This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
(this one’s for Graham with thanks for his ongoing sequence of poems on this topic)
Those times are now long gone Allen Ginsberg howling: Holy! Holy! cursing Moloch, lauding “angel-headed hipsters”, long gone Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady riding the boxcar of ecstasy to join the bodhisattvas, all gone Jim Morrison chanting on Venice Beach, retinas blasted by a thousand shrieking sunsets over the patient Pacific, yes, all gone Bill Burroughs’ wild boys devastating the West Coast shopping malls, singing “Hiroshima mon amour!”all long gone only echoes on the beach and in the hills of Hollywood remain, merging on LA freeways, soaked in anomie, with fast cruising Bret Easton Ellis. But in this place of ghosts and dreams there is an evening call, when eyes are raised like antennae,
answering the lure of starlight. Yes, light travels far and fast from, say, the star-belted hunter and his glorious, swirling nebula, its message pregnant with stars; but nothing as instant and adept as a poet’s thoughts crossing a world of time, and catching starlight in his net as it falls down into the ocean. Here there are no more bodhisattvas, only a very human “forever” in his thoughts and the poems that express them, catching the rolling waves in familiar words of love and of parting, poems standing lonely on the sands of emotion, feeding the waiting sunsets with texts of love’s separation and union. This is the true “starry dynamo in the machinery of night” and it still hums out into the dark, its echoes running on countless computers.
(Note: the two quotations are from Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”)