Lawrence Ferlinghetti has died at 101 years old – and it has shifted my step for just a minute.
My junior year of college, I took a Beat Poetry class – taught by Ann Charters – who had built a career with the likes of Ferlinghetti, Kerouac, and Ginsberg – and had become somewhat synonymous with Kerouac for interviewing him and writing numerous bits and pieces about him.
She is – thankfully – responsible for introducing me to a wonderful world of poetry that purposely bucked the system – in format, tone, and subject matter; at the time.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti was a writer – but he never considered himself a Beat Poet. In fact, he spent his efforts – through his gift to the world; City Lights – getting the work of the Beats out to the masses.
City Lights, 2007 | My First Taste of San Francisco
Without Ferlinghetti’s dedication to the cause, many of us may have never gotten a taste of “Howl and Other Poems” or possibly even Allen Ginsberg himself.
That’s huge! There’s a lot of chaos in that thought – a lot of “what if’s” that we’ll never need to consider because Ferlinghetti did it, man – he did it – and it was a gift to us all.
And, it’ll continue to shine a light on people with open-mindedness and comfort for generations.
To be honest, I didn’t even know Lawrence Ferlinghetti was still alive. All of his contemporaries had moved on, so I was left to assume he had too. But to be honest, I haven’t really been paying attention.
Beat Poetry was a phase for me – albeit a foundation and ignition.
I’ve got a whole shelf of the stuff out on the bookcase – and I’ll pick at it from time to time. But I don’t actively read poetry today. Any of it.
Poetry embarrasses me; makes me blush – takes me out of my comfort zone – so I stick to writing it, and then – only editing it for content – and moving on.
There’s nothing as open and honest as a good poem, and the Beats proved that.
You want to bounce something off the Universe? Write a poem, and thank the Beats.
And because of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, it grew past the borders of places like San Francisco and New York and into the hearts and minds of those willing to expand their minds, throughout the world.
Good luck on your next adventure, amigo. Thank you!
I hitched a ride on the poetry train somewhere in middle school, and I’ve been reading and writing it ever since.
I got heavy into The Beats for a bit, and some of it shows in here – mostly in the erratic form and probably written out on the grass or in the cosmos.
It’s my favorite form to write in; poetry.
But – poetry embarasses me. I can’t read a ton of it because it makes me think too much and it makes me think someone wants me to think too much – so imagine how weird I get when I read my own poetry?
Either way, somewhere in college, I started to like the taste of being published for my work – which is scattered throughout numerous rags, collections, and a couple of issues of “The Long River Review”, The University of Connecticut’s literary publication – which I still hold dear to me as bigger accomplishments than my Degree in English.. My minor in Creative Writing.. On and on…
In 2008, I had been out of school for a couple of years, but still writing – and still very much into the taste of being published. SO, I published a book of my own poetry. I ordered a copy. It sits on my bookshelf. Maybe I’ll read it some day.
That said – this morning, Amazon alerted me that the price of my totem was going up! What price? Why Amazon? Why $44.10?
Well, the long and short of it is – the company I published the book through took it and put it on Amazon and I don’t get a single cent for it.
It’s a great collection of work, dedicated to a person I used to know – in a past life – and I’m still proud of what it is – after all, it’s not just a bunch of love poems – and even if it was, you can scratch her name off and make them about you – or share them with someone you love that doesn’t me well enough to know any of that.
I keep an open mind and I’m always thinking a mile down the road. But believe me, it took a few bumps and bruises to get this way. I won’t go as far as to say I was ever narrow-minded, but I was impulsive.
But that’s another story.
I still take risks. But now I calculate the variety of outcomes and make sure I’m good with where I land.
Anyway.
Here are a couple of really solid quotes – one of which I just found, the other of which I have been refining for content, for years – that I wanted to share because I think they’re good for the soul.
… And for anyone who’s putting reality in charge of their day to day.
Feeling safe in someone’s energy is a different type of love. That feeling of peace and protection is really underrated.
Julian Lennon… Mostly
You can pull from this quote what you will – but it goes with a constant feeling of mine that there are many versions of love; that love can be a place in time as well as a feeling and a way of being.
Lennon originally used the word “intimacy” instead of “love” but that didn’t do it for me – it didn’t seem to include all the facets that it could. Intimacy is a product of love but cannot exist without it. Love exists infinite. But that’s not on Jules! I love the guy. I hope he would appreciate the modification as much as I appreciated the original.
For me, love is letting go and knowing someone won’t let me fall to far – or that they’ll hang on and fall with me; and vice-versa. It’s constant state of being able to be yourself, and feel safe with someone else.
This thing, whatever it is, is going to happen. And you have two choices – you can either let it happen or get in its way and get knocked over.
Either way, it’s still going to happen
Ken Kesey… Sort of…
I originally thought this quote came from Ken Kesey when he was talking about an acid trip he witnessed in the documentary “Magic Trip”. Turns out it was a little bit of that and a little bit of me – and I’ve been using it, where applicable, ever since.
It goes with my idea that you need to bounce things off the universe because the universe is going to bounce things off of you. It’s about balance and fate – taking risks and living life. If I ever have a gravestone, I would expect this to be on it.
If you grab anything from these quotes, it’s the idea that there is an energy bigger than us out there and we need to realize it’s out there. We don’t have to like it (refer to quote #2) but we can benefit from it (refer to quote #1) if we just let go and let the universe drive for a little while.
I’ve long said that I have complete control over my mind, but I don’t decide what my heart does – and I believe that. I believe that my mind is fully capable of trying to reason with my heart, but it’s a waste of time. But I can balance out the two and find reasoning somewhere in the middle so that I can keep on keeping on.
“We’re one, but we’re not the same. We got to carry each other… Carry each other…”
The way this house was built, the sun will always rise outside of my bedroom window.
In proximity, it sits in the gap between the house and my shed, and slowly crawls west.
Out past the Brook… Over the Ridge…
And on the other side of the quarry, it crawls across the Connecticut River in a color that could only be described as Peaches and Cream oatmeal while it’s coagulating in a bowl on a kitchen counter.
The bowl is grey. The counter is butcher block. Surreal… This time of year.
Back on my property, it goes through three phases, that start in my sleep as my head rolls across my pillow:
Phase One is first light; that bit of light that illuminates but lacks color. It brightens up the snow and reminds me of the starkness of winter as it creeps through the trees.
Phase Two is where the colors come out. Pink and Orange. If there’s clouds in the sky, this is where the heavy purples and other spectral wonders sprinkle the landscape. Long and sometimes-swelling lines of color and light, hard-brushed through that section of my sky.
Phase Three of these winter wonders is when the sun finally appears, having crawled up from the river bed, up the walls of the valley – and into view. She’s bright, orange and white, and she splits the sky of color before those colors finally fade.
This all happens over the course of twenty minutes – give or take a few heartbeats – with the final phase lingering with my first morning thoughts.
It starts after the first frost of the last year and ends at the first sign of spring in the new year. I don’t need to set an alarm on these cold and technicolor days.
Phase One taps me on my shoulder in my dreams to let me know that morning has come.
By Phase Two, I’m either up and away and in wonder of it all. Or, letting the dog out; following her in the yard, around the side of the house, to stare and watch as the colors multiply and evolve.
Today the snow is half way up my fuzzy thigh. I wouldn’t regularly allow it up past the cuff of my boots, but today I don’t mind. In fact, today – I don’t think I could avoid it.
We’ve got more standing snow this year than any year in memory.
Phase Three is generally enjoyed with a cup of coffee in hand, as I stare at it through the dying Sawgrass and thriving Miscanthus off the edge of the deck.
I love the way the light fickers off of the spots of frost and gets magnified through the drops of dew on the feather fronds of these itchy plants that never die…
Tan and brittle now – but preserved in space when left to be… They act as a paint brush in the wind as they disrupt my view of the morning sky.
Winter in Maromas isn’t anything I’ve lived through before.
It makes my mind wander – making me think all the wonderful things.. Which makes my heart beat in sync.. Charting a course to where it needs to be.
Where I need to be.
This is all happens live, at the Lemonade Stand; 06457.
When I need to say something, sometimes I use song lyrics to convey a message and to avoid direct and possibly cringeworthy moments.
You know, those moments that you build yourself up to make happen and they can go either way – one of which fills your tanks with hope and happiness and the other in which the world around you implodes and your get red in the face.
Personal confessions.. Awkward admissions..
Moments where you want to say something without saying it – but not so loud that you throw anyone off balance.
Just a tap on the shoulder..
“Hello, my name is Nick, and I use song lyrics as breadcrumbs.”
– Me
I throw them up in social media posts or in text messages just to say “hey” or to free up some space in my head.
To let someone know I’m thinking about them… .. Maybe to get them to think about me?
I should interject that I’m also ridiculously direct and insert myself in those moments more than I’d like to admit. I’m still human after all.. But this isn’t about that.
And an Aries!
(If you buy into that celestial syrup.. Which I think everyone should at least consider, but that’s another story for another time.)
Anyway…
This morning I went to go post something free of anything dramatic or emotional and found that every song I thought would accompany the moment alluded back to things that were dramatic and emotional and – for the first time – I was stumped.
Have I pigeonholed myself? Is my mind only geared towards a select group of things? Okay – honestly – one thing?
Or is it just that all of these songs written and performed to be breadcrumbs? Like these performers are doing exactly what I am doing – just on a bigger stage?
(Oh man, don’t allow me a stage..)
Even now, in writing this, I’ve thought about three or four songs I could use to compliment the photo I’m going to post – and they all lead back to where this all began.
What’s compounding is the fact that it might not be the lyric that I pick which is causing the problem – but possibly the lyrics around it.
I’m not hopeless – but I am romantic – and this isn’t the time for that.
I’m a forty year old guy who’s been through it all and have built a better me – and here I am playing coy before breakfast.
Note To Self: You’re a damn fool! Heart of stone? Bullshit.
Anyway…
I’ll just use something silly from the 80’s and pretend this didn’t happen.
I’m still going to make the post, afterall.. Which, in itself is IT happening..
I’ve been writing, as a form of expression, since I was a kid.
First it was short stories, then it became poetry – I mixed in some lyrics from time to time – then mostly back to poetry, with a brief infusion of reflections, some technical stuff, and even company processes and newsletters.
I write. It’s what I do. I even have a minor in it. Seriously.
… and American History, with a strong focus on Native American studies.
I am a writer.
Anyway.
At some point in high school, when I was fording the waters of emotions and angst, I would get a few beers in me on the weekends, and type my creative thoughts down – with the intention of writing them in my journal the next day (for posterity).
The Word file on my computer was titled “Write When Sober”.
Eventually I realized that posterity was overrated, which coincided with the worldwide adoption of electronic devices that you could store in your pocket and write whenever – so I completely gave up on writing these musings down and just stuck to my, ever-growing, Word file.
That file is over 200 pages long and currently lives on a computer which I can’t access for numerous reasons – but it’s still here, waiting for repair.
I’ve adjusted.
That said – I find writing to be the best outlet for anyone looking to get an idea or some emotions out.
Sad fact, it goes hand in hand with drinking – and some folks even think they’re better off – as writers – when they’re a little banged up.
And some are.
Fact is, though I have benefited from moments of levity while drunk or stoned, I am at my best when I am myself. I have realized, at almost 40 years old, that everything I am trying to say when I am under the influence is already there – I was just using chemicals to make it easier to get out of my head.
If I’m being honest, my writing has become more constant and consistent since I sobered up. I’ve always remembered the reason I wrote them the next day, but with this unending supply of clarity, I can now get my point across without getting to out there. Because, believe me, some of what I have written is out there.
Brass tacks: I am an introvert trapped inside of an extrovert. So writing has been a godsend.
I have long struggled with sharing my deep down feelings because I didn’t want to upset the flight of the cosmos – but in reality, what do you have to lose? Why not just get your thoughts and feelings out there and see what bounces back?
In short – say what you need to say and let the chips fall where they may.
If you can get through an awkward situation, sober – you can walk through fire without getting burned.
… That’s metaphorical, don’t get weird.
Approach it this way – keep a journal and don’t think of it as you trying to write something, because then you get caught up and start to think that you don’t know how to write.
Just express yourself. No one has to read it unless you want them to. But you should be expressing yourself.
No one was meant to keep all those thoughts in their head – good, bad, and otherwise.
Tribe Of Flannel 