Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (59 page)

Jean-Louis

Allen Ginsberg [Amsterdam, The Netherlands] to
Jack Kerouac [n.p., Orlando, Florida?]

Amsterdam Amer Express
Oct 9, 1957

 

Dear Jack:

Received your October 1 wave of beauty crashing over you in America—reading left Gregory exhausted, universe turned sweet for Peter. I thought what inevitable mad dream of life we've turned up. SAVE YOUR MONEY!!!!!! God knows what oblivion we'll wind up in like unpopular Melvilles when Russia gets to Moon and world is bugged with US! (last nite in great calm queer club, men dancing, I thought, Gregory in fact thought, he heard Bill Haley R&R singing “Little Rock, Little Rock, Little Rock, Little Rock, Have Yourself a Ball”). Yes we are sleeping in Greg's bed in nice room in Amsterdam, we cook steaks and eat mad Dutch bread and Swedish bread and Gregory writes mad poems “O People O My people / something weirdly architectural / like a rackety cannibal / came to Haarlem last night / and ate up a canal” and “Four windmills, acquaintanceships / were spied one morning / eating tulips” and we go around Amsterdam in mists by vast museums full of Vermeer bugging the Dutch with insane demands that they join us in eating canals. Stayed up all nite last nite in Paris in Les Halles meat and truck butchery writing big meat poem about trucks full of lungs, ending “Fellow Conspirators, Eat.” And here last night we got drunk and wrote huge chain poem manifesto of our demands for the coming moon—very beautiful lines, dozens of small notebook pages, Peter blowing: “I can't wait till when I get to the moon till I see thereon the round plain the naked human gazelle crying with long hair and high bony cheeks running 50 mph like a jeep over nowhere land after trout,”—and Gregory, “Nor can I wait to see the sad angel of streets in his own personal alley, hands to face, wings covering all, weeping his heavenly woe and lack of Ebbets Field scream.”

I sent Bill tonite a clipping from
London Daily Telegraph
, describing New Guinea Disease, “Kuru” or “Laughing disease.” Rare tropical disease perhaps Bill not heard of yet, closely related to Latah and Amok according to the paper, “Twenty natives are now virtually laughing themselves to death in Okana hospital . . .” Some villages are said to be full of “laughing men and women.” “This uncontrollable laughter is followed by exhaustion paralysis and death.” Gregory just now wrote the poem. I sending it to Bill, he should dig Gregory now. As epigraph to title page of
Gasoline
book, Gregory quotes Bill's lines about “Gaming tables where games are played for incredible stakes.” I sent my intro to Don Allen to give you to read. As I said in card, write a note or page if want on Gregory and send it to Ferl to use also as preface or book jacket. His book is mad and perfect. God knows what will happen to poetry when that explodes and if Ferlinghetti takes your book. Give this poem “Zizi's Lament” to [Donald] Allen.

Back to Business: on Bill's manuscript I know full well how idiotic my letters to [Sterling] Lord sound but on such small details Lord builds his Paradise. He has two letters full of instructions. Well you take over there and I'll work here. Philip Rahv of
Partisan Review
has a section (“The Market”, I think). Please call him up and find out what he'll do. We read him some in Venice and he said he dug it, so Alan Ansen sent him that piece.

Wieners took and will publish one page. He might publish more if he sees more.

Mike Grieg should be able to publish a section.

Don Allen Grove etc. you know all about.

Combustion
might spread a page but I not in touch. If you have time send them something.

The
Needle
, too, if still running?

It's just a question of running around talking to people. Probably
New World Writing
, if you can phone Arabell Porter. Use your imagination I guess. You must be busy to madness. Well, let me know what you think. I mention these small places so that at least tastes and sections can reach select audience and create subterranean fame and response for Bill.

Ferlinghetti once thought about publishing South American letters
Yage
section, as a small pocket book of prose. Well, he writes he would sympathetically read the manuscript to see if maybe a mad sixty page section, like “Market”, can be issued. I will put as much golden pressure as I can on him to do so. When NY people are thru, send him book. New Directions, this year's annual no good, all foreign translations material.

Meanwhile in Paris, will find Beckett and see if he'll help. Frechtman has it, but he'll be only a bug on this. (He offers to try find you translator—maybe good idea, since he would care about literary stylistic matters, which might be neglected in ordinary commercial negotiations. In any case, no harm if you can send him a copy, either thru me or his address: 27 Rue de la Michodiere, Paris, France. He translated Genet and Guignol's Band—so he might actually be helpful artistically—not a question of publicity, but getting inspired translation.)

I not received copy of “Three Stooges”, nor
Road
—send me also extra
Road
to put in hepcat American Jerry Newman bookstore Mistral window. If you got them. If can send any interesting mag or news clips—I see nothing—like oblivion.

No news on trial, tho I guess it's over. Is Lucien carrying the story at all? I wish he would, his name's out. [Henry] Miller attended trial—and later developments may wind up freeing Miller's books—and maybe Bill's—not inconceivable—maybe Ferl [Ferlinghetti] try other test cases in SF. Show Lucien this. Hello Lucien. Make Jack save loot.

All your mad news so fine. Write more details, O heroic! TV answers great—what'd you say on smoke dope?

Re
Howl
, Ferl sent me 100 dollars, has 4th printing, sold 5000 already, will sell more,—it's circulating a lot. Could Viking or Grove actually do better? I wonder. However I don't know. But City Lights took it, way back, and fought trial, and Ferl went into red once for it, so I have already told him I won't go whoring around NY. Tell Lord, if he can reprint
Howl
itself (or any other poem) anywhere, and get me some loot—in
Life
(maybe Rosalind Constable would even back that you know) or
Look
(who knows?) or
New World Writing
(more likely) to do try do so and be agent if he cares and will. That won't fuck up Grove, since their issue is over, and will only help City Lights sales. Anyway, tell Lord, and ask him to inquire around and think it over if he will.

I sent you big letter from Venice, about Europe, you get it?

I sent in Guggenheim—used references: Van Doren, Williams, Bogan, Rexroth, Eberhart, Josephine Miles, Witt Diamant, and you.

Would have used Cowley but didn't know what he thought.

If can sell Hollywood god—good, but maybe hold out for real great fantastic original creative treatment—use Neal and me and you as actors—but anything so movie is pure, even if big commercial flop. Of what other use, and what other power, has Zen poverty—except to demand everything? Make mad bold history, O world smasher!

What and where the big final preachment?? You mention.

I know about Grove record nowhere. City Lights and Fantasy want me to record whole book in Paris and will issue great record when I do. Will do soon.

Beautiful line about being quiet dreamy Hinayana coward. What you hear from Neal? Write me in Paris, tell all, it's so great. I'll write soon. I wrote Bill your news. Goodnight.

Love,

Allen.

Allen Ginsberg [Paris, France] to
Jack Kerouac [n.p., Orlando, Florida?]

Paris,
American Express, Ginsberg
October 16, 1957

 

Dear Jack:

Got back to Paris last nite, have nice warm room, large, with two burner gas stove, five floors up, 9 Rue Git Le Coeur, one block away from Place St. Michel, out window I can see Seine.

Peter's letter tells details. It seems that Lafcadio is holed up in the Orlovsky chicken-shack, is flipping. Mrs. Orlovsky is also flipping. Who is worse flip we can't tell since Laf doesn't write. At any rate situation sounds very bad—i.e. we're afraid from sound of letters that she'll call cops and put Lafcadio in bughouse. (He's probably flipping because she's bugging him, won't take care of him, trying to make him go see his father Oleg and threaten his own father for money, and wants him to leave.) (She on other hand is bugged with him, he's flip, and she's broke and in debt and probably frightened). Anyway big mess.

We figure we ought to do something because situation sounds like its getting out of hand and he might wind up being committed by her. Similar situations in past with other brothers, whom she committed.

Peter thinking of immediate return to states—if nothing else can be done, and if situation is as bad as above.

Therefore, if you can, will you investigate for us and see what you can do? Thing to do is go out there, see if she hasn't already committed him, bring him to city (if he'll go), get him a room and leave him enough money to eat. You can use the money you owe me to do that on.

I don't know if you yet have enough money to do that—this is all hypothetical—we're trying to figure a way so that Peter doesn't have to return immediately.

Peter plans coming back in two months, before Xmas, in any case. If you can straighten out matters at least temporarily and solve this present crises, it might all blow over and be alright for Peter to stay here till then. If you can't and the situation is still bad, he'll leave for States immediately—get Embassy to send him back because of family emergency.

Sending this letter air special etc. I know the responsibility might bug you, it would bug me, the whole proposition.

I don't know what's up this week with you and what the pressure of other wild events is, and if you are in a position to do anything anyway.

If you can try, please go out there with one of the aspiring hot rodders immediately, and write us what's up.

If you can't do anything, please write back, immediately, and let us know, so that we can make arrangements for Peter to return. What I mean is we got to hear from you in a matter of a couple of days—can't afford to wait.

Normally I'd assume such matters settle themselves Buddhist-wise and no point doing anything (The sun rises and sets without my help)—but something real evil might happen to Laf, Beloved Laf, we're worried.

But so, I mean, man, Jack, write us immediately if you can go out there, or not, so we can take big hysterical actions.

Peter worried, sad.

Everything else fine, we rescued Corso from Amsterdam, had a three week ball there. Saw [Barney] Rosset today, he's in NY by time you get this letter. Saw Frechtman, he hadn't even read Burroughs manuscript. I took it back and have Beckett's address and will take it to him tomorrow. KiKi
¹²⁹
was stabbed to death in Spain by jealous orchestra leader, says Bill. Jane Bowles flipped and is in English Hospital. Bill writing more. I wrote you the other day. Gregory's book will be great. My family saw you on TV and said you talked about
Howl
too, great. Case is won I hear, headlined in
Chronicle
. I'm writing big poem to rest of Universe, now that we are out of Earth—biggest news event (tell Lou) since invention of Fire. Do you realize we'll soon (ten years) be on moon, and in our lifetime get high with brother Martians? There'll be others out there, and we'll reach them, I'm certain—and our poems too—I go rewrite Whitman for the entire universe—have big poem started. Other night in Amsterdam I looked at moon with new eyes.

So, so, so dear Jack, please write us back, rescue Lafcadio temporarily (even if it's a big mess) and if you can't rescue him, don't worry, don't be bugged at us, but write us back what situation is, you can't go out there, so we find other practical way. Hard to deal with events from so far away.

Can call Eugene and ask his car and help, if want—he'll probably come on alright and sympathetic, tho he may be bugged being dragged—but probably not, he'll think it an adventure and be glad to shine in your company.

Gregory alright, staying with us, writing. Paris great. Would there were no worm to mar my happiness. I'm free and don't suffer anymore, in fact never did, but everyone else seems in trouble. Regards to Lucien and Merims (who wrote the other day about big party at his pad)—saw Dexter Allen and Baird and Mason, today, ah, I'm willing to cook beans in my room and not go out except to see pictures and meet 18-24 year old unspoiled angels—old angels are too down. Haven't started making it with female angels yet, just got here, but soon have nice scenes I bet.

Write what's new.

Love,

Allen

 

What does Holmes say? (John Clellon)

 

 

Jack Kerouac [Orlando, Florida] to
Allen Ginsberg [Paris, France]

October 18, 1957

 

Dear Allen and Gang:

I've just sent in my 2 cents to Ferling on the subject of Gregory's poesy: as follows: “I think that Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg are the two best poets in America and that they can't be compared to each other. Gregory was a tough young kid from the Lower East Side who rose like an angel over the rooftops and sang Italian songs as sweet as Caruso and Sinatra, but in
words
. ‘Sweet Milanese hills' brook in his Renaissance soul, evening coming on the hills. Amazing and beautiful Gregory Corso, the one and only Gregory the Herald. Read Slowly and see.”

(Okay?) As you know, (or do you?) Ferling asked for my
Blues
from Sterling and we mailed them to him. I told Ferling if he follows up to call my book
Blues
. . . nice sequence,
Howl, Gasoline, Blues
!!! Meanwhile I typed up “Zizi's Lament” and sent it to Don Allen, who crossed me in the mail with your preface to
Gasoline
which is alright, in fact rather good . . . especially “hip piss.” So all's swinging . . . but here (I think, I hope) is the truly great news: I wrote a play, a three-act play for Broadway or off-Broadway,
one
, definitely Leo Garen will produce it in his 2nd Avenue Yiddish theater but we also have Lillian Hell-man and big producers on the line, big press agent Joe Lustig who is also going to organize such immense poetry readings in the Spring that it will be worth all your whiles to come home early Spring and do it . . . he wants to do it with jazz and I'm going to tell him definitely to play a number, let a poet read a poem, play a number, let a poet read a number, but NOT mix up jazz and poetry together like SQUARE OF SAN FRAN. Joe will take all our advice, he is nice Yiddish saint, in fact Allen you must ally yourself with him and advise him, to have people like Chas. Olson and Gary [Snyder] read instead of Richard Howard and Popa Ididoud. (tho he sounds like he might be interesting.) The play will be called
Beat Generation
¹³⁰
and is only the beginning . . . meanwhile too Leo Garen is eager to see Gregory's plays . . . you can reach this mad little (director) cat thru Joyce Glassman, 65 West 68, get on ball. Plays! Productions! Leaping from the author's box to the stage to make flower speeches! Homburgs! Operas! Red linings to black cloaks! Millions! Money! Cunts!—Drunk on the Bowery like Jack Dempsey! Falling on our head with Stanley Gould in the Ritz! Early morning whiskey sours in the White Horse! Throwing garbage pails at Caitlin Thomas! Kissing the feet of Nuns!—Do you rats realize that the Fathers of St. Francis of Assisi church 34th Street New York are actually saying a Mass for my spiritual and temporal welfare, at the request of two secret Dostoevskian nuns in a Connecticut monastery, because of what I said on TV? I wrote my play in 24 hours, no less, couldn't sleep till it was done, there.—all argues in favor of spontaneous. Here's the big news I wanted to say: ALLEN! you will play Allen Ginsberg in the play! rush to NY and become big actor, scream Rimbaud on the stage, sprawl between the Bishop's mother and Aunt in Neal's imaginary living room! it's all about the Bishop Night, preceded by a day at the races and a first-act scene in Al Sublette's kitchen with big Al Hinkle and little Charley Mew! A Comedy! the dialog pours like waterfall across the pages!—big part for Peter as Peter, Peter singing “can't recall the hours, flowers” (Peter please send me title and words of that tearful rock and roll number so I can insert it in playscript in time for big producers to understand with cigars in mouths *—big part for Peter finally Peter Allen and Jack start screaming holy holy holy in front of Bishop . . . I have ah hunch I've re-done the American Theater with this one . . . it's not even typed! I just finished it! Leo Garen is driving to Florida to see it! Airplanes are flying overhead!—When I get back N.Y. around New Year I'll take up business on Burroughs manuscript, meanwhile Don Allen has it, I had Joyce Glassman call Philip Rahv, answer forthcoming . . . Peter's gazelle on Moon beautiful . . . all beautiful, Gregory, Allen, all . . . My latest poem is: “Flesh the payer/spirit bills.” (I call them little ones “Emilies”)—Very latest poem: “I wooed her with the soft young glue.”—ooo—(meaning America, me young once). I wrote a poem “Too ashamed to show my asshole to Jesus Christ” and next day I had piles.