Looking Back at the Beat Generation by A.D. Winans

Generally speaking, counter-culture describes the values and norms of behavior of a cultural group or subculture in conflict with those of the cultural mainstream of the day, a visible phenomenon that reaches critical mass and persists for some time.
Jack Micheline & A.D.Winans by Linda Lerner
The Beat Generation was composed of a group of American poets and writers who first congregated in New York and later joined their West Coast brothers and sisters.  The movement became prominent in the 1950s and 1960s. The Beats engaged in spontaneity, passionate dialogue, open sexuality, and experimentation with drugs. Their work reflected this and it began to infiltrate the established literary magazines. The influence of the Beats on postmodern literature is undeniable. I grew up in the 1950s, in an era in which you were expected to be a logically thinking, level-headed individual whose purpose was to work hard, raise a family, and be patriotic to your country.  It was a society of rules, order, and materialism.  There was little if any room for individualistic behavior. As the Fifties progressed, the Beat movement began to emerge.  It had its roots in New York (Greenwich Village) and San Francisco (North Beach).  The Beats openly challenged and defied the established order.  They spoke out in opposition to what America represented, as they rebelled against everything the Establishment stood for: the repression of dissent in the name of militarism, racism, materialism, and conformity. 

Bob Kaufman personifies the true meaning of the Beat spirit.  He was one of the original Beat voices to come out of the Fifties and is rightfully considered by many to be the most influential black poet of his era, though his poetry transcends race identification.   Like many of the Beats, he started out in New York and later found his way to San Francisco's North Beach. While Allen Ginsberg was reading his poetry to large audiences, Kaufman chose another path, becoming the undisputed street poet, who frequented the Co-existence Bagel Shop, located on Grant and Green. His poetic technique resembles the surreal school of poets, ranging from a powerful, lyrical vision to the more prophetic tone found in his political poems.  Kaufman considered himself a Buddhist. He believed a poet had a call to a higher order. He lived a life of spirituality. He denounced materialism.

Allen Ginsberg
People flocked to the Co-existence Bagel Shop in the hope of seeing him read.  He delighted the audience by jumping up on one of the tables and reciting a newly written poem, or by reading poems from the master poets, such as Eliot, Pound, and Blake.  When he read, there was total silence.  The audience hung on his every word. His fate was sealed, however, the day he wrote on the walls of the Bagel Shop, "Adolph Hitler, growing tired of fooling around with Eva Braun, and burning Jews, moved to San Francisco and became a cop."  This was the beginning of his regularly being harassed by the police and frequently receiving beatings at the old Kearny Street Hall of Justice.   By the late Sixties he had fallen victim to drugs and forced shock treatments at New York's Bellevue Hospital and was but a shell of what he had been in the Fifties.

The Beats were among the first to fictionalize and embellish their lives to readers worldwide who thrived on the experiences of the authors.  By the late Fifties they had cemented their role in the New American Counterculture but, much to their dismay, it was their "lifestyle," rather than their art, that began to take center stage. What distinguished them from ordinary malcontents was their talent and inner conviction.  They represented a large contingency of restless and disenchanted young people around the world.  But it was also a time when the media began to mass-produce and market the "ideal" America. The media began its drum roll to destroy a culture revolution and turn it into a cultural fad. The word Beat began to lose its significance as part of an artistic sub-culture and became instead a label for anyone choosing to live simply and humbly as a Bohemian, or who acted rebelliously. In 1958, the word beatnik was coined by the poet Bob Kaufman to characterize the physical allure of the Beats, instead of their social and intellectual radicalism. 

When I returned from Panama in 1958, the Beats were already beginning to move out of San Francisco's North Beach, migrating to places like Mexico and Venice Beach, California.  The term beatnik became the brunt of jokes, rather than representative of a serious revolution.   The mass media depicted the only two things publishers and tycoons wanted to exploit about the Beats: their image and their lifestyle.   

Jack Kerouac
In order to comprehend the creative surge that took place in North Beach during this time, it is first necessary to understand the literary tradition of San Francisco. It was only natural that the Beat movement flourished there, where it blossomed and came to fruition. But the truth is a literary Bohemia existed in San Francisco long before Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady and other Beat souls came to the city.  

The North Beach creative hub took place in a six-block radius from lower to upper Grant Avenue, centered around a large number of bars, cafés and coffee houses, frequented by poets, artists, and jazz musicians. While Grant Avenue was the center stage of creativity, the bevy of Beat oriented cafés and bars actually extended from Broadway and Columbus, and all the way to the produce district, where the self-proclaimed king of the Beats, Big Daddy Nord, held court in a large warehouse. Eric's Pad, as it was known, remained open at all hours. You could walk in any night of the week and see blacks and whites freely mingling and dancing to the music of bongo and conga drums.  On the upstairs roof there was a string of mattresses, with couples fornicating in full view of onlookers, some quite agog, others blasé.

But two decades earlier, San Francisco was already thriving with creative energy, during what was known as the "San Francisco Renaissance," a designation for a range of poetic activity centered throughout the city. Kenneth Rexroth, often referred to as the "Father of the Beats," is also generally considered to be the founding father of the Renaissance.  Rexroth was a prominent second-generation modernist poet who corresponded with Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams.  He came to the city from Chicago, where he had operated a jazz and poetry tea room known as the Green Mask, which housed an upstairs brothel, right in line with San Francisco's bawdy history.  Rexroth was not only a poet and writer but also a union organizer. He hung out on San Francisco's Waterfront encouraging dockworkers to become union members. 

Rexroth held regular readings in his apartment, located over a record store in the Fillmore District.  Among the many poets who frequented the meetings was Philip Whalen, who later appeared in Kerouac's novels as "Ben Fagin" and "Warren Coughlin."  The poets who attended the meetings represented a wide range of writing styles, from the ballads of Helen Adams to the bawdy rhymes of poet and filmmaker James Broughton.  The readings were a haven for both young and old poets as well as visiting luminaries.

If Rexroth was the father of the Beats, then Madeline Gleason was the founding mother.  During the 1940s, both Rexroth and Gleason befriended a group of younger Berkeley poets, including Jack Spicer and Robert Duncan.   

In 1952, Dylan Thomas came to the city and captivated a standing-room audience, which came to see the Welshman drunkenly read his work.  A year later, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Peter Martin opened City Lights Bookstore, partly to finance City Lights Journal, which, at the time, was publishing the surreal poet Philip Lamantia. 

Young Allen Ginsberg
When Ginsberg came to the city in the early Fifties it was only natural he would find his way to Rexroth's weekly gatherings.   In 1954, Ginsberg had not yet acknowledged his homosexuality, but this same year he met Peter Orlovsky, and the two became life partners. During this same time, Rexroth was reading his poetry to jazz accompaniment at a small cellar bar on Green and Columbus streets, while Jack Spicer presided over the famous "Blabbermouth Night" at a bar called "The Place" on upper Grant Avenue.  It was around this time that Ginsberg began writing the first lines of his epic poem Howl. Encouraged by Kerouac, Ginsberg began searching for a place to showcase the poem.  Rexroth organized a reading at the Six Gallery, located at Fillmore and Greenwich streets.  The reading featured Ginsberg, Snyder, Whalen, Michael McClure, and Philip Lamantia, with Rexroth serving as master of ceremonies.   Kerouac was not on the bill but did attend the event.  The reading drew a large crowd, with Kerouac drunkenly passing large jugs of red wine through the audience.  Ginsberg was the last poet to read and, urged on by Kerouac, gave a passionate reading, a reading which held the crowd spellbound and which launched him on his way to fame.   

The most important accomplishment of Kerouac, Ginsberg and Cassady was to make rebellious young people throughout the land aware that there was others out there who felt the way they felt.  This was expressed by Diane di Prima, who is quoted as saying that Howl encouraged her and others to step forward and make their voices heard.  She was in effect heralding the cause of a new clan of poets who would become known as the Beat Generation. 

Photo from The 1957 Howl Trial
The single most important event that helped the Beats gain notoriety occurred on March 25, 1957, when agents from the U.S. Customs Bureau seized the first shipment of Howl and declared the book obscene. Ferlinghetti and Shig Muro (the manager of the City Lights)) were charged with selling obscene literature.  The American Civil Liberties Union intervened, providing free legal assistance.  Writers and critics testified on behalf of City Lights, and Judge Clayton Horn set a precedent by ruling that if a book has "the slightest redeeming social importance, it is protected under the First and Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. and California Constitutions and therefore can not be declared obscene."  This legal precedent allowed D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover and Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer to be published by Grove Press.   

It's equally important to note the influence of jazz on the work of the Beats.  Charlie Parker and Charles Mingus were among the many jazz musicians to whom the Beats were drawn.  In the late Fifties and into the Sixties, Jazz was central to what was happening.  Wes Montgomery and Cal Tjader were very much part of the scene. The Fillmore District, a largely black community, was known as "Bop City," a hangout for musician such as Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan. 

It was common to see New York jazz musicians visiting San Francisco's Fillmore District, and it was here that musicians and lovers of jazz gathered in the early hours of the morning. The Beats and bebop were like twins.  Carter Monroe points out, "When discussing the Bebop movement in terms of Beat Literature, you are talking about the freedom it represents."

A great deal of Beat literature in terms of influence is all about content and challenging social mores.  Bebop challenged the existing parameters of music. You can see this influence in the work of Jack Kerouac and perhaps even more so in the work of the poet Bob Kaufman.  In North Beach, Kaufman was regarded as the Bebop poet, and much of his poetry is infused with jazz.

William S Burroughs photo by Ginger Eades
Today both literary critics and academics alike recognize the Beats as legitimate poets, writers, and artists, but the legitimacy did not come without a cost.  As is often the case, success comes with a price tag, and so it came for some of the Beats. Many of the Beat poets were co-opted into the system.  Ginsberg applied for and received not one but three NEA writing grants and he sold his archives to Stanford University for over a million dollars.  William Burroughs made commercials and had a small role in a movie.  Ferlinghetti's once avant-garde bookstore can't be distinguished today from other commercial bookstores, and he is second only to Ginsberg in marketing himself, commanding thousands of dollars for a reading.  It was poets such as Jack Kerouac, Micheline, Kaufman, Corso and Ray Bremser who remained true to the Beat spirit right up until the time of their deaths.  And while today's youth remain intrigued by, if not directly influenced by, the Beat Generation, there hasn't been a real counter-culture revolution in the U.S. since the hippie phenomenon, which was a youth movement that began in the U.S. during the early 1960s and, as was the case with the Beats, soon spread around the world.

The word hippie is said to have derived from the word "hipster" and was initially used to describe beatniks who had moved into San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district.  These people embraced the counter-culture values of the Beat Generation, forming their own communities, listening to Psychedelic Rock, embracing sexual revolution, and experimenting with drugs like LSD, grass, and peyote in order to explore alternate states of consciousness.   

In 1967, a "human be-in" was held, leading to the legendary 1967 Summer of Love and two years later to the 1969 Woodstock Festival on the East Coast.  Hippie fashions and values had a major effect on the broader culture, influencing popular music, film, literature, and the arts.  The hippie legacy can be observed in contemporary culture in many forms...from health food to music festivals to today's sexual mores.   

I had the good fortune of experiencing the tail end of the Beat Generation, the Post-Beat Generation that followed and the birth and the death of the Hippie Generation.   

Allen Ginsberg

POEM FOR GINSBERG by A D Winans

I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by greed, not so starving
hysterical, naked under their fashion designer clothes
driving themselves through congested city streets
looking for non-existent parking spaces
aging hormone-driven biological clock mothers
offering their purple-veined breasts to baby suckling
zombies, in and out of public
Whose stock market-driven and laser vision perception
sipped Starbuck's coffee under protective awnings
while watching street cops shoo off the homeless
who chatted aimlessly on their cell phones
making reservations at trendy restaurants
while whining about the quality of the wine
who fucked only by appointment, dutifully expecting
a climax in sixty seconds or less
who shopped at organic food markets looking
for eternal youth while seeking cash rebates
with no idea what to do with them
who saw the Savior while vacationing in Palm Springs
and God on Turner TV
who taught their children how to use ATM machines
while devising clever tax-evasion schemes
who gave up writing to save a tree
and claimed it as a tax deduction
who drove their cars in the bicycle lane
hoping for some excitement
who pierced their nipples cocks and tongues
wanting to be among the hip and young
who pledged their allegiance to the Almighty Dollar
while writing protest letters to their daily newspaper
Holy is the sock.  Holy is Swiss cheese.
Holy is the Bank of America. Holy is cable television.
Holy is the condom.  Holy is the U.N.
Holy is pop culture.
Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching is the new
Holy Order
the holy of the unholy
the best minds of my generation

Allen and Neal



The Art by Iconoclasts Mary Beach and Claude Pelieu Lives On

To learn more about the artists, Mary Beach and Claude Pelieu click HERE. For inquiries, shows and purchasing please visit the Beach/Pelieu Art Site HERE.

Mary Beach was born in Hartford, Connecticut in on May 8, 1919. In 1925, after her mother's divorce, she moved, for six months out of the year, to France with her mother and two sisters. During the first part of World War II she lived in the small town of St. Jean de Luz, but, with the entrance of the United States in the war in 1941, she was soon viewed as a suspicious alien and was, for a time, interned in a Nazi prison camp known as Glacière.

Despite her parent’s protests, but perhaps under the influence of her distant relative Sylvia Beach, famed proprietor of Paris's Shakespeare & Co. and the first publisher of James Joyce, Mary pursued her life as an artist with great passion from an early age. Her first solo show was at the Galerie du Béarn, in Pau, France in 1943, and she has since then continuously exhibited her work all over the world.

Mary returned to the United States in 1946, where she married Alain Joseph (an American soldier she had met in France) and had two children, Pamela and Jeffery. She attended the Hartford Art School (where she won first prize in her class), and also attended school at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

In 1957 Mary and her family returned to France, to Strasbourg, and then Paris in 1959. She attended the esteemed Grande Chaumière, where she studied under Henri Goetz. She exhibited at the historic Salon des Indépendents in Paris in both 1957 and 1958; won the Prix du Dome at the Salon des Femmes Peintres in 1959; won 1st Prize, Vichy, France, and Silver Medal in 1959 as well; and was exhibited at the Salon des Surindépendents in Paris in 1960.

These early accomplishments stand alone, and would be exemplary for any artist. But for an American woman in France -- for a wife and mother in the late 1950s anywhere, Mary's success in the male-dominated art world is truly astounding. She is one of the great, under appreciated pioneers of her generation.

After the loss of her first husband, Mary met Claude Pélieu. While living with Claude she continued to work and exhibit all over the world (Galerie du Moulin Rouge, Biennale de Paris; Suzan Cooper Gallery; Galerie Wandragore, Rouen; etc., etc.). During this time she worked at City Lights, in San Francisco, where she discovered and published the poet Bob Kaufman and, under her own imprint of Beach Books, Texts, and Documents, published William Burroughs. She also collaborated extensively with Allen Ginsberg.

Claude Pélieu and Mary Beach met in 1962 and, until Claude's unfortunate passing in December of 2002, shared an exemplary rich and creative life. Traveling extensively while living primarily in Paris, New York and San Francisco, their existence was a bohemian adventure during which they ceaselessly explored and continuously created: With a keen and graceful eye they deconstruct, critique and reinterpret the classical and contemporary worlds of art and media, while creating striking new works of wit and beauty -- drawing subconscious associations that are both mysterious and poetic.

Long hailed in Claude's native France as the natural inheritors of the Surrealist legacy (a direct line has been drawn by French critics from Picasso and Braque to Schwitters and Duchamp to Warhol and Pélieu), their works are highly prized and respected. However, in Mary's native America, the pair remains relatively unknown, their work still awaits discovery by both mainstream critics and collectors. Mary passed away on January 26, 2006, after a long illness. Up until a week before she passed, Mary was still drawing and painting. She was contemplating a new series of ink drawings.



Click the white arrow below to view a slide show created by Ginger Eades of some of the late work by these two remarkable artists, Mary Beach and Claude Pelieu.

Slide Show Created by Ginger Eades in Honor of Mary Beach and her daughter, Pam.



Art by Mary Beach


A TRIBUTE TO ANDREW WYETH (1917-2009)


                                                                                                   
Andrew Wyeth's painting, YOUNG AMERICA, 1950

Punk Punked: Rebellious Verse

Got Punked: Rebellious Verse
by Chad Davidson 

(Read & Dug by Hipsters, Decision to repost 
Dig-ability concurred the Highjivers & re-posted below on the Highjivers Blog, Sans Permission)

Being a Brief Addendum to the Ongoing Debate Regarding the Social Utility of Poesy, Complete with Buffalo, The Sex Pistols, Intellectual Underwear, Dillywongs, and Featuring for the First Time—Wallace Stevens with a Mohawk

I was once asked by a friend why there weren’t more punk poets. I told him that there were plenty of punk poets, that he just wasn’t reading them. He laughed, sort of. Later, though, I asked myself how punk actually applies to poetry. And were there really, as I wanted to believe, plenty of punk poets? By "punk," my friend meant rebellious, raw, urban, street-smart, innovative: descriptors highlighting punk’s keen disregard for establishment. Even the word, "punk"—originally signifying a prostitute, later something worthless or degenerate—is an appropriation of the disenfranchised. A desire for more punk poets might then signify a lack of connectedness with the status quo of poetry, a desire for revolt or at least resistance, which brings the argument inevitably back to one of highbrow versus lowbrow. Allen Ginsberg, for example, waged a similar revolt against staid tradition, and Amiri Baraka’s own brand of feistiness at times takes on a punkish tenor, but was beat escapism and political resistance necessarily the only way to be punk. Isn’t there more than one way to skin a cat? Does poetry really have a punk past and, perhaps, even a punk future? Or is punk poetry—whatever it is—already in its dotage somewhere in Buffalo?

Actually, the cultural critique waged by rock and roll punks in the 1970s proves difficult to categorize merely in vague terms of antiestablishment backlash. Underneath the facade was a sophisticated (because highly ironized) satire of the pop status quo. After all, who would call Iggy Pop or David Bowie unsophisticated? Likewise, anyone who sees in the Sex Pistols or The Clash merely puerile rage is missing the point. We might even say that the punk tendency is a bit elitist. Recall the antagonistic relationship it had with pop music’s chiefly middleclass audience, its catering to a coterie, its resistance to any "ready made" definitions of art. Punks were the minority, and they wouldn’t have existed otherwise. They nurtured their own irrelevance. Their own fans spit on them as a sign of approval. To be fair, though, even punk’s sophisticated cultural critique was nothing new. To crib some rhetoric I borrowed from David Spade: "Punk was good, but I liked it better the first time around . . . when it was called Dada." Though it liked to flaunt the garments of the commoner and the underprivileged, punk was, perhaps without knowing it, wearing the underwear of intellectualism.

Which brings us back to poetry. In his latest critical book, The Resistance to Poetry, poet-critic James Longenbach writes that, for poets, "the assumption of [poetry’s] irrelevance can be liberating," that poetry becomes an act of liberation "especially when a culture threatens either to foreclose or to exaggerate a poem’s potential for subversiveness." Just as punk and Dada attempted, poems self-consciously resist being tied to singular signification, refuse, in a sense, to be labeled; poetry, rather, becomes the rebellion of language against the tyranny of meaning. Dean Young and Mary Ruefle called this quality "sincere irreverence" in a recent issue of American Poet, but there are myriad examples. Take Gabriel Gudding’s recent collection, A Defense of Poetry, the title poem of which is a catalogued rant in pseudo-Edwardian language against limiting notions of poetry:

For I have bombed your cat and
stabbed it. For I am the ambassador of
this wheelbarrow and you are the janitor
of a dandelion. Indeed, you are a
teacher of great chickens, for you are
from the town of Fat Blastoroma, O
tawdry realtor. For I have clapped your
dillywong in a sizeable door.

The deliberate stiltedness of his lexicon, the gibberish of his mockery—this seems close to what the Sex Pistols achieved when they sang "God Save the Queen," what Nirvana (those veritable post-punk punks) accomplished with "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Or how about the recent Dada-reminiscent collaborative work of Matthew Rohrer and Joshua Beckman, poems composed on stage, together, in front of an audience, the whole she-bang a word away from failure. Take Wallace Stevens, even, and his sophisticated defense of meaninglessness, of vagaries of thought that generated a poem such as "The Man on the Dump," which ends, "The the" (which is also the name of a band some might consider punk). Imagine Stevens with a mohawk, resisting his intelligence almost successfully.

Punk, though it celebrated its own death, is constantly reborn. Poetry, too, is continually redefining itself, continually resisting its own intelligence. Iggy Pop pops up in Jim Jarmusch films. Ziggy Stardust might be dead, but Bowie isn’t. And the artistic androgyny Bowie embodied? What better way to represent Keatsian "negative capability" or Eliotic "extinction of personality"? Punk lives long enough to annihilate itself, then repeats the feat like a god at the center of a harvest myth.

Poems continually enact the battle between the common (language) and the uncommon (multiple signification), between the social desire to please or provoke, and the individual right to assert or express. As Horace instructs, "Stroke your reader’s cheek / while you box his ears." Was Horace the first punk? Or was it Homer, whose Odysseus banged his head against a mast listening to his favorite band? Certainly both recognized that poems witness the birth and subsequent death of the self who wrote them, and become the battlegrounds for the evolution of identity. The punks always get punked, and they wouldn’t be punks otherwise..

The Word Junkie by Ginger Eades

Click player to listen to Spoken Jive. 




"The Word Junkie" by Ginger Eades
 
I was a highjivin' debutante, on the dole, tippin' along the stroll,
in boots of Italian leather; hustlin' words as Schedule II-Clever.
'Round midnight, I wound up down on Division Street
when I spotted Johnny Law walkin' that very beat.
I was hiding inside my head
when the officer came over and said,
"You're in possession of a meandering mind!
But I'm a cut you a break-- just this one time."
So the Law let me go with a clean break
But I had to hustle cos it was gettin' late-
See, I was a practicing "Word Junkie," if you catch my drift,
thought I had gotten away with a mere slap on the wrist;
So I copped some phrases, got a dime bag of wit
I was high on words; man, I was lit!
I shuffled uptown, and tipped along the stroll
I had my words and was ready to rock n roll
I put a poem in the pockets of my suit
When two rookie cops busted me for "intent to distribute."
The coppers didn't like my claim of "words for personal use"
So they cuffed me & added charges of "literature abuse."
I plead guilty at the arraignment and now I'm doing time:
Life without parole in the jail of my mind.




Joe Ambrose : The Marrakesh Lounge Lizard Interview

Essaouira by Joe Ambrose
"Joe Ambrose, word guerrilla, pulls his pin and hurls his grenade."
Patrick McCabe, author The Butcher Boy
Writer, DJ, film maker and culture terrorist Joe Ambrose has lead somewhat of a nomadic life, writng novels, biographies, interrogative and myth breaking historical studies on his home country Ireland and loads of contributions to journals, as well as film making and album production. Under ongoing guerilla conditions. His subject matter regularly delineated by themes and ideas that sit on the periphery of popular culture, or of revolutionaries or hobohemian travelers, punks, poets, writers, artists with tales to tell.
"That Joe Ambrose is nothing but a mountainy man."
Salaman Rushdie
In 1992 he co-organized the Here To Go Show in Dublin. A celebration of the cultural impact and significance of the work of Tangier Beat Scenesters Brion Gysin and William Burroughs. Destroy All Rational Thought, now an enhanced DVD, documented many aspects of this week long arts show.
"Let me assure you, as someone who knows about these things, that if you took half the "shits" and "fucks" out of that book, you'd sell twice as many copies."
Joe's mother, Mai Ambrose
He is a DJ in art hip hop combo Islamic Diggers, as well as under his own steam and has been living in Marrakesh, Morocco for the past year or so. Whilst Ambrose has been getting down in North Africa, the Islamic Diggers track William Burroughs Don't Play Guitar has featured on the soundtrack to a new Burroughs documentary, Words of Advice, which also features Patti Smith, Hal Willner and Bill Laswell.
"Joe Ambrose, thanks for driving the snakes out of Ireland."
William Burroughs
Ambrose has previously worked with Anita Pallenberg, Richard Hell, Chrissie Hynde and Herbert Huncke. He is Literary Editor of LA-based magazine, Outsideleft. His extreme travel writing book, Chelsea Hotel Manhattan has recently been published by Headpress. Gimme Danger, Ambrose's scandalous bio of punk founding father Iggy Pop has just come out in French with publishers Camion Blanc, as well as Scandanavia, the publishers in Finland are Johnny Kniga. The Italian edition of Moshpit Culture, titled simply Moshpit is out with a new independent Italian imprint, Tsunami Edizioni.
"Joe Ambrose, he understands - beautifully."
B. P. Fallon
You have to check out his website for all the full deal detail to understand where Joe Ambrose has been and where he is now. I conducted this interview with him due to various technical difficulties via the internet at the end of Jan. 2009.
Paul : I know you have been busy writing in Marrakesh, amongst other things, your Fenian Anthology recently came out in Ireland through the Mercier Press the third in a trilogy of books, based on tracing Irish revolt, insurrection and the leading revolutionary figures. Also your essays and contributions to the essential Headpress Journals, the latest being the John Sinclair/White Panther edited Number 28. What else have you been up to whilst living over in Marrakesh Joe?
Joe : I've been getting on with my novel which is going good but which is a difficult one to finish. It’s called The Darker Side of Me / White Irish and is both picaresque and noirish. Almost by accident I've started DJ`ing around town. I was at a party one night in Gueliz, the so-called chic part of town where all the French live. Someone asked me to DJ and there was some hip hop and reggae lying around so that was easy and didn't represent too much of a challenge. So I've started DJ`ing at private parties to make a little money - which is getting pretty thin on the ground now. I've done parties in Agadir, Essouira, and I've been to the Canaries a few times. I do a sort of lounge set as opposed to music for dancing to. People down here love to lounge around. I did this party during the Marrakesh Film Festival and Polanski and Sigourney Weaver showed up... It'll never last.
What gets you off when DJ`ing in your home town?
Getting paid. But sheriously...the tide is going out on electronic music and the tide is going out on the economy so being in a tourist town where the tourism hasn't quite dried up yet means there's still a few Dirhams floating round. DJ`ing is a job, like being a carpenter or something. It's not an art form, it's a chancer’s job in the entertainment industry but analogous to being a bartender or a roadie. Anyone can do it. I'm the living proof of that. I don't think there's any comparison between visceral live music played by master musicians - be they the Stones or the Gnoua Brotherhood of Marrakesh - and the kind of high jinks DJ`s can get up to. DJ`ing is what a very great man once called "a nice little earner" and that's all.
Marrakesh by Joe Ambrose
You have been living a fairly nomadic lifestyle for a while now. What keeps you moving around and restless?
Debt collectors. Hound dogs on my tail. Outraged young parents - well, younger than me. Nice decent people who try to make me behave like a better person…My family moved around all the time while I was growing up so I guess I'm a rolling stone. There's no moss in Marrakesh.
Tell me something about the most surreal and wild experience you have had DJ`ing?
I just get these gigs in a very casual way. They just sort of show up, which is a Moroccan way of doing things I'm not necessarily comfortable with, being an uptight white guy. My Moroccan manager is Fouad that I've known since he was about 15 – he's 25 now. So I know when to trust him and when not to. He has his finger on the Moroccan pulse, which beats very roughly, toughly, incessantly, and without pity…One day Fouad says to me that there is this gig on the Canaries, a private party for some Greek rich kid. I dislike rich kids – and rich old folks – and the “free enterprise” that gives rise to them but that's another story. Decent people aren't fussy and neither are DJ`s or guys who make their living playing music or folks who write for the papers and magazines. So I says to Fouad "How much?" and he says "2000 Euro." So I say "Let's go." The deal was that I'd be picked up by a boat at Essouira – which is this gorgeous Atlantic seaport – the following Friday evening with a view to reaching the Canaries Saturday morning for a Saturday night party. I'm a bit nervous about small boats after an experience I had in the Straits of Gibraltar but the thought of picking up around $2600 for staring glumly at my laptop for a couple of hours was just the trick needed to tempt me onto the rolling wave. Fouad couldn't come with me because he'd need a visa to get into Europe - the Canaries is parallel to Morocco, to Essouira or Agadir, but it's a part of Spain - but he came as far as Essouira with me which was just as well because - I don't know - I thought I was going to be traveling on some sort of ferry boat but it turned out, after about two hours rambling around on the quays in Essouira, that my carrier was this lumbering old Spanish fishing boat. Essouira is a great place. It was used by Orson Welles in the movie of Othello which captures the architectural eccentricity of the town. They have this huge fishing port and a ship building industry which specialises in big big wooden boats, ones that'd have a crew of thirty men, boats that go hunting those shoals of herring out in the Atlantic depths. Very exciting just to think about it.
What size was your boat?
It was manned by about 15 surly middle aged Spaniards of the seemingly fascist variety. I was shown to a cabin where I had a bunk bed. I dumped my bag down there before going back on deck to enjoy the voyage out. It was a real fishy smelling boat, and oily, lots of wrenches and oily rags everywhere. They must have been waiting for me to arrive, maybe that's why they were surly, because within about twenty minutes we'd cast off and quit that medieval scene.
Joe by Joe
Reminds me of some of the fishing boats I peered into when I was last down in Andalucia, in Garrucha, there were a few newer boats too, I have to admit, or were they yachts? I dunno. Never got up close to those mothers. Go on Joe.....
About a mile out to sea all hell broke loose with the Atlantic. There were these lurching swells and rough currents. The crew were of course indifferent but I didn't like it. I guess I'm a doughty enough traveler if not exactly an intrepid one. You asked me for a surreal story and this is not a surreal story, it's an all too real one. The swells and stuff were just the start of it. By the time I retired to my cabin it was starting to feel like outtakes from The Perfect Storm. My bed was about five foot long so I kind of jammed myself into it so that my shoulders and my feet kept me pinioned in the bunk no matter how much the boat rolled around. After about an hour things calmed down and sometime I went to sleep, only to be awoken when we were within sight of the Islands. The captain was doing up some breakfast, everyone seemed to be in better form, one of the guys even managed to speak a little English, I got some eggs and a bracing mug of coffee. It was real Joseph Conrad stuff. Soon we were on the docks. I had to leap from the boat onto the quay, something I've gotten used to doing in Morocco despite having chronic vertigo. Then I had to scramble around looking for Immigration. Fouad had given me the number of the party organizer guy who was going to pick me up. I called him, he gave me the name of a cafe I'd have no problem finding. He was there in fifteen minutes and they had a hotel room ready for me where I washed all that fishiness and oiliness away and I watched a Katherine Hepburn movie on TNT and then I slept a while and then the party organiser arrived to take me out to dinner with his naturally vivacious girlfriend and then it was the party and I refused to go back the way I came so they had to fly me to Madrid because that was relatively cheap where I hung out a few days - I like Madrid a lot - checking out a few Spanish Civil War sites in the Jarama Valley where the Irish revolutionary Frank Ryan was such a valiant leader. Kit Conway, who came from my own part of Ireland, was Ryan's right hand man and he died at Jarama. Then I flew back to Marrakesh and I paid Fouad his bung and the sun was out.
Joe, I have to hear about the other harrowing oily ratchet boat story after this one....
The other time I had an experience like that, in the Straits of Gibraltar, I got caught up in what was effectively a tsunami. The next day I went to see Boualem Hamri, the brother of Hamri the Painter of Morocco, in Tangier and I was telling him how the boat I was on nearly capsized . All the time Boualem was giggling mischievously so that I had to say to him, "It's not funny, Boualem, I could’ve died." This caused him to laugh all the more and then he said, "Brion Gysin, he always say, 'If you want stories for writing, you should come to Morocco."
I know you were always keen to work more within film, following some shorts and the Destroy All Rational Thought DVD. The 10% File Under Burroughs double album you made happen with then co-conspirator Frank Rynne was a very cool album. Do you have any thoughts on making another album or film? What are your latest plans or collaborations, at least as far as you can talk about at this stage?
Making "albums" seems to be a disappearing art form and recently I've been thinking in terms of promoting music in other performance forums. You still have to have some sort of an album out in order to tour live gigs but I think albums done solely for the purpose of touring is incorrect thinking and anyway a bit of a sad old way to be touring.
Lazy Lover by Joe Ambrose
Yeah, I agree, and the only way many of those artists who aren't big sellers on a major label can make moolah is staying out on tour selling their merchandise. Chuck Prophet once told me a few years back, "Paul, you have to know this one thing.....merch is king". Whats a Marrakesh day like for you then?
I'm working all the time in Marrakesh. I start work around lunchtime doing internet shit - this might be a bit of journalism or some sort of proposal I have out with someone or it might be paying the bill on my London storage unit - and then I write until the mid afternoon. I go shopping or ramble up to Gueliz for a coffee, go home, eat, then I work on fiction until around 11pm when I head out into the night and hang around with various guys I've gotten friendly with who work late in cafes or shops. I'm not exactly a party animal - I prefer to work.
Whats the music scene out there right now?
A confluence of things - mass tourism, satellite TV, mostly the internet – means Moroccan youth listen to a much broader tableau of music now. Years ago it was Rai and Bob Marley reggae and hiphop. Now there are Death Metal enclaves and QOTSA gangs and even zany kinda Dylanesque types. Marrakesh has some powerful music of its own going on right now. I guess the dominant group are Fnaire who make a totally slick presentation. They even have their own clothes line because they’re a rap group. They have a single out right now and the proceeds are going to their Muslim sisters and brothers in Gaza. That’s a fine thing. Then there are various foreign dance music types who didn't do as well as they might have back home where they came from and who have now washed up in Marrakesh to cash in on town's current chic. And the Gnoua just keep on throbbing like only brothers can.
Looking forward to reading the latest novel you are working on; The Darker Side of Me / White Irish.
For up to date information on all Joe`s output, past and present visit the Joe Ambrose website.
Thanks for the photo`s and words Joe
Interview by Paul Hawkins

Drowning Like Li Po in a River Of Red Wine: A D Winans Selected Poetry


This is a career spanning book of poetry from A.D. Winans, 398 pages. This book covers the period from 1970 - 2010 and contains a selection of poems from all of his 51 books over a period of 40 years. Paperback edition, limited to 100 copies in wraps. Perfect bound. $20.00. Contact the publisher Bottle of Smoke Press HERE.

Below are a few excerpts:


from North Beach Poems (1977)

FOR PADDY O’SULLIVAN

Paddy O’Sullivan
home again wearing
the scars of the past
like an engraved bracelet
passed on from one lover to another
walking the streets of north beach
in search of old visions now only
memories in the nightmare mirror
of madness—swapping tales
with obscene priests hung over in
the drunkenness of eternal failure.

Paddy O’Sullivan of Kerouac tales
and Cassady visions
Paddy O’Sullivan walking
Washington Square
the bulldozer death lurking everywhere.

Paddy O’Sullivan does your typewriter
still talk to you in
the lonely hours of the night?

Paddy O’Sullivan alone in
San Francisco
city of suicides past and present
waiting for that lady poet
who will forgive you in the morning
for forgetting her name in
the hour of dawn when our needs are soothed
with the power of the written word
that stirs moves inside us
like a runaway express train stalled
on the freeway
like the haunting breath
of a hound dog closing in for
the kill.

Paddy O’Sullivan where
have all the poets gone walking
straightjackets trapped by time
the sun is not as you see it now
everything changes and yet remains the same
the streets are no more or less intense
the lines on your face are the lines
on my face as we move back into
the body into the inner flesh measured by
the amnesia of yesterday.

this town coughs up its dead most rudely
the raw nerves of time returning to haunt me
oblivious to the thirst lying still at
the edge of the river.

the blueprint of our life etched in
the dark shadows of
the soul.
















from It Serves You Right To Suffer (1997)

FOR DINO

The Beach is dead
The blood thin red
Dino the bartender lives
In a graveyard
Chief undertaker
Dispensing pain
Like low grade cocaine

There was a time when
I might have invited him outside
Only the tough guy image
Long ago died

The Beach is dead
The poets have left
Dino the bartender
Walks with spade and shovel
Having found his niche in life

The Beach is dead
The ghosts cry in despair
Mad cowboys rope my visions
Hog tie my poems

The curse of Kerouac serenades
The demons of sleep
The Beach is dead
from Sleeping With Demons (2003)

EARLY MORNING INSOMNIA

sitting here alone with
a perpetual hard-on
4 in the morning
insomnia tearing at my guts
can’t sleep, can’t write
pussy on my mind
and people keep writing
and telling me I’m a legend
so why am I sitting here alone
staring into the dark
like a sniper fingering
a hair trigger
restless, unheroic
waiting on words that
won’t come

 
Photo of A.D. Winans by Alexsey Dayen 2010




















POEM FOR MY FATHER

It took me decades after his death
Before I could write a poem about him
It was as if a small part of him
Had entered my heart
And remained behind the barbed-
Wire fence he so carefully constructed
Over those long years
Stayed there all that time
Building an invisible umbilical cord
Reaching out for un unseen love connection
Sending signals carried on the sealed lips
Of blackbirds circling invisible graveyards
Finding in death
What we had never known in life
Those ghostly white hands scratching upward
From the grave
Desperately trying to cup the tiny flame
Flickering inside the valve of my heart

Robert Branaman Exhibit in Los Angeles


Virtual Slights copyright Branaman 2008

Bob Branaman is a film maker, printmaker and artist. He was an integral part of the Wichita Hipsters back in the Vortex of the 1950.., whose number included Bruce Connor, Charles Plymell, Roxie Powell, Michael McClure, Dave Haselwood and more. His art and films have been shown world wide. He lives in Los Angeles and is still being true to his school creating experimental and challenging art.


Robert R. Branaman aka Rapid Ronnie/Barbital Bob


Presents

Barbital Bites

Opening Reception November 6th 6-9pm

ART COYOTE GALLERY
640 Venice blvd.
Venice CA 90291



by appointment : info@artcoyote.com

Catching Up with Ngawang Choephel about "Tibet in Song": Re-posted from AVSTV




Posted by: E. Nina Rothe from http://www.avstv.com September 17, 2010



Catching Up with Ngawang Choephel about ‘Tibet in Song’
Tibet in Song is a lyrical new film that will open in NYC, at the Cinema Village Theater, on September 24th and will play in the Big Apple for a week, before taking off for the rest of the world. I was privileged to see an advance screening of the film and was absolutely mesmerized by Tibet’s breathtaking views, its people’s courage and beauty and Tibet in Song filmmaker Ngawang Choephel’s strength and resilience in the face of adversity. I know that after seeing this film I’ll never complain about a rainy day I have to spend inside and I’ll respect my Tibetan brothers and sisters only that much more! I recently caught up with Choephel and he shared some of his insight into this very personal journey of a film.

AVS: What made you go back to Tibet? And what happened while you were there, if you could explain it to our readers?

ngawang_hires_tibetinsong 


Ngawang Choephel: While growing up in India as a Tibetan refugee there was always this feeling that we would one day go back to Tibet. But years went by, Tibet alive only in our imagination and Tibetans in India kept demonstrating against China’s invasion of our country. It seemed more and more unlikely that all the Tibetans in India would go back to Tibet soon. Of course I wanted to feel that sense of belonging in a place that you can call your own, but most importantly it was Tibetan music and culture that drove me to go back to there. I had so many questions, curiosity, excitement and emotions that I simply couldn’t wait any longer to see Tibet. When I arrived there, the first impression I got came from the warmth of the people, the intensity of our culture and raw beauty of our landscape. I never thought in my life that I would be one of the first Tibetans from outside Tibet to film Tibetan music. I was proud of myself to be on that mission and it was a prime time in my life to have most of the Tibetans I met share their music and their stories with me. They went through so much yet they shared their music with me in a most intimate way. I never thought my life would be so valuable to experience this journey and moment with them in Tibet. I found joy, as they do, in everything they did and the way they live.

AVS: During your visit there, you were then arrested and most of your work was confiscated. How did you manage to keep all the footage that you have in your film?

NC: Yes, after two months of traveling and recording music I was arrested. After one year of interrogation I was sentenced to 18 years in prison, accused of spying. They confiscated 7 tapes, but I was able to send 9 tapes to India through a friend of mine, before I was arrested.

AVS: Were there ever moments of doubt in your mind during your incarceration. Thoughts of ‘Why did I do this, why did I come here?’
ngawang2_hires 
NC: There were a few times I was thinking “If I had not done this or done that” but I never questioned that coming to Tibet was the wrong idea. I don’t remember ever feeling like that. Most of the time I was thinking and contemplating  how my work could be a crime or why was I being held in prison and eventually I could feel the same pain and injustice of humanity for what all my fellow Tibetan political prisoners went through. I was in a way proud to be one among many who have sacrificed their lives and who were in prison at that time. I would forget to worry about myself most of the time and my main worry was for my mom and uncle. But then again as one of my closest friend, a late political prisoner said “What you are talking about? The only difference is you are inside and she is outside. That’s it”.

AVS: How were you finally freed?

NC: I was finally released in January of 2002, after my mother’s relentlessly solitary campaign, with the help 0f the US government, many international artist, the Tibetan government in exile and many other organizations that fought hard for my release.

AVS: You grew up in India, but then what made you move the US after you were finally freed from jail in Tibet?

ngawang_filmmaker 
NC: I was released to India via the USA in 2002. Since there is a strong philanthropic sense and interest in independent work in the US, I decided to resume my work here, continuing where I left off before my incarceration. I didn’t know it would  take this long, but the entire process of making this film and meeting hundreds people in the business, sharing my story and getting their help was a journey that I believe would not have happened anywhere else except here in the USA.

AVS: What is the most important lesson you learned while making this film?

postertibet 
NC: I have learned so many things from making the film but the most important lesson was how important it is to collaborate with others. You can make films by yourself but working with others who really believe in the subject makes a film complete.

AVS: What do you think will be your next project, after this film it will have a tough act to follow…

NC: I am a very passionate person and my life is dedicated to what I can best do for the Tibetan cause and our story. I will most likely work on another Tibet related documentary.



AVS: What are some of the plans for this film, in the next couple of months?

NC: We are opening Tibet in Song in NYC at Cinema Village on Sept 24th for a one-week run and it will be in 12 different cities after that. I plan to attend most of opening nights to help promote the film.

AVS: Before you started filming in Tibet, before you were captured, what had you hoped to accomplish with your work? Did you know you would eventually make a film out of it?
sundance09_tibetinsong 

NC: My mission was to go to Tibet to find the right location and people for our next crew which I was planning to bring during my next trip. I was collecting info and doing some short field research while filming in Tibet, but my main goal was to do pre-production work. I had already conceived the idea of making the film and I had made a presentation cut -  to raise funds etc. - before I went to Tibet.

AVS: And finally, if you had to describe your Tibet to a person who knows nothing about your country, how would you do that?
street-musicians 

NC: I would say that Tibet is highest country in world, a beautiful land with beautiful people. It has its own unique civilization, history and culture, but since the Chinese invasion in 1949, Tibetans have been victims of the longest cultural genocide, with the highest number of imprisonments, torture and deaths in this world. It’s like its climate is controlled by China’s totalitarian regime: Sometimes it’s sunny, sometimes it rains, but most of the time it’s dark and cloudy in Tibet.

All images above, courtesy of the filmmaker

The article above was originally posted on the AVSTV website AT THIS LINK by E. Nina Rothe. I have re-posted it above with hopes of making information about Ngawang and his film, "Tibet in Song" even more widely available to the public.