American Counterculture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry · The Beat Generation · The San Francisco Renaissance

Jack Spicer

Listen, you silk-hearted bastard, I said in the bar last night, You wear those dream clothes Like a swan out of water. Listen, you wool-feathered bastard, My name, just for the record, is Leda. I can remember pretending That your red silk tie is a real heart That your raw wool suit is real flesh… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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American Counterculture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry · The Beat Generation · The San Francisco Renaissance

Kenneth Rexroth

We have slept together in A lonely bed. Now my heart Turns towards you, awake at last, Penitent, lost in the last Loneliness. Speak to me. Talk To me. Break the black silence. Speak of a tree full of leaves, Of a flying bird, the new Moon in the sunset, a poem, A book, a… Continue reading Kenneth Rexroth

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American Counterculture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry · The Beat Generation · The San Francisco Renaissance

Jack Spicer

When he first brought his music into hell He was absurdly confident. Even over the noise of the shapeless fires And the jukebox groaning of the damned Some of them would hear him. In the upper world He had forced the stones to listen. It wasn’t quite the same. And the people he remembered Weren’t… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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Jack Spicer

And I think that it is certainly possible that the objective universe can be affected by the poet. I mean, you recall Orpheus made the trees and the stones dance and so forth, and this is something which is in almost all primitive cultures. I think it has some definite basis to it. I’m not… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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American Counterculture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry · The Beat Generation · The San Francisco Renaissance

Jack Spicer

That is the world, my friend, agony, agony. The dead decompose themselves under the clock of the cities. War enters weeping, with a million gray rats. The rich give to their girlfriends A million illuminated dyings. And life is not noble, or good, or sacred. — Jack Spicer, from “Ode for Walt Whitman,” The Collected… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry · The San Francisco Renaissance

Landis Everson

I try to describe you to the river.  I say you’re a snag– Something the river can understand–catching my heart, That I’m rowing without oars, that this is some trip, Never able to leave you, bracing hard against swirls That confuse me, that the whole ghostly place seems like a trap Without bait, that nothing… Continue reading Landis Everson

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