sixties beat-poet

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Thread: sixties beat-poet

  1. #1

    sixties beat-poet

    .
    reciting a song
    of the times
    without the rhymes

    with a tendency
    to over-enunciate
    appropriately bombastic

    chipping in
    with their two cents
    ripping down a fence
    tripping the fantastic

    so up and ascend
    to the revolution
    of the stars
    and stripes

    only to descend
    helter skelter
    through waste pipes
    spilling pollution
    into a far
    eastern delta

    the backdrop of war
    to the soundtrack of the doors
    of perception
    with one exception

    the cafe-poets, hippies and bums
    that hang with revelation
    on the tips of their tongues

    that never comes
    Last edited by ned; March 16th, 2019 at 11:49 AM. Reason: work-shopped
    find the sublime within the murk
    then throw in a rhyme to make it work

  2. #2
    A critique of a poetic era? I don't read poetry so I can't comment on that. I'll take your word for it. It did evoke the empty promise of the sixties: Aquarius, enlightenment through embracing new ideas, abandoning old forms, revelation through drugs, communes, not trusting anyone over thirty, hair growing out of everywhere- the men, too, not making any money, not bathing...

    Uncle Ben's- that's instant rice. Did you just mean like rice? Because that's a brand here, originally based on a slave trope, like aunt Jemima, which I'm not complaining about. Just that you used uncle bens which is a brand.

    Soundtrack- "...with one exception." Not familiar with what that exception is, which made me wonder. I know the Doors ( band), and have some inkling of Huxley ( was it? ) doors of perception.
    Revelation that never comes. Yes, where is it?

  3. #3
    while I usually do not like three/four word lines, it works here for this poem...for some reason I really am not sure why, this poem reminded me of "I am 25" by G. Corso about the old poetmen...when and reread that poem after reading this...so any poem that sets me off after other poems is worth reading in my book...even if I had to breathe through my rising initial indignation. beat poetry is just about where it all began for me as a man teen.

    Thanks for the read ned.

  4. #4
    Love the way you captured the mood and vibe of that time... I was thinking it was more of a 70's thing...
    She lost herself in the trees,
    among the ever-changing leaves.
    She wept beneath the wild sky
    as stars told stories of ancient times.
    The flowers grew toward her light,
    the river called her name at night.
    She could not live an ordinary life,
    with the mysteries of the universe
    hidden in her eyes....
    Author: Christy Ann Martine

    Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
    love leaves a memory no one can steal....
    Author unknown.

  5. #5
    Hi, ned. You navigated this poem straight into port.

    As closures go much thought is to be had. Here you come off as if in a cinch. I normally don't care for end ryhmes but here yours are far from the nursery.

    "the cafe-poets, hippies and bums
    that who hang with revelation
    on the tips of their tongues

    that never comes"


    I'd give thought to the third stanza. All I could envision was one of what I call the "box people" - like the "Morten Salt Girl" etc. Thows off all the great stuff here.

    I'd reconsider your title. Beat Poets were jazzing in the late 50's into the early 60's. So just suggesting keeping title to "beat-poet" or whatever else suits you.


    Shame on me for not getting to a beat poem. I lived in Greenwich
    Villiage for years and hung out at places like "Kettle of Fish" where Kerouac got beat up after leaving the bar - his head smacked to the curb, his nose broken.

    I love that era....
    “The man who cannot visualize a horse galloping on a tomato is an idiot.”
    Andre Breton

  6. #6
    hello - thank you all for reading and commenting

    yes, the uncle ben's verse- my idea of a parody of 'every grain separate and full of flavour'
    that nobody seemed to swallow - so I've changed it

    you lived in Greenwich Village Silver? - far out....

    appreciate the input...........Ned
    find the sublime within the murk
    then throw in a rhyme to make it work

  7. #7
    Dig *snap, snap*

    "Now let's all agree, never to be creative again."




  8. #8
    WF Veteran Bloggsworth's Avatar
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    Being fortunate to live in a country which kept out of the lunacy I'm reading it far removed. The poem seems, over the 5th and 6th verses, to stumble and lose the excellent rhythm it started with - Too many words to paraphrase the Emperor's remark to Mr Mozart.

    only to descend
    helter skelter
    through waste pipes
    spilling pollution
    into a far
    eastern delta

    the backdrop of war
    to the soundtrack of the doors
    of perception
    with one exception

    Perhaps something along the lines of:

    only to descend
    helter skelter
    through waste pipes
    spilling pollution
    into an eastern delta

    the backdrop of war
    to the soundtrack of Doors,
    of perception,
    with one exception
    A man in possession of a wooden spoon must be in want of a pot to stir.

  9. #9
    hello Bloggs - thanks for commenting

    not sure what lunacy you're referring too - but this slice of 1960's USA culture went global.

    in your revision, you've dropped two small words - but the honesty has been sacrificed.

    for me, it has to be far eastern - and it has to be the doors

    cheers...................Ned
    find the sublime within the murk
    then throw in a rhyme to make it work

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