VISION OF ROTTERDAM
September 1957 summoned by my vision-agent
via ventriloquial telegram
delivered by the dumb mouths stoned upon Notre Dame given golden fare & 17th Century diagram
I left the gargoyle city
And
Two suitcases filled with despair
arrived in Rotterdam
~
Rotterdam is dying again
steamers & tankers
unload an awful sight
May 1940 stevedores lead forth a platoon of leukemia
Pleasure ships send metalvoiced rats teeheeing a propaganda of ruin
A cargo of scream deafens the tinhorn of feeble War
Bombers overhead
Young blond children in white blouses
crawl in the streets gnawing their houses
The old the sick the mad leave their wheelchairs & cells and kneel in adoration before the gentle torpedo of miracles.
Bombers unanswerable to the heart
vitalize & Sunday afternoon dream
Bombs like jewels surprise
Explosion explosion explosion
Avalanche on medieval stilts brought down 1940
Mercy leans against her favorite bombardment
and forgives the bomb
~
Alone
Eyes on the antique diagram
I wander down the ruin and see
amid a madness of coughing bicycles
the scheme of a new Rotterdam humming in the vacancy
- corso '58
Visions of Rotterdam
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Visions of Rotterdam
Last edited by SquidInk on 07-16-2009 10:32 AM, edited 1 time in total.
For if it profit, none dare call it Treason.
From Corso, I also like "I Am 25"...
I don't know if I'm "into" his entire body of work, but a few years ago this one, & "Visions" really "spoke" to me. In fact, it inspired me to write a bit.
Visions of Rotterdam conjures up images vaguely akin to those on the walls of DIA (formerly, I think).
"A cargo of scream..."
"...metalvoiced rats teeheeing a propaganda of ruin"
I think the Beats may have been among the first people, after WW2, to realize the maniacal psychopaths running the world now had "The Bomb". It made them passively (sub-consciously) suicidal in their pursuit of "kicks".
That relates to a question which came up the other day in THIS THREAD, asking "...why did the Anglo-Saxons choose to commit suicide?". I thought the question was interesting, and it reminded me of the Beats. The Maniacal Ruling class has much more than the bomb today, and coincidentally, people are not out to see the USA in their Kias - they are seeking sub-consciously suicidal kicks like never before - on a cultural scale, not just a literary subset this time. And this time no one blowing, nobody on the road working it out.
No Moroccan hide-away hangouts for escape.
Ferlinghetti doesn't stand out for me, but I respect what he did for certain genres. And I've explored his bookstore inside & out.
I don't have a particularly deep knowledge of the whole thing.
With a love a madness for Shelley
Chatterton Rimbaud
and the needy-yap of my youth
has gone from ear to ear:
I HATE OLD POETMEN!
Especially old poetmen who retract
who consult other old poetmen
who speak their youth in whispers,
saying:--I did those then
but that was then
that was then--
O I would quiet old men
say to them:--I am your friend
what you once were, thru me
you'll be again--
Then at night in the confidence of their homes
rip out their apology-tongues
and steal their poems.
I don't know if I'm "into" his entire body of work, but a few years ago this one, & "Visions" really "spoke" to me. In fact, it inspired me to write a bit.
Visions of Rotterdam conjures up images vaguely akin to those on the walls of DIA (formerly, I think).
"A cargo of scream..."
"...metalvoiced rats teeheeing a propaganda of ruin"
I think the Beats may have been among the first people, after WW2, to realize the maniacal psychopaths running the world now had "The Bomb". It made them passively (sub-consciously) suicidal in their pursuit of "kicks".
That relates to a question which came up the other day in THIS THREAD, asking "...why did the Anglo-Saxons choose to commit suicide?". I thought the question was interesting, and it reminded me of the Beats. The Maniacal Ruling class has much more than the bomb today, and coincidentally, people are not out to see the USA in their Kias - they are seeking sub-consciously suicidal kicks like never before - on a cultural scale, not just a literary subset this time. And this time no one blowing, nobody on the road working it out.
No Moroccan hide-away hangouts for escape.
Ferlinghetti doesn't stand out for me, but I respect what he did for certain genres. And I've explored his bookstore inside & out.
I don't have a particularly deep knowledge of the whole thing.
Last edited by SquidInk on 07-16-2009 03:31 PM, edited 1 time in total.
For if it profit, none dare call it Treason.
Ferlinghetti...he had a tin, wooden ear....
There was a short film made from this poem...I wonder if it's on youtube?
The dog trots freely in the street
and sees reality
and the things he sees
are bigger than himself
and the things he sees
are his reality
Drunks in doorways
Moons on trees
The dog trots freely thru the street
and the things he sees
are smaller than himself
Fish on newsprint
Ants in holes
Chickens in Chinatown windows
their heads a block away
The dog trots freely in the street
and the things he smells
smell something like himself
The dog trots freely in the street
past puddles and babies
cats and cigars
poolrooms and policemen
He doesn't hate cops
He merely has no use for them
and he goes past them
and past the dead cows hung up whole
in front of the San Francisco Meat Market
He would rather eat a tender cow
than a tough policeman
though either might do
And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory
and past Coit's Tower
and past Congressman Doyle of the Unamerican Committee
He's afraid of Coit's Tower
but he's not afraid of Congressman Doyle
although what he hears is very discouraging
very depressing
very absurd
to a sad young dog like himself
to a serious dog like himself
But he has his own free world to live in
His own fleas to eat
He will not be muzzled
Congressman Doyle is just another
fire hydrant
to him
The dog trots freely in the street
and has his own dog's life to live
and to think about
and to reflect upon
touching and tasting and testing everything
investigating everything
without benefit of perjury
a real realist
with a real tale to tell
and a real tail to tell it with
a real live
barking
democratic dog
engaged in real
free enterprise
with something to say
about ontology
something to say
about reality
and how to see it
and how to hear it
with his head cocked sideways
at streetcorners
as if he is just about to have
his picture taken
for Victor Records
listening for
His Master's Voice
and looking
like a living questionmark
into the
great gramophone
of puzzling existence
with its wondrous hollow horn
which always seems
just about to spout forth
some Victorious answer
to everything
There was a short film made from this poem...I wonder if it's on youtube?
The dog trots freely in the street
and sees reality
and the things he sees
are bigger than himself
and the things he sees
are his reality
Drunks in doorways
Moons on trees
The dog trots freely thru the street
and the things he sees
are smaller than himself
Fish on newsprint
Ants in holes
Chickens in Chinatown windows
their heads a block away
The dog trots freely in the street
and the things he smells
smell something like himself
The dog trots freely in the street
past puddles and babies
cats and cigars
poolrooms and policemen
He doesn't hate cops
He merely has no use for them
and he goes past them
and past the dead cows hung up whole
in front of the San Francisco Meat Market
He would rather eat a tender cow
than a tough policeman
though either might do
And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory
and past Coit's Tower
and past Congressman Doyle of the Unamerican Committee
He's afraid of Coit's Tower
but he's not afraid of Congressman Doyle
although what he hears is very discouraging
very depressing
very absurd
to a sad young dog like himself
to a serious dog like himself
But he has his own free world to live in
His own fleas to eat
He will not be muzzled
Congressman Doyle is just another
fire hydrant
to him
The dog trots freely in the street
and has his own dog's life to live
and to think about
and to reflect upon
touching and tasting and testing everything
investigating everything
without benefit of perjury
a real realist
with a real tale to tell
and a real tail to tell it with
a real live
barking
democratic dog
engaged in real
free enterprise
with something to say
about ontology
something to say
about reality
and how to see it
and how to hear it
with his head cocked sideways
at streetcorners
as if he is just about to have
his picture taken
for Victor Records
listening for
His Master's Voice
and looking
like a living questionmark
into the
great gramophone
of puzzling existence
with its wondrous hollow horn
which always seems
just about to spout forth
some Victorious answer
to everything
HB3 wrote: Hey, nice automatic format screwing...see here:
Yeah, I noticed that too. Next time surround your quote with a tag that looks like this: [tp]blah blah[/tp] - that might do it.
Correct format "Vision of Rotterdam"
Correct format " I AM 25"
Last edited by SquidInk on 07-17-2009 02:26 PM, edited 1 time in total.
For if it profit, none dare call it Treason.
If constructionss like "apology-tongues" & "vision-agent" are portmanteaus, then I have to admit that I like them.
I guess "poetmen" would be a more traditional portmanteau, right? It doesn't bother me, but I also don't see it as being a style, or a habit ripped from Joyce - not that you're wrong, I'm confident that you're right. Luckily, I'm just unaware of it.
I guess "poetmen" would be a more traditional portmanteau, right? It doesn't bother me, but I also don't see it as being a style, or a habit ripped from Joyce - not that you're wrong, I'm confident that you're right. Luckily, I'm just unaware of it.
For if it profit, none dare call it Treason.
HB3 wrote: It's not on youtube! But it appears TJ Hooker is....
HA! Amerikans are doomed!
Actually, that is pretty sad.
HB3 wrote: It's very much of its time.
I agree. Even the term Beatnik reflects the age. I believe the "-nik" suffix was added by a writer who wanted to give a spaced-out Sputnik spin to the Beat movement.
It's not all schtick though, it (Beat writing) does have some resonant themes, even if they are obscured by over-the-top writing styles & life styles.
Last edited by SquidInk on 07-17-2009 03:37 PM, edited 1 time in total.
For if it profit, none dare call it Treason.