BOOK REVIEW: The Beats: A Very Short Introduction by David Sterritt

The Beats: A Very Short IntroductionThe Beats: A Very Short Introduction by David Sterritt
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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This is the most fascinating book I’ve read in the VSI (Very Short Introductions) series, and I read a lot of these books as a means to mainline the gist of various academic subjects. I should point out that the subject matter is more colorful than the average scholarly topic. The Beats were a 1950’s American countercultural literary movement that some may confuse with the hippies of the 60’s, but which was different in many ways. As is emphasized in the book, the Beats were more about revolutions from within than they were about upending society. In that sense, they might have more in common with the Transcendentalists (i.e. Emerson, Thoreau, etc.) than the hippies. That said, some Beats did flow pretty smoothly from one movement to the next, and were both interested in revolution from within and without – most notably, Allen Ginsberg.

The first thing that one finds compelling is the biographical sketches of key Beat figures (i.e. chapters 3 and 4 on Beat novelists and poets, respectively.) A disturbing number of Beats lived tragically short lives, owing to drugs, alcohol (e.g. Kerouac,) and sometimes just being around a violent contrarian. Even the Beats who lived long lives had their share of outlandishness, such as William Burroughs killing his wife, Joan Vollmer, in an ill-fate William Tell imitation. (Those who know Burroughs from later in his career may wonder why he even had a wife, being gay and all. That’s just one of the ways that hidden, latent, and repressed homosexuality plays out as tragedy in the Beat story of the socially conservative 1950’s.)

The second thing I found absorbing was the discussion of how these writers and poets made art. Like the aforementioned Transcendentalists, the Beats drew heavily on Eastern philosophies and psychologies – most notably Buddhism, and Zen, in particular. Beat authors not only looked to the East for subject matter and aesthetics, but also to help them achieve the spontaneity and nowness associated with Zen. However, this wasn’t wholesale conversion to Buddhism, it remained a uniquely American strain, and also sought to draw inspiration from that most American of arts, Jazz.

If you’re interested in the Beats or their approach to writing, I’d highly recommend reading this book.


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Visionary Poets [Free Verse]

Blake had visions of angels
&
Ginsberg had visions of Blake

I'm sure some 
angelheaded post-Hippie hipster 
has had, or will have had,
 visions of Ginsberg,

But who are Blake's angels hallucinating?

Maybe the angels have no eyes
and have
visionless visions 
of visionary poets?

Cemetery Walk [Free Verse]

And in the end,
the dead are still
and the graveyard's quiet
is not so bad.

The monuments weather;
in due time,
letters become less crisp
&
dates become debatable.

A clean read means
there maybe someone 
left to mourn.

And fresh flowers mean that someone
has tracked their melancholy 
through the place,
and the air feels heavier,
and my mind feels heavier.

And I read names:
familiar & not,
popular & not.

I read names to distract me
from thoughts of my own dead --
to avoid tracking my own melancholy
through the place.

For, you see,
I've brought no flowers.

In Medias Res [Free Verse]

Journeys start with a cattle-prod jolt 
& a kick in the soul --
not at an airport,
or a ferry dock,
or a taxi stand,
or at the curb.

By the time you've gotten that far,
you're already traveling.

By the time you've "decided" to go,
you're already traveling. 

Travel begins earlier,
if in the dark,
because travel is not a dream,
&
only dreams start 
in the middle of nonsense.

Real life flows down 
a continuous and unbroken
stream of nonsense, 
drifting at a rate slow enough 
for your brain to make a movie of
rationalizations,
so that your brain can tell you: 
that you're in control,
that you know what's going on,
that you know what will happen next,
&
assorted and sundry bullshit like that. 

Chicory Dance [Haiku]

chicory -
its little blue flowers sway,
 dancing with stems

River Trance [Common Meter]

I sit on a green grass riverside,
watching brown waters flow.
Some karst monoliths stand behind
in which scrubby shrubs grow.

I feel my mind could be swept on
down to the sprawling sea,
while my body would stay behind
asleep with back to tree.

And panic and freedom both rise -
untethered from earth's hold.
As I see the future and the past
blended at the threshold.

And space, like time, has no meaning --
just an amorphous blob.
I awaken gasping spastically,
my pulse in a wild throb.

BOOK REVIEW: Fresh Out of the Sky by George Szirtes

Fresh Out of the SkyFresh Out of the Sky by George Szirtes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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This is a collection of nested poems and other short creative writings of varied formats. There are four sections in the book, each with parts and sub-parts. The titular work, “Fresh Out of the Sky,” consists of five parts, each having five parts in turn. It explores memories of an immigrant childhood and being “Citizens of nowhere.” [Szirtes was Hungarian born but his family moved to England in 1956, the year of the uprising that was brutally suppressed by the Soviets.]

The second section, “Inside the Yellow Room,” has an eerie surrealism to it that I found unexpectedly intense. The penultimate, “Going Viral,” touches on the present-day pandemic world while continuing to revisit memories in a hazy, ethereal sort of way. The last section, “Five Interludes” has the tightest interconnectedness of themes, touching upon breath, dreams, and the animal-human world at turns.

I enjoyed this collection, finding it evocative, phantasmagoric, and nostalgic.


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Cold Shore [Free Verse]

Was it a lifetime ago,
or was it a dream?

I remember it being a 
long drive to a cold shore.

And I sat alone
on that shore,
and I sought a shark --
not out in the waters,
but within myself. 

Finding nothing,
I felt the thing to do
was to 
rattle in rhythm with
the twisted hustle of
pounding waves,

and I awoke, 
shivering under piercing
points of light
that somehow felt cold,
& 
made me feel cold -
deep inside.

Pale Blue [Haiku]

pale skies stretch 
across the great beyond,
dwarfing an angler

The Over / Under on Clouds [Haiku]

a dark cloud 
down in the valley
shines white from the ridge