I can show you the compilation of all six poems and the paintings
that accompany them. But, I would like for you to at least see the poems.
Once you have read these, and if you get the drift of what we were
attempting, then I would like to offer you the same opportunity. At the
end of each issue, I will offer a single word. From your own perspective,
write a poem if you like that addresses some meaning or perspective of
that word.
Send it on to me, and if you like, I will make some comments back to
you. This will be done anonymously, and we can show your work and
the comments in the next issue. That way, other readers can respond to
your work also. There will be nothing derogatory. Gunjan and I will
screen carefully. Positive things go a long way toward motivating us to
do more. Who knows? Maybe you'll blossom, and go on to fame and fortune.
I promise there will be nothing harmful in the comments. I prefer to
point out what is right, not what is wrong (or not so right). I might make
a couple of suggestions, but suggestions are not negative. You may agree
or disagree as you like. I'm a bit used to being a target, and it doesn't
harm me terminally. (Some would say that is a drawback.)
I would like to show some of the interchange if it appears that it might
benefit others.
For the two students I have mentioned, there was a lot of growth that
came along with finishing each of the following works. The painter,
whose work you will not see (dammit!) is Cassandra Garza. The poet
is Susan Renteria. What is nice about the way this was done is that
the poem and the painting can each stand alone, although together
they enrich each other.
The six words that these two young ladies were given over the past
weeks were:
Reluctance
Abuse
Trust
Love (became Speaking Love)
Hope
Separation
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Reluctance
Susan Renteria
Drip
Drip
Drip
Summer melts away
Mr. Snowman
Scorching arrows of fire
Pierce through the leafy tree
that fails to conceal him.
--------------------------------
Abuse
Susan Renteria
A pair of pants,
dirty, worn out,
tattered in the crotch.
Long gone are the days
when she'd stroll
through the parks and malls
Wearing them like
an Olympic medal.
Even at slumber parties
she would shamelessly refuse
to change out of those pants.
That is until she started
strolling up and
down the streets:
Shady Lane... yea, right.
More like Sunset Boulevard
or Pico or Venice Beach.
Those pants couldn't be
re-buttoned before they were
down around her ankles again.
The little while flowers that
used to casually adorn them
are missing in action:
(Any number of places
where they could have
gotten off.)
Those few that cling on
are ragged and stained.
One by one,
She gathers them up and
throws them out the window
of her high-rise apartment.
Struggling with destiny,
they land in the bottom
of the dumpster in the alley
Next to her dignity and respect
which continue to cascade
like a snowfall of white flowers
Into the Darkness
Of a tainted abyss.
------------------------------
Trust
Susan Renteria
Exposed
naked in murky water
seaweed slips
between my toes,
blinded by sewage
flooding my eyes,
clinging
to
a
crumbling
wall;
drowned by
blind
faith.
-------------------------
Speaking Love
Susan Renteria
Please tell me you love me
as you gaze into the
tropical beaches
of my eyes
and I may
forget those who came
before you.
Please tell me you love me
S__L__O__W__L__Y:
let your lips linger
on each word
like a bee probing
for pollen;
the sounds echoing
off the walls of my heart
Please tell me you love me so...
(I can close my eyes
without fear)
Please tell me you love me so...
(the last breath from my lips
whispers your name)
-----------------------------
Hope
Susan Renteria
A star Illuminates
the blackest night, then burns
Incessantly Inside:
A spark that ignites a fire
despite the suffocating
Lack of Oxygen.
---------------------------
And Separation? Well, it isn't completed yet. But, I'm going to miss
these two artists.
For as long as it lasts, and as long as it seems to be working, we will add
a section to the newsletter which will contain your works, your words,
your comments, suggestions, and whatever else you come up with relative
to your own poetry.
Give it a try. It could be fun, you know? Or, I could be baiting you, and
it could turn into the biggest nightmare of your life. Nah, I wouldn't do
that. Really. I'd stake Gunjan's bankroll on it.
Comments or Questions :
mailto:li-@workinghumor.com?Subject=PoeticExperiment
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HUMOROUS EXTRACT
We whimper and whine at every pain. In old strong days men
faced real dangers, real troubles every hour; they had no time
to cry. Death and disaster stood ever at the door. Men were
contemptuous of them. Now in each snug protected villa we
set to work to make wounds out of scratches. Every head-ache
becomes an agony, every heart-ache a tragedy. It took a murdered
father, a drowned sweetheart, a dishonoured mother, a ghost, and a
slaughtered Prime Minister to produce the emotions in Hamlet that
a modern minor poet obtains from a chorus girl's frown, or a
temporary slump on the Stock Exchange.
(From SECOND THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW
by Jerome K Jerome)
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Winding up Cartoons
wood carving
http://jokeworm.com/AToons/Ad246.shtml
Oh No!
http://jokeworm.com/AToons/Ad248.shtml
Words...
http://jokeworm.com/AToons/Ad250.shtml
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JD Lentz
Gunjan
gun-@workinghumor.com
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