Past Green Woods

Yesterday, I traveled up north to St. Johnsbury with Bill Morgan and Peter Hale to visit Peter Orlovsky whom I hadn't seen in over a decade. Peter O whose health is fragile was lucid and sweet tempered. We were all impressed how well he is doing under the circumstances and the great support system he has within the Shambhala community around Karma Choling. Peter lives in a pleasant house down the street from St. Johnsbury's historic district and the Athenaeum; America's oldest unaltered gallery space that we visited before meeting Peter and his attendant, Michael, for lunch. Prayer flags were fluttering on the porch and the house had great light and simplicity. You can see from the photo that Peter (right) enjoyed the visit. That's Bill Morgan in the background and Peter Hale, on the left.

Bill brought along and gave me his newest publication, a literary biography on Allen called, "I Celebrate Myself, The Somewhat Private Life of Allen Ginsberg." He also brought to give to Peter O, the gorgeous publication of Allen's earliest journals he edited with Juanita Lieberman, an old girlfriend of Peter Orlovsky. As the Allen Ginsberg Trust archivist, Bill probably knows more than anyone about the details of Allen's life having meticulously catalogued every piece of paper and artifact for decades. One interesting aspect about the biography is that he annotates the external events with poems and journal entries next to the narrative of events in the text body, which will prove invaluable to future scholars. I had forgotten about the huge fight between Peter and Ronnie Laing and how Allen and I had cleaned up the Naropa townhouse afterwards, an event Bill mentions in the book. All those Naropa summers seem to merge into another life. It usually takes some kind of trigger for me to remember the rich display of those years.

But I do remember a funny dinner party at Anne Waldman's after the Orlovsky/Laing confrontation with Bill Burroughs, Philip Whalen, a Japanese scholar, Soiku Shigematsu, (Allen for some reason not there) and Reed Bye where Burroughs was really interested in the story about Peter and Ronnie Laing-- grilling me intensely about it. Burroughs seemed to take great delight that Laing was wildly out of control. In the middle of that dinner, Philip fell backwards in his chair tipping over his wine glass that, in turn, triggered a domino effect of chaos all landing in the lap of Mr. Shigimatsu. It was the strangest thing, as though in slow motion. Anne then supplied the gentleman with a pair of her colorful Japanese pants since he was drenched whereupon we all resumed our dinner. For sometime afterwards, Anne and I always had a good laugh over that dinner hoping Mr. Shigimatsu recovered from the ordeal and Philip's mind-stopping behavior that undercut the conversation about Peter and Ronnie Laing.

On the way back from St. Johnsbury, we stopped at Karme Choling briefly which Peter Hale hadn't visited since Trungpa's cremation twenty years ago when he traveled as a young man with Allen and Peter O in the blue Volvo to Vermont from NYC. During that drive home, Allen wrote his wonderful poem about Trungpa's cremation that Peter Hale ( the young man in the poem) recited a bit of...

"...I noticed the path downhill, noticed the crowd moving toward buses
I noticed food, lettuce salad, I noticed the Teacher was absent,
I noticed my friends, noticed our car the blue Volvo, a young boy
held my hand
our key in the motel door, noticed a dark room, noticed a dream
and forgot, noticed oranges lemons & caviar at breakfast,
I noticed the highway, sleepiness, homework thoughts, the boy's
nippled chest in the breeze
as the car rolled down hillsides past green woods to the water,
I noticed the houses, balconies overlooking a misted horizon,
shore & old worn rocks in the sand
I noticed the sea, I noticed the music, I wanted to dance."

--from AG, "On Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa, Vidyadhara"

A Few Missives from Allen Ginsberg

Here's another note written in haste at 4:00 AM or tiredness since it doesn't have a characteristic date. It's probably circa spring/summer of 1994 when I lived next door in Peter Orlovsky's apartment as Allen mentions picking up mail and a "missive" to Paul Bowles on his kitchen sideboard at Apt. 23. I lived there for about six months before moving back to Vermont. Every morning, I would find a bunch of notes slipped under the door.The whole thing reads:

Jacqueline--

The Blake discourse is great, but only 3/4edited-- But it is really good-

There's a few small items on the sideboard Apt 23
a letter to mail + also a missive to send to Paul Bowles

Allen

I remember the Blake piece as he later sent me
a copy of the publication after I was back in
Vermont. I've used it many times for either classes,
papers or lectures on Blake.

It was not unusual for him to leave an opinion/commentary
about someone or something.

Here's such an example dated 5/26/91 asking me to print a photo he took of Alice Denney whom he affectionately refers to as "older lady goofy looking in a big hat w/my photos on wall background." Allen often sent people photos he had taken of them. One of my duties in his office was to organize the photo collection, arrange for printing negatives with either Sid Kaplan or Brian Graham, be the point person for photos in publications, and assist with curating shows. I worked on several large projects such as huge FNAC show that traveled France for a year or so, and many of the stills used in Jerry Aronson's film, Life and Times of Allen Ginsberg. I loved his photos that document for decades both the unknown and known denizens of his world. He had a clear eye for detail and respect for his subjects. My meeting him coincided with his self-consciousness as a photographer in the early 1980's under the tutelage of Robert Frank, Bernice Abbot, and others. He had by then become, a real shutterbug, according to Bernice Abbot, snapping thousands of photos.



Here's another fairly typical request I used to get from Allen asking me to deal with some domestic crisis--this time on behalf of Marie Orlovsky, Peter Orlvosky's sister. I remember this one well as it took a lot of logistics to get her bathtub drained.

Allen took care of many people on a regular basis such as Gregory Corso, Herbert Hunke, the wonderful poet--Jimmy Schyler, Orlvosky & family, and anyone among his friends who had a basic need. Allen's non-profit, The Committee on Poetry issued modest weekly checks for some who often stopped by the office to collect. Hunke had a funny ingratiating style. Always impeccably dressed, he annoyed me with his complements on what I was wearing--totally phoney, as in those years it was all GAP T-shirts and jeans. Gregory was, well Gregory--mostly rude and ranting or really subdued if he was hurting. As much as he could be so obnoxious, I had a soft spot for Gregory who had a streak of almost Turretsian honesty. He would say the most wounding things. For years he refused actually to say my name because once in Boulder I refused to drive him to Denver to score drugs. He used to refer to me to Allen as the girl with the strange eyes.

Here's a snapshot I took of Gregory and Allen in my office at Naropa circa 1985 with Gregory's last born son. I was then assistant director of the summer programs with Jane Fiagao who, sadly, died a few years ago from breast cancer. We had fun in that office where a steady stream of faculty and students settled into the ugly black naugahyde couch opposite our desks. Once when two phones rang simultaneously on my desk, Phil Whalen sitting on that couch told me to "breathe" before I picked up the phones.

Classical Plastic

Looking for some transcripts for my thesis, came upon my stash of hundreds of notes from Allen saved from 1984-1994 beginning at Naropa and then for the five years I worked for him in his NYC office. Some like this one are funny in their office domesticity. This note is refering to the faux plastic marble sink in the Union Square office hidden away in a closet. My cat's water dish is made of a similar material and often feels slimy. I like his reference to classical plastic,ever the poet speaking.

Once in Boulder, Allen stayed at my house (actually Martha Bonzi's house where I lived) for one of his Spring Naropa visits. One day he took a message for me on the phone leaving a note. When I got home from work, I found the note and threw it away crumbled up in the nearby bathroom waste basket. Allen must have retrieved it because later it resurfaced when he told me that I might want to save anything with his handwriting. From then on, I saved everything he ever wrote me with direct address. I have close to 400 Dear Jacqueline notes. I thought of selling them but that doesn't really agree with me. Will probably send them to Stanford with all his other material. But it's fun to look them over as a triger for recollection.

My Love

Old Dog Contemplating the Sky

BLOOD-STAINED MOON

One held the knife
another the sword
and I held your hand
to warm my hand.

My love, my love, I'll speak to you now
about the time of joy, about freedom.
My love, my love, in the bitter country
the north wind will stop blowing, the sky will clear.

The moon is blood-stained
the sun is dark
and in the night I wait
for the sky to open again.

My love, my love, I'll speak to you now
about the time of joy, about freedom.
My love, my love, in the bitter country
the north wind will stop blowing, the sky will clear.

Sung by Maria Farantouri

Greek composer, Mikos Theodorakis, once said that a song is more powerful than any tank. Throughout his career, he has continued to uplift the world of sorrow with his musical compositions, often sung by Maria Farandouri.

Poetrymind Podcast #1

This is my first podcast so a bit rough and done without a script. I'm looking forward to interviews and more podcasts.