American Counterculture · Author · Poet · Poetics · Quote · The Beat Generation · The San Francisco Renaissance · Writing

Jack Spicer

Loneliness is necessary for pure poetry. When someone intrudes into the poet’s life (and any sudden personal contact, whether in the bed or in the heart, is an intrusion) the poet loses his or her balance for a moment, slips into being what he or she is, uses his or her poetry as one would… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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

Jack Spicer

Sharp as an arrow Orpheus Points his music downward. Hell is there At the bottom of the seacliff. Heal Nothing by this music. Eurydice Is a frigate bird or a rock or some seaweed. Hail nothing The infernal Is a slippering wetness out at the horizon. Hell is this: The lack of anything but the… Continue reading Jack Spicer

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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 · 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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