Peter Orlovsky's Memorial September 22, 2010

PHOTO: Philip Glass and Patti Smith performing Ginsberg'e poem, "On the Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa"

A You Tube variation here:




Peter Orlovsky's memorial at St. Mark's Church on September 22, 2010 brought together the extended family of Allen and Peter for a final farewell. We began the evening by meeting outside The Thirsty Scholar before making our way to Vaselka's famous Ukrainian restaurant on Second Ave for dinner and then on to the church for the memorial.


Here are some photos from the evening.


PHOTO: Anne Waldman and Family



PHOTO: Peter Hale of the Allen Ginsberg Trust who organized the event


PHOTO: Juanita Lieberman & friend outside The Thirsty Scholar


PHOTO: Gordon Ball


PHOTO: Steven Taylor



PHOTO: Shiv Mirabito & Andy Clausen



PHOTO: Ambrose Bye and Anne Waldman performing Peter's St. Francis poem


PHOTO: Miriam Sanders & Bill Morgon


PHOTO: Bev Isis and Peter Hale


PHOTO: Juanita & Ed Sanders


PHOTO: Rosebud & Bill Morgan


PHOTO: Juanita and Robert Frank

The Red Silk Scarf by Barbara Paparazzo

I am happy to announce that Barbara Paparazzo's chapbook, The Red Silk Scarf, has been published by Shivastan Publishing ( Woodstock & Nepal) The Red Silk Scarf is the record of a pilgrimage to Bodhgaya, India, showing how grief can become an opening into something larger than ourselves.

The chapbook is $12 including shipping. To order, please contact Barbara Paparazzo at blp@stuaf.umass.edu.

(Excerpt]

[12]

Not knowing better, we hired
a blue canoe and rowed
through reflections of snow-capped
Himalayas
to a small Hindu temple
where black and white goats played
in the sunshine. We snapped
pictures, sat on sun-warmed rocks
& admired the animals about to be
sacrificed, we found out later
& all that gamboling turned inside out
reminding me of that slice
unexpected, brutal
between my life when you were alive
and my life now.
Two pieces, both dead.

Memorial Reading for Peter Orlovsky (1933-2010) at St. Mark's Church on September 22, 2010

There will be a memorial Reading for poet, Peter Orlovsky on Wednesday, September 22, 8pm. St. Mark's Church. 10th St at 2nd Ave, NYC. The event is free.

Peter Orlovsky (July 8,1933-May 30, 2010) Poet, singer, farmer, yodeler, banjo-picker, Buddhist practitioner, Allen Ginsberg's lifelong-companion, Kerouac's Simon Darlovsky in Desolation Angels & George in The Dharma Bums, the generous & wonderfully whimsical Peter Orlovsky, was an unforgettable & hugely colorful presence in the East Village, and in and around the Poetry Project.

Please join us in a night of music, video, song and poetry, as some of his closest friends pay tribute to him including: Chuck Lief - Philip Glass - Ed Sanders - Steven Taylor - Hal Willner - Janine Pommy Vega - Andy Clausen - Patti Smith - Anne Waldman - Gordon Ball - Rosebud Pettet - Simon Pettet - Bill Morgan - Anselm Berrigan - John Godfrey - and others TBA

The following photos were taken at Peter's Sukhavati ceremony at Karme Choling, June 2, 2010



Photo: left to right: Peter Hale, Bev Isis, Bill Morgan, and Juanita Plimpton (nee Lieberman)


Photo: Juanita, Anne Waldman, and Bev in the Karme Choling Parking lot.


Photo: "Wake" in the packed shrine room at Karme Choling after Peter's Sukhavati

Account of Peter's Death by poet and long time friend, Anne Waldman who was able to be with him at the time of his death during her residency at the Vermont Studio Center :

Death of Peter Orlovsky “The Shellean farmer astride hid Pegasusian tractor” as Gregory Corso once knighted him passed on today, May 30 2010 to the elysian fields, a bardo of becoming. First glance hour earlier Peter was resting with “trach” in throat in orange sheets at the kind Vt Respite Center in Williston, Vermont ( but no extra tubes/ heroic measures for this advanced cancer on his lung!), a copy of the Songs of Saraha by his pillow, photo of beloved Allen Ginsberg companion of many years on the wall, other Buddhist images, iPod of music he loved including chants by Buddhist nuns, cards from friends and out the window a bird feeder with finch and red-winged blackbirds landing/taking off. Chuck and Judith Lief, faithful guardians and friends at his side. He had been moved less than 48 hours earlier from intensive care at a hospital in Boston, finally to hospice. His body we were touching we noticed suddenly turned cold like death was in the room. We got the nurse. Judy and I stepped out when suddenly Chuck called us back. Peter had opened his eyes. Chuck said “It might be the last time”. By his side now, looking into his eyes told out love, I thanked him for his presence in our lives, his poetry his care and love for Allen, his work at Naropa. Ah, I thought a flash of recognition shivering through! slight movement of mouth, light coming in on his handsome face through the window now, and Judy singing om a hum vajra guua padma siddhi hum in crystal voice said “don’t be afraid”. Joined in. Last breathes, one coming late, staggered: his heart/breath stopt. Poet Christina Lovin in room with nurse gave gentle witness who checked the clock 11:39 I think or so a.m. Earlier we’d played recording of Peter singing his Raspberry Song with great heart-soaring yodel and “how sweet you are”. “Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired and handsome felt” ( “The Snail”). Tibetan Book of the Dead readings, in full final repose arranged with blue shirt, hands folded, consciousness a joyful gardener sprite? no fear, no fear working its way out… Anne Waldman 5.30.2010 Vt Studio Center

Photo: Peter looking peaceful in the Karme Choling shrine room.



Photo: Peter with rose petals in honor of his gesture upon Allen's Sukhavati in 1997.


The following links provide additional information or memorials:

Internment of Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky's Ashes at Shambhala Mountain Center, August 28, 2010


"Impossible Happiness: An Eulogy for Peter Orlovsky" by Steve Silberman


Visit Facebook group: "Our Allen"

Year of the Iron Tiger

Year of the Iron Tiger

Be prepared for uncharted fields
in the wild. Brace yourself to stalk
the prey of wandering thoughts
before you pounce
that old enemy—distraction,
all those frivolous wisps of hope and fear
hidden among weeds of mind.

Crouch low
Keep your nose to the ground

Smell wind
Hear the rustle of ignorance
when hungry to ambush
that wildebeest of one’s own rage.

Growl at adversity in the night
By day drink from the spring of Refuge
Flash your tiger’s teeth at enemies
Guard your pride with ease among outcrops.

Then, let your steely gaze ignite the fire
of impenetrable essence –
Awake in the blaze.


Jacqueline Gens
Conway, MA
Losar 2010

[unformatted version}

Moment to Moment

How did you like Jurassic Park, I ask the old lama?
It's like the Bardo only the Bardo is worse

For J & AM ...........May We R.I.P.

This morning H. Smith, my diabetes counselor
captures my poetic sensibility when he tells me that Byetta,
the miracle drug for lowering blood glucose
comes from the saliva of the Gila monster
a sort of reptilian bodhisattva though
repugnant creature-- sluggish, ugly, and foul,
Like all losers I fantasize that my April first
Powerball is a winner
I see my seaside cottage overgrown with Rose of Sharon
rose hip clusters at the weathered picket fence, air scented
with salt, kelp and sweet grasses
distant laughter carried over the swoosh of ocean sounds

                          I’m happiest here, in my primal memory from growing up  on 

             the Pacific coast.

I’ve already gifted poet friends, given millions
                                                                      to a Cambodian girls

recovery fund from sexual bondage in brothels.

             I know my charities
I want to walk barefoot
           on pristine hardwood floors accented by plush
oriental carpets
                                     a high bed looking out to sea through gossamer curtains.

my own movie almost as good as the real thing,.

It’s all I have

     I’m already exhausted imagining it all.

     I’m not surprised you consider me “crazy” or “power hungry,” 

a “malicious liar”—I’ve been called worse.

            Remember “dear ones” every projection is a T-Rex
            Chasing you down in the bardo corridor

when you’re lost in Juarez without a name.
oooxxxx    Won’t MATTER HERE
on the back streets of Old Weird America.

    I cleaned my fridge down on haunches emptying out fetid fruits, 

veggies, and brown labia sprouting barnacles

          My disregard for the world’s hungry shameless

MY MIND A Garbage

Bag

I remember her once before things got complicated
she wore his fedora hat when we were in Mexico
still      humble       in    awe of the company and her lover

the poet, ugly as a toad,  who sang of my scrambled eggs
I hand picked from the market
                                   each night sipping tequila from thumbnails
                       before the fireplace

swapping tales of poet scandals.

But it’s the old man leaning on a wall
I conjure
basking in the first rays of the sun *
misery dissolved
as he lifts his brown face upward

free from the moment.


*The old man basking in the sun is a traditional metaphor for rigpa or primordial wisdom

Jacqueline Gens

Brattleboro, VT

7/4/09