POEM OF THE DAY -- "Skid Row Wine" by Jack Kerouac

Have you ever romanticized the ancient "bums" of yesteryear? I have.  I've placed myself in their shoes, feeling the soul, feeling the real blues.

In my mind.

Back in the day, an element of American society began to align themselves with a soulful, sad part of society, for it inspired art and was very real; not contrived or artificial - not CONSTRUCTED.  It just was.  The homeless, the bums, the broken, the lost -- these outcasts were embraced by artists and musicians and writers as a sort of inspiration.

Kerouac helped to usher in the modern era, spawning folk music and beatniks and rock and roll and punk movements, opening up society to a different way of thinking.  The hippie movement, punk, grunge...all came from his willingness to lay it out there.

Here's an ode to escape.  For some, wine may be hard to connect with; in this case I would suggest substitute the words "drinkin wine" for "smokin weed". 

SKID ROW WINE

by Jack Kerouac

I coulda done a lot worse than sit
in Skid Row drinkin wine

To know that nothing matters after all
To know there's no real difference
between the rich and the poor
To know that eternity is neither drunk
nor sober, to know it young
and be a poet

Coulda gone into business and ranted
And believed that God was concerned

Instead I squatted in lonesome alleys
And no one saw me, just my bottle
and what they saw of it was empty 

And I did it in the cornfields & graveyards

To know that the dead don't make noise
To know that the cornstalks talk (among
one another with raspy old arms)

Sittin in alleys diggin the neons
And watching cathedral custodians
Wring out their rags neath the church steps 

Sittin and drinkin wine
And in railyards being devine

To be a millionaire & yet to prefer
Curling up with a poor boy of tokay
In a warehouse door, facing long sunsets
On railroad fields of grass

To know that the sleepers in the river
are dreaming vain dreams, to squat
in the night and know it well

To be dark solitary eye-nerve watcher
of the world's whirling diamond
 

POEM OF THE DAY -- "How to Meditate" by Jack Kerouac

Jack Kerouac was born on March 12, 1922.  This post is erected in honor of Jack Kerouac and his contribution to 20th Century cultural change. 

Kerouac was instrumental in opening the youthful mind of the 40's, 50's and 60's; open to "free thinking" and change, literature, music and art - by living the exploratory, inquisitive and open/experimental life himself, then writing about it in his classic novels and poetry.  His own life itself and the "beat" movement he helped to create (which helped make the famous "hippie" movement possible) was quite controversial -- delving into sex, drugs, meditation, Buddhism, homosexuality (for Kerouac, indirectly), left leaning political views, etc.

For me, Kerouac had a writing style which could be easily understood -- words and word-pictures, whimsical free thought streams, humor and irony, surprise and a sense of darkness -- interupted by joyous explosions of light and wonder.  Really inspiring.

The piece below offers all of this.  As one who has never been successful at the art of meditation, perhaps I should listen to his advice, it seems pretty simple.  Entire books have been written, tapes and recordings produced, TV shows and seminars presented about meditiation.  Maybe we should just follow Kerouac's simple poem?

Enjoy.

How to Meditate

By Jack Kerouac
 

-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think
any
more'

eNothing Audio Series "American Haiku" reading by Jack Kerouac (with Jazz Sax riffs!)

This delightful 9 minute audio features Jack Kerouac reading his form of Haiku (self-named "American Haiku") which influenced by the irreverence of the Beat Generation and the coolness, looseness and improvisation of American Jazz. 

Kerouac's form of Haiku was (like the Beat movement itself) a slap in the face of tradition.  As poetry, the strict syllabic rules of traditional Japanese Haiku are ignored in favor of a looser "statement, tension, resolution" style of poetry following the musical tenets of blues and Jazz.

In fact when you listen to each of Kerouacs "American Haiku" poems, you'll notice that each one is followed by an interpretive, creative jazz or blues saxophone riff which closely resembles the mood of the haiku which preceded it!  Delightful.

Enjoy:

eNothing Audio Series -- "Chorus 113 - Mexico City Blues" by Jack Kerouac -- Read by Johnny Depp

This is the first of our Audio Poetry Series posts, in which we'll try to open up the Poetry experience to you by posting readings (usually by the great poets themselves) to allow you to experience the poetry in a more dynamic way.

Some of Kerouac's poetry will definitely be featured here, as well as Ginsberg, Cummings, Neruda, William Carlos Williams, Wallace Stevens, Sylvia Plath and the like.  Very interesting stuff, allowing you to feel the rhythm and meter of the poetry as it was imagined or interpreted by the authors themselves.

In this case we offer one of Kerouacs more famous choruses from his famous collection "Mexico City Blues".  But rather than offer up a reading by Kerouac himself, I chose this interesting, artistic impression by none other than Johnny Depp, the epitome of cool today -- a real throwback to the Beat/Hippie poetry movement and a scholar of great literature and art.  This is a side of Johnny Depp that not everyone is aware of, but in many ways Depp's interest and involvement in the arts is what separates him from the rest.

Listen and watch -- Depp really catches the feeling and despair of Kerouac quite nicely and the music provides a spiritual backdrop which adds to the drama of this exquisite piece!

POEM OF THE DAY -- "3rd Chorus" by Jack Kerouac

And so, we continue with our intermittent study of Jack Kerouacs writings today with a piece from his classic "Mexico City Blues" collection of poems -- "3rd Chorus". Simple American life, safe American life -- EVEN 50 YEARS AGO Kerouac felt the peril of the neverending ballooning government of our nation.

Do the math, people. What's it now? Where are we headed? 5 years from now, who can afford a new pair of shoes?

The investment bankers, the brokers, the insurance companies.

That's who.

Who says Kerouac isn't relevant today? Enjoy.
3rd Chorus (from Mexico City Blues)

By Jack Kerouac

Describe fires in riverbottom
sand, and the cooking;
the cooking of hot dogs
spitted in whittle sticks
over flames of woodfire
with grease dropping in smoke
to brown and blacken
the salty hotdogs,
and the wine,
and the work on the railroad.

$275,000,000,000.00 in debt
says the Government
Two hundred and seventy five billion
dollars in debt
Like Unending
Heaven
And Unnumbered Sentient Beings
Who will be admitted --
Not-Numerable --
To the new Pair of Shoes
Of White Guru Fleece
O j o!
The Purple Paradise
-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "Daydreams for Ginsberg" by Jack Kerouac

Here is yet another poem by iconic American novelist and poet Jean-Louis "Jack" Kerouac featured here on the eNOTHING blog.  Along with William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac is widely credited with being a pioneer of the "Beat Generation". 

In many anthologies and lists, this poem is near the top of the list as one of Kerouacs most popular or viewed poems. There are more such as Bowery Blues and others (featured here on our blog) and some which we haven't posted yet, but will.
Kerouac is recognized for popularizing a "spontaneous" method of writing, covering controversial topics at the time such as jazz, promiscuity, Buddhism, drugs, poverty, petty crime, and travel - all along indirectly promoting a youthful "freedom" counterculture and a disdain for authority. Along the way Kerouac became an underground celebrity and the "Beat Generation" became a progenitor of the 1960's hippie movement.  

His involvement in the beat movement have inspired many including popular musicians and those who inspired the popular musicians of the 1960's.  His writings have inspired other writers, including Ken Kesey, Bob Dylan, Eddie Vedder, Thomas Pynchon, Lester Bangs, Tom Robbins, Will Clarke, Ben Gibbard, Haruki Murakami, Jacquelyn Landgraf. Kerouac became an underground celebrity and, with other beats, a progenitor of the hippie movement.

Daydreams for Ginsberg

By Jack Kerouac

I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
of the clocks, and know it's mid-
night and in that instant the whole
world swims into sight for me
in the form of beautiful swarm-
ing m u t t a worlds-
everything is happening, shining
Buhudda-lands,
bhuti

blazing in faith, I know I'm
forever right & all's I got to
do (as I hear the ordinary
extant voices of ladies talking
in some kitchen at midnight
oilcloth cups of cocoa
cardore to mump the
rinnegain in his
darlin drain-) i will write
it, all the talk of the world
everywhere in this morning, leav-
ing open parentheses sections
for my own accompanying inner
thoughts-with roars of me
all brain-all world
roaring-vibrating-I put
it down, swiftly, 1,000 words
(of pages) compressed into one second
of time-I'll be long
robed & long gold haired in
the famous Greek afternoon
of some Greek City
Fame Immortal & they'll
have to find me where they find
the t h n u p f t of my
shroud bags flying
flag yagging Lucien
Midnight back in their
mouths-Gore Vidal'll
be amazed, annoyed-
my words'll be writ in gold
& preserved in libraries like
Finnegans Wake & Visions of Neal.

POEM OF THE DAY -- "Sitting Under Tree Number Two" By Jack Kerouac

It's always been our goal to bring you odd stuff by great writers; to be a little different, with no particular theme, no rules, no contraints -- nothing to hold us back.  Here's one.

The great Jack Kerouac has gone down as one of the most inflential writers of the 20th century; and he was certainly the stylist of an initial packet of influence which ultimately culminated in the various art/music/culture/style/political movements we can only call "the 60's" now.  This poem is an example of the free thinking freewheeling train of thought approach that Kerouac had to life.

Simply sitting under a tree who-knows-where, he records what he saw, in 1959.  Hope you enjoy!

Sitting Under Tree Number Two

By Jack Kerouac

But the undrawables,

  the single musical harp

rainbow's blue green

shimmer of cobweb -- 

the line of thread swimming

in the wind; blue &

silver at intervals that

appear & disappear -- 

7 songs along the rim

tying to the plant

as birds twurdle over

those massy fort trees

populous with song

--  imaginary blossoms in my

eye moving across the 

page with definite oily

rainbow water holes &

rims of beaten gold,

  with toads of old

          silver.

Golden fast and back

in the hay now fromming

its feelers thru the 

thicket of time then

darting across mud looking 

for more trees -- 

A little ant bit my ass

& I said Eeesh with

my wad of gum -- I

itch and pain all over

with hate of time &

tedium  Save me!

  Kill me!

-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "The Thrashing Doves" by Jack Kerouac

It's been a while since we've put up some fresh Kerouac.  His refreshing free-wheeling flow of words tickles the inspiration out of my soul; I know I'll be writing again soon.

In addition to the interesting Kerouac video we found (with Steve Allen playing Jazz) -- in our Awesome Artist page above -- I'll have to find one in which Kerouac reads his poems...he's such an interesting character to watch.

Speaking of Jazz, it's referenced here and can be found referenced in much of Keouacs work.  His writing did reflect the spontaneity of jazz - the free flowing of thoughts, yet still following patterns and certain defined parameters -- this work was relaxing and somehow inspires readers to "click their fingers".

This poem comes from his City Lights (Ferlinghetti) Pocket publication "Scattered Poems".

Way out, man.

Love Kerouac.


The Thrashing Doves

By Jack Kerouac

In the back of the dark chinese store
  in a wooden jailhouse bibbet box
  with dust of hay on the floor, rice
  where the rice bags are leaned,
  beyond the doomed peekokoos in the box
  cage

All the little doves'll die.
  As well the peekotoos--eels
  --they'll bend chickens' necks back
  oer barrels and slice at Samsara
  the world of eternal suffering with silver
  blades as thin as the ice in Peking

As thick and penetrable as the Wall of China
  the rice darkness of that store, beans,
  tea, boxes of dried fish, doodlebones,
  pieces of see-weed, dry, pieces of eight,
  all the balloon of the shroud on the floor

And the lights from the little tinkly Washington St.
  Behung, dim, opium pipes and gong wars,
  Tong, the rice and the card game--and
  Tibbet the tibbet the tink tink tink
  them Chinese cooks do in the kitchen 
  Jazz

The thrashing doves in the dark, white fear,
  my eyes reflect that liquidly
  and I no understand Buddha-fear?
  awakener's fear? So I give warnings
  'bout midnight round about midnight

And tell all the children the little otay
  story of magic, multiple madness, maya
  otay, magic trees-sitters and little girl
  bitters, and littlest lil brothers
  in crib made made of clay (blue as the moon).

For the doves.

1959

 
 

Tweet Scroll for #OnTheRoad

Here is our own "Tweet Scroll" of chronological updates of #OnTheRoad quotes.  Hopefully, this "Tweet Scroll" will capture some of the spirit of the original "On The Road" scroll, in mad little bits of happy insanity.  Because the phrase has been made so popular for many reasons over the years (including the Willie Nelson tune), the #OnTheRoad hashtag can be quite crowded and even these tweets seem to convey some of the fluidity of the writing -- so here they are, uninterupted. 

Let's grow the following for this project - please, share with the links below...

Oh man. I'm diggin the road.

• "...and Carolyn a new girl who waited for him in a hotel room..." Kerouac #OnTheRoad
• "Neil was making love to 2 girls at the same time..Louanne, his first wife waiting for him in a hotel room.." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "Now Neil was back in Denver with his demon poet...they were the underground monsters of that season..." Kerouac #OnTheRoad
• "And here I am in Colorado" I kept thinking gleefully. "Damn ! Damn! Damn! I'm making it!" Kerouac #OnTheRoad
• "Mississippi Gene was gone; bound for Og-den and the God knows what. I was with Montana Slim and we started hitting the bars." #OnTheRoad
• "Gene that's the prettiest song" - "It's the sweetest I know," he said.."I hope you get where ur going, and be happy when u do." #OnTheRoad

• "And Mississippi Gene began to sing a song. He sang it in a melodious quiet voice, a river accent, and it was simple." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "tingling with kicks at the thought of what lay ahead of me in Denver--whatever, whatever it would be and good enough for me" #OnTheRoad

• "Somebody passed a bottle of rotgut, the bottom of it-I took a big swig in the wild lyrical air of Nebraska-"Whooee, here we go!" #OnTheRoad

• "Maw, rustle me up some grup afore I have to start eatin myself raw or some damn silly idee like that" Kerouac

•  "I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future," Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "I woke up..and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, that I didn't know who I was..." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "spent a wonderful long day sleeping on a big clean hard white bed with dirty remarks carved inthe wall beside my pillow" Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "Now I could see Denver looming ahead of me like the Promised Land, way out there beneath the stars" Kerouac #OnTheRoad 
• "the new truck driver was as crazy as the other one and yelled just as much and all I had to do was lean back and relax my soul" #OnTheRoad
•  "and he balled that thing clear to Rapid City and yelled me the funniest stories about how he got around the law..." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "the big trucks roared, wham, and inside two minutes one of them cranked to a stop for me-I ran for it with my soul whoopeeing." #OnTheRoad

• "my beloved Mississippi River..with its big rank smell that smells like the raw body of America itself because it washes it up" #OnTheRoad

• "after an apple pie and ice cream..a woman stopped for me in a little coupe. I had a twinge of hardon joy as I ran after the car" #OnTheRoad

• "I thought of my friends from one end to the other,in the same vast backyard doing something so frantic and rushing-about beneath"#OnTheRoad

• "the fellows at the Loop blew...with a tired air...as I sat there listening to the sound of the night" Kerouac #OnTheRoad 

• "I dug Chicago after a good days sleep, the wind..the beans, bop at the Loop, and one long walk after midnight into the jungles" #OnTheRoad

• "High up over my head the great hairy Bear Mtn sent down thunderclaps that put the fear of God in me." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "drop a rose in the Hudson at its mysterious mouth think of all the places it journeys by as it goes out to sea forever" Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "I...took off for the Pacific Ocean like a veritable Ishmael with fifty dollars in my pocket" Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "...and the things that were to come were too fantastic not to tell." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "when Spring really bloomed and opened up the land...my whole road experience began" Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "while I was working on my book or my painting or whatever you want to call it, there was a knock on the door and there was Neil"#OnTheRoad

• "the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing..but burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• "the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk,..." Kerouac #OnTheRoad

• Neil Cassady arrives in NYC and Hectors cafeteria.The real Hectors and text: http://dld.bz/8zjh

eNOTHINGS "#OnTheRoad"

Starting yesterday, for the next week or two I'll be tweeting a meaningful line from Jack Kerouac's legendary novel, "On The Road" every day.

I'm reading "On The Road" again.  I'm pretty sure this is my fourth time around, but have to admit that this time, I'm doing it with a Twist.  I recently purchased the "On The Road, The Original Scroll" (Penguin, 2007).  "On The Road" is basically the original scroll -- right off the typewriter -- as Jack had originally intended the volume to be read.  It even includes real names (Cody is Neal, Allen is Allen and Jack is Jack). 

What's more, there are about 103 full pages of introductions and analyzations of both the creative process (there were actually other starts and stops and even a previous scroll, later published as "Visions of Cody") and the subsequent editing process at the insistance of several editors - and even Allen Ginsberg - in his attempt to get the book published.  As a reader, the process is interesting - as a writer, the process is invaluable.

It makes for GREAT reading, and I find myself feeling much the same as I did after seeing the recent movie "HOWL", then plucking the book off the shelves and tweeting every single line to my followers and to many of their followers too.  It was such fun to share comments and enthusiasm for HOWL.  I feel much the same as I did when I tweeted dozens of Kerouac's American Haiku form...some really lovely work by Kerouac.

It's no secret how I feel about Twitter as an effective communication channel for what was once a distant artistic web of isolated individualists, but is now being slowly transformed into a cohesive and thriving and yes, even BREATHING artistic community.

So, here we go again.  Reading this classic account of rebel America meeting straight America and the constant search for exhilarating "kicks" and the pure joy they feel as they approach maturity.  It's infectious!

Our #OnTheRoad tag begins with the first line:

  

"the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk,..."

You will see more wonderfully open, wild and mad quotes from the novel over the next few weeks.  I'm picking them as I go along so if I miss a line you particularly love, PLEASE feel free to send an email or a comment to this blog entry, and I'll post it on Twitter - OR, do it yourself!

-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "POEM" by Jack Kerouac

"POEM" is an unnamed poem, written in 1959 by Kerouac.  It appears in his anthology "Scattered Poems", published in 1970 by City Lights.

 

This poem touches on some of Kerouac's thoughts about Jazz, Poetry (Jazz and Poetry), and his thoughts about the ongoing evolution of his "New American Poetry".  In other words - CREATE.  Pay no attention to rules or snobbery.  Write, write, write.

In short, it seems Kerouac has written a poem for poets.  Enjoy!

POEM

By Jack Kerouac

Jazz killed itself

But dont let poetry kill itself

Dont be afraid

  of the cold night air

Dont listen to institutions

when you return manuscripts to

     brownstone

dont bow & scuffle

           for Edith Wharton pioneers

or ursula major nebraska prose

   just hand in your own backyard

      & laugh play pretty

           cake trombone

& if somebody  give you beads

   juju, jew, or otherwise,

sleep with em around your neck

Your dreams'll maybe better

     There's no rain

           there's no me, 

     I'm tellin ya man 

           sure as shit.

-

      

POEM OF THE DAY "Unnamed 1" by Jack Kerouac

My fascination with Jack Kerouac comes I think from a fascination with the human spirit, the human character, and a profound interest in the rebels among us -- what makes them tick?  As I continue the eNOTHING project - sharing the words, songs, poems that have meaning to me, in as broad a context as possible, I have noticed a pattern.

I am attracted to the rebellious.  I am attracted to things which challenge the "norm" -- especially if the "norm" is incongruous with fairness or justice, or if "norm" means business as usual or stay between the lines.


Outside the world of poetry, some of the artists/personalities that have drawn me in are:

• John Lennon
• Charles Bukowski
• Allen Ginsberg
• Lou Reed
• Jewel
• Pahlaniuk
• Yoko
• Curt Cobain
• Andre Breton and the Surrealists 
• Local coffee shops (not Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts)

Well, why bore you - the list just goes on and on.  Kerouac is the perfect example - our #Howladay series and #Jackaday series were good, too.  What makes these people tick?  Can I use it to make me tick too?


Here's a poem from Kerouac's City Lights (Fernlinghetti) Pocket Poets book (I recommend it!) "Scattered Poems", hope you like it!:

Unnamed Poem 1

By Jack Kerouac

I
  clearly 
              saw
                      the skeleton underneath
all
     this
            show
                      of personality
what 
         is
             left
                   of a man and all his pride
but bones?
and all his lost snacks o' nights...
   and the bathtubs of liquor
      thru his gullet
                    ...bones ------ He mopes
                          in the grave,
                          facial features
                          changed by worms
                                *
                                  *
                                    *
                                      *
      from him 
                   is heard
                               no more
                                *
                                  *
                                    *
                                      *
Life is sick
Dogs cough
Bees sail
Birds hack
Trees saw
Woods cry
Men die
Ticks try
Books lie
Ants fly
Goodbye


1960

-


 

Top 100 or so Poems -- POEM OF THE DAY - Recap - "Pull My Daisy" Series of Poems - Jack Kerouac

December 11, 2011

These 3 poems are basically a collaborative work led by Jack Kerouac over a 10 year time warp spanning the creative spawning (spanning the spawning, get it) of the Beat movement and the radical, irreverent angle adopted for nearly every aspect of life - the Beat movement which is at least equal in importance to any other movement to lend creedence and direction to the rise of the "60's".

Although these works don't show up in any conformal anthologies as "great work" of the 20th century, they do represent an important movment and serve to illustrate in a remarkably clear way the progression of the movement and the irreverent innocence of the artists of their time, and clearly shows the creativeness of the development of "Pull My Daisy" which was published finally in or around 1958 for the first time. So here is a recap of our POEM OF THE DAY series featuring Fie My Fum, Pull My Daisy, and PULL MY DAISY.

The important rule is to free yourself from rules, which they did very well.

Have fun!:

Our last 3 posts on POEM OF THE DAY have been a

progressive series of Jack Kerouac gems which we've named the "Daisy" series for the purposes of consolidation and critical consideration.

This has been one of our most successful and popular POEM OF THE DAY series, and one of our followers reccommended that (with our analysis of each poem notwithstanding) -- we simply list the (3) versions chronologically, and let you, the readers create your own analysis via comments.

Great!

Here they are!

Fie My Fum (~1948)

By Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg

Pull my daisy,
Tip my cup,
Cut my thoughts
For coconuts,

Start my arden
Gate my shades,
Silk my garden
Rose my days,

Say my oops,
Ope my shell,
Roll my bones,
Ring my bell,

Pope my parts,
Pop my pot,
Poke my pap,
Pit my plum.


Pull My Daisy (~1950)

By Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady

Pull my daisy
tip my cup
all my doors are open
Cut my thoughts
for coconuts
all my eggs are broken
Jack my Arden
gate my shades
woe my road is spoken
Silk my garden
rose my days
now my prayers awaken

Bone my shadow
dove my dream
start my halo bleeding
Milk my mind &
make me cream
drink me when you're ready
Hop my heart on
harp my height
seraphs hold me steady
Hip my angel
hype my light
lay it on the needy

Heal the raindrop
sow the eye
bustmy dust again
Woe the worm
work the wise
dig my spade the same
Stop the hoax
what's the hex
where's the wake
how's the hicks
take my golden beam

Rob my locker
lick my rocks
leap my cock in school
Rack my lacks
lark my looks
jump right up my hole
Whore my door
beat my boor
eat my snake of fool
Craze my hair
bare my poor
asshole shorn of wool

say my oops
ope my shell
Bite my naked nut
Roll my bones
ring my bell
call my worm to sup
Pope my parts
Pop my pot
raise my daisy up
Poke my pap
pit my plum
let my gap be shut

PULL MY DAISY (~1958)

by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady

Pull my daisy
Tip my cup
Cut my thoughts
for coconuts

Jack my Arden
Gate my shades
Silk my garden
Rose my days

Bone my shadow
Dove my dream
Milk my mind &
Make me cream

Hop my heart on
Harp my height
Hip my angel
Hype my light

Heal the raindrop
Sow the eye
Woe the worm
Work the wise

Stop the hoax
Where's the wake
What's the box
How's the Hicks

Rob my locker
Lick my rocks
Rack my lacks
Lark my looks

Whore my door
Beat my beer
Craze my hair
Bare my poor

Say my oops
Ope my shell
Roll my bones
Ring my bell

Pope my parts
Pop my pet
Poke my pap
Pit my plum

-

POEM OF THE DAY "Pull My Daisy III" by Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady

Here is the 3rd of the 3 published poems from the "Pull My Daisy" series - which was a joint focus by the 3 Beat Generation leaders (Ginsberg, Kerouac, Cassady) to produce a product which included input from each contributor.  This particular (final) version seems to date back to 1958.  Note the differences between the 3 versions...beginning with "Fie my Fum" several blogposts ago, moving to "Pull my Daisy II", to this version.

Fie my Fum begins as a simple 4 stanza lyrical delight (it was called a "song") - mostly the work of the young Kerouac in 1949 and 1950 - but a delight that appears to be mostly the creative work of Kerouac.

Pull My Daisy II includes more Ginsberg as well as the influence of Kerouacs wild "On the Road" partner, the infamous Neal Cassady.  Note that the piece moves back to poetic rather than lyrical form - I can just imagine Kerouac scribing while his wild friends Ginsberg and Cassady dictate their insertions, notably the following verses, inserted line by line into the middle of the original song stanzas (plus more stanzas from Kerouac and Cassady to accommodate the process) from Fie my Fum:

all my doors are open
all my eggs are broken
woe my road is spoken
now my prayers awaken

start my halo bleeding
drink me when you're ready
seraphs hold me steady
lay it on the needy

bust my dust again
dig my spade the same
take my golden beam

leap my cock in school
jump right up my hole
eat my snake of fool
asshole shorn of wool

Bite my naked nut
call my worm to sup
raise my daisy up
let my gap be shut

It appears that these verses are largely the work of Allen Ginsberg, and they must have had a drunken giggle as they imagined the disruption and usual outrage these verses would cause. 

The final version below largely removes these verses and returns to the fun-to-read (and speak) lyrical song-style that was started with Fie my Fum back in 1950.  Enjoy!

P.S. - If you find these posts interesting, and Jack Kerouacs writing inspiring and stimulating, you need to add the books below to your collection.  This poem is included in "Scattered Poems" and our Twitter Haiku daily tweet series #Jackaday features Haikus from "Book of Haikus".  Of course, NOBODY should be without the classic inspirational novel "On the Road" - which played a critical part in forming the "Beat Generation" as well as the larger "Hippy Movement" of the 1960's - the theme of "kicks" and "freedom".


PULL MY DAISY (III)

by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady

Pull my daisy
Tip my cup
Cut my thoughts
for coconuts

Jack my Arden
Gate my shades
Silk my garden
Rose my days

Bone my shadow
Dove my dream
Milk my mind &
Make me cream

Hop my heart on
Harp my height
Hip my angel
Hype my light

Heal the raindrop
Sow the eye
Woe the worm
Work the wise

Stop the hoax
Where's the wake
What's the box
How's the Hicks

Rob my locker
Lick my rocks
Rack my lacks
Lark my looks

Whore my door
Beat my beer
Craze my hair
Bare my poor

Say my oops
Ope my shell
Roll my bones
Ring my bell

Pope my parts
Pop my pet
Poke my pap
Pit my plum

-

POEM OF THE DAY "Pull My Daisy II" by Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady

This poem in the second version in a series of 3 mutations of the original "Fie My Fum" written by Kerouac.  In this version, apparently scribed in 1950, Kerouac, Ginsberg, and the legendary Cassady (the main character of On The Road and Visions of Cody) playfully add versus and lines to give the irreverent stamp of the "Beat Generation" to it.

Compare this version to the original, which is included on this blog, several posts down.  Tomorrow you can see the 1961 transition from this hybrid to the final lyrical version, very nice.

This series of poems can be found in "Scattered Poems" by Jack Kerouac - a highly recommended collection which you can purchase a the bottom of this post!

Pull My Daisy

By Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady

Pull my daisy
tip my cup
all my doors are open
Cut my thoughts
for coconuts
all my eggs are broken
Jack my Arden
gate my shades
woe my road is spoken
Silk my garden
rose my days
now my prayers awaken

Bone my shadow
dove my dream
start my halo bleeding
Milk my mind &
make me cream
drink me when you're ready
Hop my heart on
harp my height
seraphs hold me steady
Hip my angel
hype my light
lay it on the needy

Heal the raindrop
sow the eye
bustmy dust again
Woe the worm
work the wise
dig my spade the same
Stop the hoax
what's the hex
where's the wake
how's the hicks
take my golden beam

Rob my locker
lick my rocks
leap my cock in school
Rack my lacks
lark my looks
jump right up my hole
Whore my door
beat my boor
eat my snake of fool
Craze my hair
bare my poor
asshole shorn of wool

say my oops
ope my shell
Bite my naked nut
Roll my bones
ring my bell
call my worm to sup
Pope my parts
Pop my pot
raise my daisy up
Poke my pap
pit my plum
let my gap be shut

-

POEM OF THE DAY "Fie My Fum" by Jack Kerouac - Pull My Daisy Series I

"Fie My Fum" is the original version of an interesting three-poem series begun by Kerouac in 1950 and finished by 1961.  This original version was a shared idea or brainstorm effort by Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, together -- in 1950 - and was originally written as a "Song".

This poem is part of the collection "Scattered Poems" - the book is offered below.  This is an original City Lights (Ferlinghetti) Pocket Poets series publication - it is authentic and true to Kerouac and the Beat movement, and so I highly recommend it!

A playful little piece, humorous and light -- sprinkled with a bit of the innocence of youth -- and an essence of marijuana.  The title doesn't appear in the poem, but is reminiscent of "Fie fi fo fum" from the classic "Jack in the Beanstalk".

This impression changes slightly as evidenced by subsequent re-writing and renaming of the poem in future years as the Beatific or Beat movement progresses and Kerouac moves into his 30's. The final version is titled Pull My Daisy and was written in 1961.

Enjoy this progression, stay tuned for the others!

Fie My Fum

By Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg

Pull my daisy, 
Tip my cup,
Cut my thoughts
For coconuts,

Start my arden
Gate my shades,
Silk my garden
Rose my days,

Say my oops,
Ope my shell,
Roll my bones, 
Ring my bell,

Pope my parts,
Pop my pot,
Poke my pap,
Pit my plum. 

-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "Bowery Blues" by Jack Kerouac

Bowery Blues

By Jack Kerouac

The story of man
Makes me sick
Inside, outside,
I don't know why
Something so conditional
And all talk
Should hurt me so.

I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I don't know
Where to turn
In the Void
And when
To cut
Out

For no Church told me
No Guru holds me
No advice
Just stone
Of New York
And on the cafeteria
We hear
The saxophone
O dead Ruby
Died of Shot
In Thirty Two,
Sounding like old times
And de bombed
Empty decapitated
Murder by the clock.

And I see Shadows
Dancing into Doom
In love, holding
TIght the lovely asses
Of the little girls
In love with sex
Showing themselves
In white undergarments
At elevated windows
Hoping for the Worst.

I can't take it
Anymore
If I can't hold
My little behind
To me in my room

Then it's goodbye
Sangsara
For me
Besides
Girls aren't as good
As they look
And Samadhi
Is better
Than you think
When it starts in
Hitting your head
In with Buzz
Of glittergold
Heaven's Angels
Wailing

Saying

We've been waiting for you
Since Morning, Jack
Why were you so long
Dallying in the sooty room?
This transcendental Brilliance
Is the better part
(of Nothingness
I sing)

Okay.
Quit.
Mad.
Stop.

-