This is a postscript to the comments I left about 25 minutes ago:
I just started to look at your videos.
The video which commenced with Paul Mc Cartney was joyous and demoralizing at the same time. Joyous to see such an exuberant counterculture and a poetry conference attended by over 7000 people; demoralizing because today a poetry conference would get more like 17 people.
The UK counterculture was lighter and happier than the sister counterculture in America for reasons all too often forgotten.
In America, young men, every day, were getting draft cards for Vietnam. I knew a guy who jumped out of a third story window to get exempted from the draft.
The video had a somewhat extended clip on Allen Ginsburg. When I was young, I adored Ginsburg. Then I wondered if I had loved him only because he was touted as the cool, new dude on the block, a guy exploding with creativity.
I began to see in him the key problems of the avante garde (I never knew how to spell) writ large. He reminds me of Lillian Hellman's critique of the art of the 20;s -- bright men who performed at low fees for the society rich.
Ginsberg wasn't performing for the society rich, but he became a man to be laughed at. MORE SPECIFICALLY: I think he gave rich men of the establishment someone to laugh at because his idea of change was so comical, impotent an ineffective.
Example 1: In November 1967, at a demo at the Pentagon against the Vietnam War, Ginsberg says he will "levitate" the Pentagon by chanting a Buddhist religious formula. He chants. The pentagon doesn't move and the US continues to kill hundreds of thousands of Indochinese peasants.
Example 2: In one of his most renowned poems (either "Kaddish" or "Aunt Rose") he says, apropos of nothing, "I want to suck the cocks of the grandfathers of Iowa." He did not want to effect a genuine liberalization of sexual mores, he was light years away from activism for sexual liberations. He made himself someone to be laughed at.
I want imaginative, provocative art, but I don't want to give merriment to the masters and mauradeurs of the people (bad alliteration)
You're shooting high and wild but you're hitting, David. Abso, these are things to be considered, debated, thrown about. (But better when I've got a clear head, a clear desk and coffee in the bloodstream.) To just throw one log on the fire, I would defend Ginsberg as a Holy Fool - who didn't die of an overdose or commit suicide. America, bulging with sober businessmen and ranting moralists, needs its fools, whether political or cultural. But sure, Where's the Revolution ? is still the relevant question.
I suppose that in part my hostility toward Ginsburg, who I formerly loved, is a manifestation of anger toward Eng profs and teachers. When I went to school, my teachers seemed to think that Eng lit started in 1950. After I left school, I hit upon "The Lady of Shallot." It was like aural candy. This nurtured the belief that undue attention is given to the poets of the very recent past. This also made me long for rhyme etc. However , some of Ginsburg's lines are great, such as the beginning of, I think, Howl: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked into the angry negro streets at dawn....(I can't remember any more than that) . Some of his stuff might be brilliant but is downright nauseating, such as a poem about his crazy Mother that begins like this: "Mother, with the long black beard around the vagina."
This essay was like a huge chocolate chip cookie; there are so many nuggets of succulent ideas to bite into.
A few random thoughts:
1) Haynes appeared to live a vibrant cosmopolitan life which was very avant guarde. But his roots seemed Southern and Poor; he grew up in the South and his first stop in Scotland, I think you said, was an army camp. What accounted for his metamorphosis (Maybe I am too hifalutin with the word metamorphosis, but the milieus in which he was immersed changed dramatically)
2) I loved your line to the effect that America loves its moral panics. We all need something. The Spanish have bull fights. We need an outlet for our angst and anger. The same thing exists on the left. Doris Kearns Goodwin said that Lyndon Johnson said that liberals are happiest when they have something that makes them steaming mad
3) I must concede that your erudite columns make me feel like a Brooklyn peasant whose idea of fine dining is a Veal Parmagiania Hero. I only recognized one name in the bevy of bright lights you referred to. The man I recognized was SEURAT.
3a) I first encountered Seurat in college. HE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE 20TH CENTURY PAINTERS. I think his genre of art was called pointilism, which I think was a refinement of impressionist. I never understood the specific tecbnique he used, but I savored the great canvases. Very simply, every canvas seemed to have hundreds of glittering, glowing points. In a painting of a building, one might see 150 glittering points, making me think of Einstein's realization that matter could be converted into energy. He was Really, really, really fantastic.
4) Your column gave me an idea: Since he got his bookstore famous when a pesky patron burned one of the books in the shop, I ought to get someone to make a Youtube video burning my manuscripts and shouting all manner of curses and derogatory remarks about me.
Ah, David, you make my day. An actual response in the lone-long universe, and a quick one, too. So 1. Strenuously doubt poor. His dad worked for an oil company. My guess is upwardly striving middle class back when such a thing existed. The military was his ticket out of Louisiana. 2. I am too harsh on Americans. I have my panics too. But with the Americans it's the same film playing over and over again, only the actors change. 3. I cheated. With the exception of Miller, I choose the most obscure names just to give some variety to the name dropping. 4. Seurat indeed. But he died at 31, had produced a terribly small body of work and was indeed jeered by the Impressionists who thought him a fussy fool. I wonder if Cezanne's letters reveal an opinion of his work ?
This is James Graham‘s best piece on here yet. I melted into 1960’s Paris. Blending with the literary world, and the like.
The comments above, on this piece, are wonderful. I look forward to your next article.❤️
This is a postscript to the comments I left about 25 minutes ago:
I just started to look at your videos.
The video which commenced with Paul Mc Cartney was joyous and demoralizing at the same time. Joyous to see such an exuberant counterculture and a poetry conference attended by over 7000 people; demoralizing because today a poetry conference would get more like 17 people.
The UK counterculture was lighter and happier than the sister counterculture in America for reasons all too often forgotten.
In America, young men, every day, were getting draft cards for Vietnam. I knew a guy who jumped out of a third story window to get exempted from the draft.
The video had a somewhat extended clip on Allen Ginsburg. When I was young, I adored Ginsburg. Then I wondered if I had loved him only because he was touted as the cool, new dude on the block, a guy exploding with creativity.
I began to see in him the key problems of the avante garde (I never knew how to spell) writ large. He reminds me of Lillian Hellman's critique of the art of the 20;s -- bright men who performed at low fees for the society rich.
Ginsberg wasn't performing for the society rich, but he became a man to be laughed at. MORE SPECIFICALLY: I think he gave rich men of the establishment someone to laugh at because his idea of change was so comical, impotent an ineffective.
Example 1: In November 1967, at a demo at the Pentagon against the Vietnam War, Ginsberg says he will "levitate" the Pentagon by chanting a Buddhist religious formula. He chants. The pentagon doesn't move and the US continues to kill hundreds of thousands of Indochinese peasants.
Example 2: In one of his most renowned poems (either "Kaddish" or "Aunt Rose") he says, apropos of nothing, "I want to suck the cocks of the grandfathers of Iowa." He did not want to effect a genuine liberalization of sexual mores, he was light years away from activism for sexual liberations. He made himself someone to be laughed at.
I want imaginative, provocative art, but I don't want to give merriment to the masters and mauradeurs of the people (bad alliteration)
You're shooting high and wild but you're hitting, David. Abso, these are things to be considered, debated, thrown about. (But better when I've got a clear head, a clear desk and coffee in the bloodstream.) To just throw one log on the fire, I would defend Ginsberg as a Holy Fool - who didn't die of an overdose or commit suicide. America, bulging with sober businessmen and ranting moralists, needs its fools, whether political or cultural. But sure, Where's the Revolution ? is still the relevant question.
I suppose that in part my hostility toward Ginsburg, who I formerly loved, is a manifestation of anger toward Eng profs and teachers. When I went to school, my teachers seemed to think that Eng lit started in 1950. After I left school, I hit upon "The Lady of Shallot." It was like aural candy. This nurtured the belief that undue attention is given to the poets of the very recent past. This also made me long for rhyme etc. However , some of Ginsburg's lines are great, such as the beginning of, I think, Howl: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked into the angry negro streets at dawn....(I can't remember any more than that) . Some of his stuff might be brilliant but is downright nauseating, such as a poem about his crazy Mother that begins like this: "Mother, with the long black beard around the vagina."
This essay was like a huge chocolate chip cookie; there are so many nuggets of succulent ideas to bite into.
A few random thoughts:
1) Haynes appeared to live a vibrant cosmopolitan life which was very avant guarde. But his roots seemed Southern and Poor; he grew up in the South and his first stop in Scotland, I think you said, was an army camp. What accounted for his metamorphosis (Maybe I am too hifalutin with the word metamorphosis, but the milieus in which he was immersed changed dramatically)
2) I loved your line to the effect that America loves its moral panics. We all need something. The Spanish have bull fights. We need an outlet for our angst and anger. The same thing exists on the left. Doris Kearns Goodwin said that Lyndon Johnson said that liberals are happiest when they have something that makes them steaming mad
3) I must concede that your erudite columns make me feel like a Brooklyn peasant whose idea of fine dining is a Veal Parmagiania Hero. I only recognized one name in the bevy of bright lights you referred to. The man I recognized was SEURAT.
3a) I first encountered Seurat in college. HE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE 20TH CENTURY PAINTERS. I think his genre of art was called pointilism, which I think was a refinement of impressionist. I never understood the specific tecbnique he used, but I savored the great canvases. Very simply, every canvas seemed to have hundreds of glittering, glowing points. In a painting of a building, one might see 150 glittering points, making me think of Einstein's realization that matter could be converted into energy. He was Really, really, really fantastic.
4) Your column gave me an idea: Since he got his bookstore famous when a pesky patron burned one of the books in the shop, I ought to get someone to make a Youtube video burning my manuscripts and shouting all manner of curses and derogatory remarks about me.
Ah, David, you make my day. An actual response in the lone-long universe, and a quick one, too. So 1. Strenuously doubt poor. His dad worked for an oil company. My guess is upwardly striving middle class back when such a thing existed. The military was his ticket out of Louisiana. 2. I am too harsh on Americans. I have my panics too. But with the Americans it's the same film playing over and over again, only the actors change. 3. I cheated. With the exception of Miller, I choose the most obscure names just to give some variety to the name dropping. 4. Seurat indeed. But he died at 31, had produced a terribly small body of work and was indeed jeered by the Impressionists who thought him a fussy fool. I wonder if Cezanne's letters reveal an opinion of his work ?