Frost, Cummings, Ginsberg
ROBERT FROST
Although commonly associated with New England, Frost was born in San Francisco. He was born on March 26, 1874 and died on January 29, 1963. His father was a former teacher turned newspaper man, hard drinker, gambler, and harsh disciplinarian who had a passion for politics. Frost lived in CA until age 11, when he moved to Massachusetts to live near his grandparents with his mother and sister. He attended Dartmouth College in 1892 but only stayed for 1 semester. He went to work at various jobs; in 1894, he sold his first poem "My Butterfly" for $15. He married his highschool sweetheard Elinor White in 1895.
Frost and his wife taught school together until 1897; he then entered Harvard and was there for 2 years... he did well, but he was sick, and his wife was pregnant, so he moved home. They lived on a farm in New Hamphshire, bought for them by his grandfather, for 9 years. It was there that he worte many of the poems that would make up his first works. However, he was not a successful farmer and went back to teaching.
In 1912, the family went on a trip to England and settled in Beaconsfield just outside of London. His first book of poetry, "A Boy's Will" was published in 1913. Ezra Pound was the first American to write a good review of Frost's poetry. He returned to New Hamphshire in 1915 to launch a career in writing, teaching, and lecturing. He was an English Professor at Amherst College from 1916-1938 and encouraged his students to "bring the sound of the human voice" to their writing. Beginning in 1921, he spent his summers (for 42 years) teaching at Middlebury College in Ripton, Vermont. His farm near there is maintained as a National Historic Site. He is bureid in Vermont. He received an honorary degree from Harvard, as well as oens from Bates College, Oxford, and Cambridge. He has a middle school and the library of Amherst College named after him.
IN 1961, he recited his work "The Gift Outright" at the inauguration of JFK. He won the Pulitzer Prize 4 times, a great accomplishment for a poet.
"Birches"
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
E.E. Cummings
October 14, 1894-September 3, 1962. He was an American poet, painter, esssayist, and playwright. He even wrote children's books. He is known for his unconventional capitalizations and punctutations, but he did not approve of his name being written in lower case letters (e.e. cummings), as it often is.
Unorthodox describes his capitalization, layout, puntuation, and syntax; he uses lower case extensively, has word gaps, line breaks, misplaced or ommitted punctuation marks, interrupted sentences, and purposely uses strange grammar and word order. It is fair to say that Cummings' poems are best understood when "read on the page". While he has an affinithy for avant garde styles and unusual typography, much of his work is "traditional". For example, he writes sonnets and acrostics. His poems often deal with teh themes of love, nature, and the relationship of the individual to the masses and to the world... he often uses satire. During his lifetime, he published over 900 poems and is remembered as one of the preeminent voices of 20th century poetry.
His early influences were the Imagists... and then after visits to Paris, Dada and Surrealism. The DADA movement took place from 1916-1923 and is marked by nonsense and incongruity-- a display of contempt for conventions. Surrealism is a 20th century movement that attempts to express the working s of the subconscous by fantastic imagery and incongrous juxtaposition of subject matter (think Salvador Dali)! http://thepassionatepursuit.com/images/weblog/08-06-21-lexus-salvador-dali.jpg
While he does stick to structure for many of his poems, he does also write in the FREE VERSE, with no recognizable rhyme or scansion. As a painter, he understood the importance of presentation and often used typography to "paint a picture" with his poems. This is why meaning and emotion become clear only when the poem is viewed.... something is lost when read aloud. He also uses intentional misspellings-- some poems feature phonetic spelling sto represent particular dialects. Many of his poems address social issues and satirize society-- but he has an equal bias toward Romanticism (this can be observed in his many poems that celebrate love, sex, and spring).
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
with by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Although commonly associated with New England, Frost was born in San Francisco. He was born on March 26, 1874 and died on January 29, 1963. His father was a former teacher turned newspaper man, hard drinker, gambler, and harsh disciplinarian who had a passion for politics. Frost lived in CA until age 11, when he moved to Massachusetts to live near his grandparents with his mother and sister. He attended Dartmouth College in 1892 but only stayed for 1 semester. He went to work at various jobs; in 1894, he sold his first poem "My Butterfly" for $15. He married his highschool sweetheard Elinor White in 1895.
Frost and his wife taught school together until 1897; he then entered Harvard and was there for 2 years... he did well, but he was sick, and his wife was pregnant, so he moved home. They lived on a farm in New Hamphshire, bought for them by his grandfather, for 9 years. It was there that he worte many of the poems that would make up his first works. However, he was not a successful farmer and went back to teaching.
In 1912, the family went on a trip to England and settled in Beaconsfield just outside of London. His first book of poetry, "A Boy's Will" was published in 1913. Ezra Pound was the first American to write a good review of Frost's poetry. He returned to New Hamphshire in 1915 to launch a career in writing, teaching, and lecturing. He was an English Professor at Amherst College from 1916-1938 and encouraged his students to "bring the sound of the human voice" to their writing. Beginning in 1921, he spent his summers (for 42 years) teaching at Middlebury College in Ripton, Vermont. His farm near there is maintained as a National Historic Site. He is bureid in Vermont. He received an honorary degree from Harvard, as well as oens from Bates College, Oxford, and Cambridge. He has a middle school and the library of Amherst College named after him.
IN 1961, he recited his work "The Gift Outright" at the inauguration of JFK. He won the Pulitzer Prize 4 times, a great accomplishment for a poet.
"Birches"
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
E.E. Cummings
October 14, 1894-September 3, 1962. He was an American poet, painter, esssayist, and playwright. He even wrote children's books. He is known for his unconventional capitalizations and punctutations, but he did not approve of his name being written in lower case letters (e.e. cummings), as it often is.
Unorthodox describes his capitalization, layout, puntuation, and syntax; he uses lower case extensively, has word gaps, line breaks, misplaced or ommitted punctuation marks, interrupted sentences, and purposely uses strange grammar and word order. It is fair to say that Cummings' poems are best understood when "read on the page". While he has an affinithy for avant garde styles and unusual typography, much of his work is "traditional". For example, he writes sonnets and acrostics. His poems often deal with teh themes of love, nature, and the relationship of the individual to the masses and to the world... he often uses satire. During his lifetime, he published over 900 poems and is remembered as one of the preeminent voices of 20th century poetry.
His early influences were the Imagists... and then after visits to Paris, Dada and Surrealism. The DADA movement took place from 1916-1923 and is marked by nonsense and incongruity-- a display of contempt for conventions. Surrealism is a 20th century movement that attempts to express the working s of the subconscous by fantastic imagery and incongrous juxtaposition of subject matter (think Salvador Dali)! http://thepassionatepursuit.com/images/weblog/08-06-21-lexus-salvador-dali.jpg
While he does stick to structure for many of his poems, he does also write in the FREE VERSE, with no recognizable rhyme or scansion. As a painter, he understood the importance of presentation and often used typography to "paint a picture" with his poems. This is why meaning and emotion become clear only when the poem is viewed.... something is lost when read aloud. He also uses intentional misspellings-- some poems feature phonetic spelling sto represent particular dialects. Many of his poems address social issues and satirize society-- but he has an equal bias toward Romanticism (this can be observed in his many poems that celebrate love, sex, and spring).
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
with by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Ginsberg
Erwin Allen Ginsberg: June 3, 1926-April 5, 1997. He was an American "Beat" poet born in Newark, New Jersey. His best known work is "Howl" (1956), a long poem about "consumer society's negative human values". He was politically active; he was also gay.
He was born to a Jewish family; his father Louis was a poet and his mother Naomi was a high school teacher; she was afflcited with epileptic seizures and mental illnesses (such as paranoia) . She was an active member of the Communist Party and often took her children to meetings.
In his teen years, he began to write letters to the "New York Times" about political issues such as WWII, worker's rights, etc. It was also at this time that he began reading Walt Whitman and was very influenced by his works. One event that shaped his life was going with his mother to her therapist (he was in Jr. High at the time). This disturbed him, and he recounted the session and the relationship with his mother in his long, autobiographical poem "Kaddish for Naomi Ginsberg (1894-1956)". He spent 8 months in a mental institution himself, where he met Carl Solomon-- this is the Carl referred to in "Howl".
He graduated HS in 1943 and went on to Montclair Sate University then Columbia University (on scholarship). In his freshman year there, he met Lucien Carr, who introduced him to future beat writers including Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Neal Cassady... Ginsberg loved Cassady, and in Keroac's famous 1957 novel "On the Road", he describes their meeting. In 1954, Ginsberg met Peter Orlovsky, who was 21 at the time; they fell in love and remained life-long lovers. They became interested in Tibetan Buddhism, which also shaped his work.
Ginsberg, through his career, would "form a bridge between the beat movement of the 1950's and the hippie culture of the 1960's"; some of his friends were Timothy Leary, Gregory Corso, Ken Kesey, and Bob Dylan. In 1965, he was deported from Cuba for publicly protesting against their anti-marijuana stance and for their policy of jailing homosexuals; he also referred to the revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevera as "cute". The Cubans sent him to Czechoslovakia where he was labeled a "moral menace" and deported.
He remains an inspiration to musicians and poets alike. In 1982, he was featured on "Ghetto Defendant", a song by The Clash. Rage Against the Machine often performed "hadda be Playin' on a Jukebox" (a Ginsberg poem) at their concerts... it can be found on their "Live & Rare" album. He is also referred to in the broadway musical "Rent" int he song "La Vie Boheme".
His poetry was storngly influenced by Modernism, Romanticism, Buddhism, his Jewish background, and Jazz. He considered himself the next link in the chain of "homoerotic visionary" from Blake to Whitman-- then on to Ginsberg. William Carlos Williams was another inspiration to Ginsberg. His poetry is powerful, marked by long lines and "searching, probing focus", as well as an "exhuberance" that all echoes the inspirations that he claimed to have.
"Howl" is well-known for its opening line "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness". It was considered scandelous for the time due to the raw, explicit language of the poem. It was published in 1956 by "City Lights Bookstore", and shortly after, it was banned for obscenity. It was the center of a First Amendment fight that ended in the judge deeming the poem to "possess redeeming social importance", thus the ban was lifted. However, Ginsberg's leftist and anti-establishment politics did not go unnoticed by the government; he was trailed by the FBI who regarded him as a "security threat".
He also played a key role in a famous 1965 Vietnam War protest at Oakland-Berkeley. He wanted to ensure that the protest of several thousand marchers would not be violently interrupted by the notorious motorcycle gang "Hell's Angels" and their leader, Sonny Barger. At a smaller protest the day before, there was tension, and Sonny promised to disrupt the planned march. Ginsberg (along with Ken Kesey) went to Barger's home in Oakland to talk; it is rumored that he offered Barger and the Angels LSD as a gesture of friendship and goodwill. Barger and the Angels were impressed by their courage adn vowed not to atttack the protest the next day.
Early on, Ginsberg would report having "spontaneous visions". A trip to India and a chance encouter on a NYC street with Chogyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist meditation master who became his life-long friend and teacher, solidified his spiritual beliefs and practices. Chogyam founded Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, and Ginsberg would help to found the "Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics" there. Ginsberg's poetry readings were quite remarkable-- and always packed. He accompanied himself on a handheld organ (a harmonium) and somtimes a guitarist; music and chanting were integral parts of his readings. He was popular all over the world.
He won the National Book Award for "The Fall of America". In 1993, the French Minister of Culture awareded him the medal of the Order of Arts and Letters. Throughout the 90's, up until his death in 1997, he remained a political, and gay rights, activist.
He died on April 5, 1997, surrounded by his fmily and friends in his East Village loft in NYC. He succumbed to liver cancer via complications of Hepatitis. He was 70 years old.
"A Supermarket in California"
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
Berkeley, 1955
He was born to a Jewish family; his father Louis was a poet and his mother Naomi was a high school teacher; she was afflcited with epileptic seizures and mental illnesses (such as paranoia) . She was an active member of the Communist Party and often took her children to meetings.
In his teen years, he began to write letters to the "New York Times" about political issues such as WWII, worker's rights, etc. It was also at this time that he began reading Walt Whitman and was very influenced by his works. One event that shaped his life was going with his mother to her therapist (he was in Jr. High at the time). This disturbed him, and he recounted the session and the relationship with his mother in his long, autobiographical poem "Kaddish for Naomi Ginsberg (1894-1956)". He spent 8 months in a mental institution himself, where he met Carl Solomon-- this is the Carl referred to in "Howl".
He graduated HS in 1943 and went on to Montclair Sate University then Columbia University (on scholarship). In his freshman year there, he met Lucien Carr, who introduced him to future beat writers including Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Neal Cassady... Ginsberg loved Cassady, and in Keroac's famous 1957 novel "On the Road", he describes their meeting. In 1954, Ginsberg met Peter Orlovsky, who was 21 at the time; they fell in love and remained life-long lovers. They became interested in Tibetan Buddhism, which also shaped his work.
Ginsberg, through his career, would "form a bridge between the beat movement of the 1950's and the hippie culture of the 1960's"; some of his friends were Timothy Leary, Gregory Corso, Ken Kesey, and Bob Dylan. In 1965, he was deported from Cuba for publicly protesting against their anti-marijuana stance and for their policy of jailing homosexuals; he also referred to the revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevera as "cute". The Cubans sent him to Czechoslovakia where he was labeled a "moral menace" and deported.
He remains an inspiration to musicians and poets alike. In 1982, he was featured on "Ghetto Defendant", a song by The Clash. Rage Against the Machine often performed "hadda be Playin' on a Jukebox" (a Ginsberg poem) at their concerts... it can be found on their "Live & Rare" album. He is also referred to in the broadway musical "Rent" int he song "La Vie Boheme".
His poetry was storngly influenced by Modernism, Romanticism, Buddhism, his Jewish background, and Jazz. He considered himself the next link in the chain of "homoerotic visionary" from Blake to Whitman-- then on to Ginsberg. William Carlos Williams was another inspiration to Ginsberg. His poetry is powerful, marked by long lines and "searching, probing focus", as well as an "exhuberance" that all echoes the inspirations that he claimed to have.
"Howl" is well-known for its opening line "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness". It was considered scandelous for the time due to the raw, explicit language of the poem. It was published in 1956 by "City Lights Bookstore", and shortly after, it was banned for obscenity. It was the center of a First Amendment fight that ended in the judge deeming the poem to "possess redeeming social importance", thus the ban was lifted. However, Ginsberg's leftist and anti-establishment politics did not go unnoticed by the government; he was trailed by the FBI who regarded him as a "security threat".
He also played a key role in a famous 1965 Vietnam War protest at Oakland-Berkeley. He wanted to ensure that the protest of several thousand marchers would not be violently interrupted by the notorious motorcycle gang "Hell's Angels" and their leader, Sonny Barger. At a smaller protest the day before, there was tension, and Sonny promised to disrupt the planned march. Ginsberg (along with Ken Kesey) went to Barger's home in Oakland to talk; it is rumored that he offered Barger and the Angels LSD as a gesture of friendship and goodwill. Barger and the Angels were impressed by their courage adn vowed not to atttack the protest the next day.
Early on, Ginsberg would report having "spontaneous visions". A trip to India and a chance encouter on a NYC street with Chogyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist meditation master who became his life-long friend and teacher, solidified his spiritual beliefs and practices. Chogyam founded Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, and Ginsberg would help to found the "Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics" there. Ginsberg's poetry readings were quite remarkable-- and always packed. He accompanied himself on a handheld organ (a harmonium) and somtimes a guitarist; music and chanting were integral parts of his readings. He was popular all over the world.
He won the National Book Award for "The Fall of America". In 1993, the French Minister of Culture awareded him the medal of the Order of Arts and Letters. Throughout the 90's, up until his death in 1997, he remained a political, and gay rights, activist.
He died on April 5, 1997, surrounded by his fmily and friends in his East Village loft in NYC. He succumbed to liver cancer via complications of Hepatitis. He was 70 years old.
"A Supermarket in California"
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
Berkeley, 1955