I have a secret.
No matter how many crushes or loves I have, it will be an exceptionally hard sell to beat my love for Allen Ginsberg.
I have hidden my love for Allen, Gary (Snyder) and Jack (Kerouac) guiltily for years now. I think it had something to do with me fearing they were too pedestrian to adore. And the fact that they probably would think it bizarre that some random woman still gets teary when she reads “Howl” and in younger days dreamt of drinking tea with Japhy Ryder.
It all began when I attended a college arts programme run by hippies in the mountains in a dormitory basement. Instead of “English Literature 101” we had classes like, “The Genius of Kerouac.” I took performance art classes and performed a piece in front of my peers that consisted of me writing words on my body that my roommate yelled at me from the audience. I wrote poems about the simultaneous disaffection and gloriousness of youth. You know, average university fodder.
After those two years of expansion, I went off to England and got muddled up for the better part of a decade, for no good reason really, c’est la vie. I am the kid at the parties now with the best stories of my life but with the least to show for it.
But this is not about my own pity party, it’s about a revival.
The other night I caught a documentary on Allen Ginsberg and it was a welcome reunion. For those years when I first discovered the Beats, I was enamored by their crazy wild lives. And subsequently, went off on my own crazy wild adventures. Since resurfacing, I had forgotten all about my previous heroes until suddenly their images and voices were blasting through the television screen.
“Howl” still makes me teary, but in a different way at (almost) 30 than it did at 18. Even though the words hold the same syncopation, they resonate differently. In recordings, the voice of Allen still has the same tenor it did years ago, but now instead of frenzy I hear strength.
This summer I want to get reacquainted with these old dearly departed friends who meant so much to me so long ago and see what they have to teach me now.
And in remembering Allen, I also remember all my other dilettantish exploits of my younger years, craft or otherwise, and can’t wait til they pop up again on the surface. Because I know that the me now will look at them through slightly different eyes than the me then.
hmm…. that ukulele in the corner sure looks dusty… oh, and sigur ros have been keeping me contemplative. rock on with pretty music!