Literary Journal Research Project

The Manhattan Review Spring 1988
Editor: Philip Fried
Publisher: St. Andrews Press/ made possible by Mollie Fried
St. Andrews College
Laurinburg, North Carolina 28352
Photography & Cover Editor: Lynn Saville
Composition: New Art/ SST
Published: Annually

The Manhattan Review, at least this version from spring 1988 has published just poetry, with an interview with Thomas Kinsella at the beginning of the Review.

Submission Guidelines:
For this journal there weren’t many submission guidelines. For this volume 4, number 2 the selection of poems were all representative of the most recent period of Polish poetry. All the poetry written was therefore written in then, the last decade prior to 1988, and there was a special emphasis on the years following the imposition of martial law in Poland.

Journal’s Aesthetics:
This journal is hard to decipher what the aesthetics are. In most of the poems they are short and simple. They normally have references to God or religion, and always go into depth on a simple object. They use the simplest thing such as a heart on a hand, or a grain of sand to explain into depth.

One Piece that I think exemplifies the Journal:
Tattooed Hand
(“My heart came in my hand,” says Khephera)

The man with a heart tattooed on his hand
Sleeps. His hand is strong but retreats
In a lifelong loop of fears, a long life loss,
Lines of life, gifts of manhood, acclaims
And judgements, he wakes, the sad evening
Like a rough sponge pressed into his eyes, the lost
Heart carved on his hand for all to see,
The strength of his lost cause.
The lines are strong and deep,
Blue and crimson scored into the flesh,
A pain and a cabaret.
He is made of longing,
The heart hangs him on its peg,
All his discoveries are less than he wishes,
His hand raids his own flesh,
He stares at the tattoo heart
And for the thousandth time it tears his own heart out.
One Piece that I’m glad I Found:
Thief
He will steal it, whatever you possess.
Whatever you value, what bears your name,
Everything you call, ‘mine’ he will steal.
Everything you have is frail and will be stolen from you.
Not just watch or bracelet, ring or coat,
Bright objects, soft splendours, gifts, necessities,
But the joy that bends you easily and makes you feel safe,
Your love of what you see each different morning
Through your window, the ordinary seen as heavenly.
Your child’s power, your lover’s touch, will be stolen
From under your nose. He will steal everything.
He will take everything from you. You will never see him.
You will never hear him. You will never smell him.
But he will destroy you.
No surveillance is close enough, no guard clever enough,
No lock secure enough, no luck good enough;
The thief is there and gone before you have sense
Of breath to cry out.
He has robbed you before, a hundred times.
You have never seen him but you know him.
You know his vermin smell without smelling him,
You know his smile of learning without seeing it,
You feel his shadow like deprival weather, grey, oppressive.
You know he watches from far away or from just round the corner
As you re-gather your little hoard of riches, your modest share
Of the world, he watches as you build your shelter of life,
Your hands raw from working day and night, a house
Built out of bricks that must be guessed at, groped for,
Loved, wept into being; and then upon those walls
You and your people raise a roof of joy and pain, and you live
In your house with all your ordinary treasures,
Your pots and pans, your weaned child, your cat and caged bird,
Your soft bestiary hours of love,
Your books opening on fiery pages, your nights full
With dreams of a road leading to the red horses of Egypt,
Of the forest like a perfumed pampered room wet with solitude.
You forget the thief. You forget his vanity,
His sips and spoonfuls of greed. But he watches you,
Sly in the vaults of his wealth.
Shameless, sleepless, he watches you.
Grinning, he admires your sense of safety.
He loves all that you love.
Then, in disguise, with empty pockets, his fingers dirty
And bare, rings of white skin in place of gold bands,
He comes like a pauper on a dark patchwork morning
When summer is turning round and robs you blind.
He takes everything.
He is the thief in whose gossamer trap you have been floating
All these years. He comes and takes everything.
Your house is empty and means nothing, the roof falls in
And the walls of love dissolve, made of ice;
The windows no longer watch out over heaven, the bare wooden
Floors show their scars again and ache for the forest.
He takes everything you have, this thief, but gives you one gift.
Each morning you open your eyes jealous as hunger, you walk
Serpent-necked and dwarf-legged in the thief’s distorting mirrors,
You go nakedly through the skyless moonless gardens and pagodas
Of envy that he gives you, the thief’s gift, your seeding wilderness.

Autumn

Above the world looking down,
Watching the people as they go by.

Never alone,
Never any cares,
Just going where the wind blows.

People come from afar
To see my colors,
And hear the beautiful music
I make with the wind.

Oh, how carefree it would be
to be a leaf.

Other Possible ending:
And the many friends that I’m constantly with

Occasionally angry with my biggest friend
I can’t help to notice
The many ways he twists
And turns.

This makes him angry,
And he shoves a twig
Up my bum.

Then I blow away,
Down the road
To see life from a different view
I’m now looking up.

Mary Jane

If you want to know how I got caught, I’m going to have to start at the beginning of my junior year in high school. That was the year that I thought I found my true love, the one that would be there for me no matter what I did. It seemed as though we just always wanted to be together. After school everyday we spent the night linking hands. After a year of this we didn’t think that this was enough time together so we decided to even skip school to be with each other, at least three days a week I was absent from school and not a day went by where I didn’t skip a class. We were both sad and we knew we were both there for each other, to take care of each other.
I always dreamed of having a lovely house on Cape Cod, maybe a little bit on the bigger side, but a house none the less. I couldn’t wait soon enough for this to happen so I decided to mosey around town and find a summer house where I knew no one would live in the winter. After several weeks of observing I found my house, on a little island overlooking the ocean in Hyannis Port.
We decided that this was going to be our house; this was where we were going to spend our days. Even though I know it was wrong, we had more fun times in that house than all of high school. Some days we’d be alone and have hours where we could bond and prove to one another just how much we loved each other. We just couldn’t get enough of one another. But we knew we couldn’t totally withdraw from the world around us. Not only would our friends not approve of that, our families wouldn’t either.
We made a pact that we wouldn’t become that couple that we were both against. You know the couples that I’m talking about, the kind where they constantly have to be touching each other showing their affection in public. The kind where they can’t even spend a minute apart from one another, they just hang out with each other. The ones that have lost all their friends just to prove their commitment to their relationship.
So we decided that since we had a new house, we’d invite our friends to come over and hang out with us. We could all be one big happy family and no one would be a third wheel. We decided that we were going to be the happening couple that everyone would want to hang out with. I guess we just got so caught up in being in the scene that we became the scene. We forgot that we weren’t living our life; we were living someone else’s. It just got out of hand. We skipped our whole senior year, we can’t even remember it.
Our scene became one for the group; I tried so hard to not make other people the third wheel that I became the third wheel. The one that I loved so much, other people learned to love so much too. I should’ve known I wasn’t good enough for her, I knew she was out of my league.
One day we had a huge blowout in the car ride to our house. We didn’t even notice that anyone was following us. When we got to our house we just kept going at it. That’s when we found out a cop was following us. Turns out the cops had been following my love all over. When he saw how much we loved each other he caught me and arrested me for possession of Marijuana. That was when I find out even the ones you love screw you over. My lovely Mary Jane and I had to separate for good.

Missing Child Posters

In every missing child poster there was a clementine. In one missing child poster a girl even decorated her hair with clementines. In another missing child poster a boy used a clementine peel as a necklace. One missing child poster had a boy devouring a clementine for it was the only picture his poor parents had of him. It was as if every missing child poster not only had clementines but also gave off the scent of a clementine. Some missing child posters are like Ispy's with clementines. Some missing child posters have a clementine in the corner. While in other missing child posters the children's eyes are clementines. When the police station is running out of paper they even use clementine peels for the missing child posters. Old man clementine enjoyed these posters so much he went around stealing the missing child posters. Old man clementine then felt so bad about this that he volunteered to hang up missing child posters. Although he would only hang up missing child posters that had clementines in them. These missing child posters with clementines soon were everywhere. Missing child posters provoked people to eat clementines so much that they soon became hard to find. Eventually these missing child posters with clementines on them became extinct.

Poetry is not

1. Poetry is not boring.
2. Poetry is not difficult to understand.
3. Poetry is not complicated.
4. Poetry is not conceited.
5. Poetry is not extremely long.
6. Poetry is not distrustful.
7. Poetry is not fake.

The Curious Life of a Hampster

Small noses,
White bellies,
Big appetites.

Purple castle,
Purple wheel,
Green slide,
Big black eyes.

Lettuce,
Carrots,
Pellets,
Ice cream cones.

Constantly running,
Constantly eating,
Constantly pooping,
Constantly climbingm
Constantly sleeping.

Little whiskers,
Curious attitude,
Disturbing thoughts.

King of the castle,
Monkey bars,
Sliding,
Space saucer.

Oh, the life of a hamster.

Another Day at the Beach

Everyone waits in line to get in as they hear the
Crashing noises,
Little children screaming,
And seagulls attacking.

The children are clutching onto boards trying to stay afloat,
Whistles blow,
Out of bounds.

People burn and turn red,
Some lay down and pretend like there dead
Some turn on the music to block everything out,

Others just ride the wave.

Alan Shapiro

Alan Shapiro
Born: 1952
Years Active: 1975-present
Genre: Liberal humanist

Biography:
Alan Shapiro was born in 1952 in Boston, Massachusetts into a Jewish family. During his childhood he frequently read the Torah, and went to Hebrew school. He has said that he hated his conservative Jewish teachings. Every evening at his dinner table Shapiro has said that he couldn’t go through it without hearing a story about Adolph Hitler, which could be because many of his neighbors were Holocaust survivors. He went to college at Brandeis University and traveled abroad for a year in Ireland on a Sacher Writing Scholarship. He received his Bachelor of the Arts in 1974 and then decided to further his education at Stanford University where he served as a Jones lecturer in creative writing from 1976-1979. It was in Shapiro’s freshman year of college that he decided to be a poet. His whole family used to tease him about how you had to be careful what you said around him because it was going to end up in a book one day.
Shapiro has a brother and a sister whom he’s written about. In 1995, his sister, Beth, died of breast cancer. Three years later his brother, David, died of brain cancer. Just a month before his brother’s death his sixteen year marriage fell apart and his parents’ health began to fail. Some might say that he used poetry to get through these events but Shapiro doesn’t believe that writing about these incidents makes getting through his hardships any easier. He wrote to just hold himself together. When his marriage failed he was the one that had to move out of the house and into a basement apartment in Chapel Hill. When he moved into this apartment he had an eighty year old landlord who had Alzheimer’s disease and every few days would knock on Shapiro’s door to introduce herself. During this time period all Shapiro tried to do was play basketball which he had done throughout his life, and spend time with his children.
Many of Shapiro’s books are written about his own life and he has received many awards for these books. Although he has received many rewards for his books, because they are about his life and the people in his life, many of those people have gotten offended by what he’s said. Shapiro’s ex-wife has even threatened to sue him because of how he portrayed her in one of his books. The book Song and Dance is a book of poems written about his brother David. He chose this title because his brother was an actor on Broadway. Another one of his books Vigil, is a book of essays written about his sister Beth. Vigil has won the award for New England Bookseller’s Discovery Designation. Other awards Shapiro has won include two awards from the National Endowment for the Arts, a fellowship for the Guggenheim Foundation, the O.B. Hardison Jr. Poetry Prize from the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington D.C., the Sarah Teasdale Award from Wellesley College, and an award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. In 1991 he also received the Lila Wallace-Reader’s Digest Writer’s Award. Alan Shapiro is still currently writing and teaching.

Works Consulted:
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200205u/int2002-05-30
http://books.google.com/books?id=gu_nTkN6igC&pg=PA251&lpg=PA251&dq=poet+biography+for+alan+shapiro&source=web&ots=nkOG1O1o_f&sig=jhQ_ctfeU3yUUKm6XUX1bOZLK4c&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=10&ct=result#PPA251,M1
Alan Shapiro

Works Page:
o After the Digging
o The Courtesy
o Happy Hour
o Covenant
o Mixed Company
o The Dead Alive and Busy
o Song and Dance
o Tantalus in Love
o Old War
o Selected Poems
o In Praise of the Impure: Poetry and the Ethical Imagination
o The Last Happy Occasion
o The Oresteia

Moods:
Multivocal “…And when the doctor got there?

Everything outside was in a rage of wind and sleet,
we were children, brothers, safe in the back seat,
for once not fighting, just listening, watching the storm…” (Sleet)

Inquisitive “…Where is it? Is it there? And what? And why?...” (Anybody?)

Grief Stricken “…no brother beside me in the back seat…” (Sleet)

Truthful “…Oh some of course suspected,
we had our enemies,
ex-wives, ex-
friends, and even the ex-
exes that had to pass
for friends…” (Handler)
Self-Centered “…In all ways careful to acquit himself
so that tomorrow when she says
she doesn’t deserve him, he’s too good,
he can believe her. Tomorrow
will be his happy hour. There won’t be
anything she wouldn’t do for him.” (Happy Hour)
Group Movement:
The movement that Alan Shapiro is a part of is Confessional poetry. Confessional poetry is when the poet tells information about their life. An example would be if the poet tells you about their sexuality and illnesses. This type of poet is typically applied to poets that came about in the 1950s and 1960s. This type of poetry is often intimate although sometimes it can be unflattering. Some other poets from this movement would be John Berryman, Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Allen Ginsberg, and Anne Sexton. Confessionalist poets typically use their writing as an escape; they think it tends to provide another perspective to what is going on in their lives. This type of poetry became dominant in the twentieth century.
I believe that Shapiro is a part of this movement because he fits perfectly into the credentials. Most of the writing that he does is autobiographical. When he was going through his hardships during the year his brother died, his wife divorced him, and his parents were deteriorating he wrote a lot to get through it. He believed that through writing it redeemed his loss with his siblings and ex-wife.
Influenced By:
One person that has influenced Shapiro is Robert Pinsky. Shapiro’s poem “To the Body” has very similar language as some of the odes that Pinsky has been writing. During an interview in May of 2002 this similarity was brought up to him and Shapiro was asked whether he consciously or unconsciously made the similarity. Shapiro replied stating “You’ve found me out. It was very much a conscious influence. Robert has had a huge influence on my work, as has David Ferry, C.K. Williams, and Frank Bidart.” (www.theatlantic.com/doc/200205u/int2002-05-30).
Another person that has influenced Shapiro is David Ferry. The generation that Ferry and Pinsky were from was the generation that had the most impact on Shapiro. Ferry has received many awards for his work and has been elected to be apart of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences back in 1988 and is also a part of the Academy of American Poets. I know that David Ferry has had an influence on Shapiro because during an interview he stated this, “Robert has had a huge influence on my work, as has David Ferry, C.K. Williams, and Frank Bidart. Among that generation of poets, those are the ones who have influenced me,” (www.theatlantic.com/doc/200205u/int2002-05-30).
Similar Artists:
One similar artist to Shapiro would be the same person whom he admires most, Robert Pinsky. Shapiro’s poem, “To the Body” is very similar to the language in some of Pinsky’s odes, especially “Ode to Meaning”. They have similar language because of the strings of epithets, and they both worked through different characterizations of the apostrophized subject. “In your poem “To the Body,” I notice a similarity to the language in some of the odes Robert Pinsky has been writing recently, especially the “Ode to Meaning”-those strings of epithets, working through different characterizations of the apostrophized object…You’ve found me out. It was very much a conscious influence,” (www.theatlantic.com/doc/200205u/int2002-05-30).
I believe another artist that is similar to Shapiro would be Robert Frost. They both depicted things in the world as they were. Frost is highly known for his realistic depictions, he often used themes from his lifetime and the rural life in New England. Frost was honored often during his lifetime and has even received four Pulitzer Prizes. Although Shapiro hasn’t received a Pulitzer Prize, at least not to date, he has received many other awards. Frost was also known for his use to examine social and philosophical themes. “…The older boy is saying that no matter
how many stars you counted there were
always more stars beyond them
and beyond the stars black space
going on forever in all directions…” (Astronomy Lesson)
Followers:
Since Alan Shapiro is still alive and writing poetry to this date he doesn’t have any known followers. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if within this next group of poets that he has several followers that want to imitate his way of writing.

Allen Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg

Born: June 3, 1926

Years Active: 1943 – 1997

Genre: Arts & Literature, Gay, Sexually Explicit

Biography:

Allen Ginsberg, otherwise known as, Irwin Allen Ginsberg was born on June 3, 1926. He was born to a Jewish family in Newark, New Jersey to Louis Ginsberg and Naomi Livergant Ginsberg. His father was, like Allen, a poet although he was also a high school teacher. His mother on the other hand, had epileptic seizures and was schizophrenic. Naomi was also a member of the Communist party and frequently took her two sons, Allen and Eugene to the party meetings when they were little.

Allen began writing at an extremely young age. He started to write letters to the New York Times when he was in middle school about many political issues such as World War II and the workers’ rights. When he was in middle school his mother took him on a bus to her therapist which disturbed him greatly for he wrote of it throughout many of his poems. It was in high school when he first began reading poetry such as Walt Whitman whom he was inspired by. In 1943 Allen graduated from Eastside High School and decided to go to Montclair State University. He stayed at Montclair for only a brief period of time before transferring to Columbia University. While attending Columbia University Allen wrote for the Columbia Review literary journal, the Jester humor magazine, and won the Woodberry Poetry Prize. Not only did he do all these things but he also served as the president of the Philolexian Society which was the campus literary and debate group.

Allen was known to be different in his time; he was a homosexual that wasn’t afraid to talk about taboo subjects. In 1954, during Allen’s time in San Francisco, he met Peter Orlovsky whom he fell in love with and stayed his life long lover. While in San Francisco he also met Wally Hedrick. It was Wally who asked Allen to gather a collection of poetry and read at the Six Gallery. When Wally first asked Allen he refused his offer, then later after he’d written his rough draft of Howl, he changed his mind. Allen’s reading of Howl is now known as one of the most important events of the Beat mythos and it is also the collection of poems that first brought worldwide fame to him.

Allen died on April 5, 1997 of liver cancer brought on by complications of his hepatitis. When he died he was surrounded by all his family and friends and later was buried in a Jewish cemetery on a family plot. Although he was just seventy years old he continued to write poetry even on his death bed. Before dieing Allen received the National Book Award for his book The Fall of America. Also, in 1993 the French Minister of Culture awarded Allen the medal of Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres. What is thought to be Allen’s last reading of his poetry was given just a few months before his death on December 16, 1996, although he wrote his last poem only a few days before his death on March 30, 1997. Allen Ginsberg was a not only a homosexual poet that wasn’t afraid to speak of taboo subjects, but also frequently protested on things such as the Vietnam war and marijuana legalization. He also was a key contributor to the Beat Movement.

Works Consulted:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allen_Ginsberg

http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Allen%20Ginsberg&page=1

Works Page:

• The Selected Letters of Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, 1956-1991
• Howl and Other Poems
• The Letters of Allen Ginsberg
• The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice: First Journals and Poems: 1937-1952
• What? 108 Zen Poems
• Collected Poems 1947-1997
• The Beat Book: Writings from the Beat Generation
• Beat Bible
• Illuminated Poems
• Aullido
• Gay Day: The Golden Age of the Christopher Street Parade 1974-1983
• The Yage Letters Redux
• Allen Ginsberg: Beat & Pieces: A Complete Story of the Beat Generation In the Words of Fernanda Pivano with Photographs by Allen Ginsberg
• The Beat Generation
• Poesia Beat
• First Thought Best Thought
• Voice of the Poet: Allen Ginsberg
• Van Gogh’s Ear: World Poetry for the New Millenium
• Lines Drawn in the Sand: The Life and Writings of Allen Ginsberg
• Gedichte
• Family Business: Selected Letters Between a Father and Son
• Junky: The Definitive Text of Junk
• Travels with Ginsberg: A Postcard Book, Allen Ginsberg Photographs 1944-1997
• Spontaneous Mind: Selected Interviews, 1958-1996
• New York Notebook Cuaderno de Nueva York
• What Use Am I a Hungry Ghost?
• Deliberate Prose
• Selected Poems 1947-1995
• La chute de l’Amerique
• Composed on the Tongue
• The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971
• Kaddish and Other Poems: 1958-1960
• Mind Breaths: Poems 1972-1977
• Planet News: 1961-1967
• Plutonian Ode: And Other Poems 1977-1980
• Reality Sandwiches: 1953- 1960
• Death & Fame: Last Poems 1993-1997
• Poems for the Nation
• Deliberate Prose, Selected Essays 1952-1995
• Ginsberg at Evergreen: An extended interview
• A Burroughs Compendium: Calling the Toads
• Allen Ginsberg and Friends
• Screaming with Joy
• Think of the Self Speaking: Harry Smith, Selected Interviews
• Catullus
• Potpourri of Poetry: Summer 1975
• The Phoenix Book Shop: a Nest of Memories
• Journals: Mid-fifties (1954-58)
• Indian Journals
• Canoeing Up Cabaga Creek: Buddhist Poems 1955-1986
• Beat Culture and the New America 1950-1965
• Cosmopolitan greetings: Poems 1986-1992
• Allen Ginsberg and Hiro Yamagata
• “American X-Rays.” Forty years of Allen Ginsberg’s Poetry. Review of AG’s Selected Poems 1947-1995
• The Fallen Angels
• Shambhala Sun, Volume 4 Number 6, July 1996, Arts Issue, Members’ Edition
• Collected Poems, 1947-85
• Kerouac: A Biography
• Linceul blanc
• Souffles d’esprit
• Mind Writing Slogans
• Beat Legacy, Connections, Influences: Allen Ginsberg
• Viele Lieben/ Many Loves
• Snapshot Poetics: Allen Ginsberg’s Photographic Memoir of the Beat Era
• The Moroccan
• Your Reason & Blake’s System
• Philip Glass: Hydrogen Jukebox
• Out of This World: An Anthology of the St. Mark’s Poetry Project 1966-1991
• Photographs
• Visions of Cody
• The Maverick Poets: An Anthology
• Automatic Refinement of Expert System Knowledge Bases
• Your Reason and Blake’s System
• White Shroud: Poems 1980-1985
• Best Minds
• Since Man Began to Eat Himself
• Some Writings on War Tax Resistance
• Karel Appel
• Mailer, his Life and Times
• Mostly Sitting Haiku
• Plutonian Ode and Other Poems 1977-1980
• The Postermoderns: The New American Poetry Revised
• Sagetrieb
• Letters to Allen Ginsberg 1953-1957
• Straight Hearts’ Delight: Love Poems and Selected Letters, 1947-1980
• What’s Dead
• Iron Horse
• Careless Love
• Composed Poems All Over the Place
• Maderia and Toasts for Basil Buntings Seventy-Fifth Birthday
• As Ever
• Christopher Street
• Mind Breaths Poems 1972-1977
• Morning in Spring
• The Fall of America
• The Retreat Diaries
• Allen Verbatim
• Sad Dust Glories Poems Work Summer in Woods
• Allen Verbatim Lectures On Poetry, Politics, Consciousness
• Chicago trial testimony
• Returning to the Country for a Brief Visit
• The Visions of the Great Rememberer
• Gay Sunshine Interview
• The Gates of Wrath: Rhymed Poems, 1948-1952
• Bixby Canyon ocean path word breeze
• Improvised Poetics
• New year blues
• Open head
• Handbill calling attention to the Living Theater who were busted in Brazil
• Empty Mirror
• The Moment’s Return
• Notes After An Evening With William Carlos Williams
• Airplane Dreams: Compositions From Journals
• “America when will you be angelic?”
• Ankor Wat
• Some Mantras
• Take Care of My Ghost, Ghost
• T.V. Baby Poems
• The Bedside Playboy
• Image, Spring 1968
• Incense, No. 16, 1968
• Scrap Leaves
• Wales. A Visitation
• Entering Kansas City High
• Where is Vietnam?: American Poets Respond
• Who Be Kind To.
• Wichita Vortex Sutra
• Prose Contribution to Cuban Revolution
• Checklists of Separate Publications of Poets at the First Berkeley Poetry Conference 1965
• Kral Majales
• Wholly Communion
• Wynn Chamberlain
• The Change
• Way Out, January 1963
• Beat Coast East: An Anthology of Rebellion
• Big Table
• Folio, Winter 1960
• Kulchur, Spring 1960
• Naked Lunch
• Wagner, Spring 1959
• Columbia Review, May 1947

Group Movement

The objective of the beat movement was to be different. The so called, Beatniks, tried to start a new movement in literature. The beat movement started in the late fifties and went on into the early sixties before hippies came around. Those involved with the beat movement were sometimes called beatniks, which refer to how they rejected the mainstream values of America. They not only rejected these mainstream values but they also experimented with different drugs and different sexualities, and were interested in Eastern spirituality. Some of the major works of the beat movement were Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch. Those that were involved with the beat movement met in New York then moved to San Francisco in the mid 1950s where they expanded and met with members of the San Francisco Renaissance. This expanding of the beat generation quickly transformed in the sixties to the hippie generation.

Allen Ginsberg not only fits into the beat movement, but some would call him a founder of it. Howl, a book written by Ginsberg is one of the major works of the beat movement. It is a biography of Ginsberg’s experiences prior to 1955 and a history of the beat generation. Ginsberg also claimed that in Howl were his unresolved emotions towards his mother, Naomi’s schizophrenia. In Howl Ginsberg also writes about his homosexuality which was extremely rare for his time period.

“…with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,…”

Moods

Obscene “…who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love…”(Howl)

Futuristic “...who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed…” (Howl)

Bohemian “…who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot..” (Howl)

Truthful “…I can't stand my own mind…” (America)

Spiritual “…I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations…”

(America)

Similar Artists:

Gregory Corso was another writer from the Beat Movement like Allen Ginsberg, therefore I believe, like others, that he is a similar artist. Ginsberg was impressed with the poetry that Corso had written while he was in jail for burglary, and decided to meet him in 1950. Corso was then deemed one of the three core writers for the Beat Movement like Ginsberg. When Ginsberg was spoken of Corso was normally associated with him.

I believe Neal Cassidy is also a similar writer to Allen Ginsberg. When Cassidy was introduced into the world in 1947 many people were fascinated with him. Ginsberg was known to have an affair with Cassidy and then later became his own personal writing- tutor. In many of Cassidy’s letters he has the similar free-flowing style that Ginsberg has.

Influenced By:

One person Ginsberg was influenced by was Walt Whitman. Walt Whitman was one of the first poets he started to read in high school when he first became fascinated with poetry. Like Walt Whitman, Ginsberg usually likes to write in free verse. I believe he also looked up to Walt Whitman because like Ginsberg, Whitman also wrote about his homosexuality which was a rare occurrence in his time.

Another person that Ginsberg was influenced by was William Carlos Williams. It was Williams who Ginsberg studied poetry with. During the time he studied poetry with Ginsberg he was in the middle of writing his poem “Paterson” which was about the city that he lived near. Ginsberg attended many readings by Williams and then decided to write him letters and send him poems of his own. In these poems that he sent to Williams he used rhyme and meter which Williams hated. Even though he hated Ginsberg’s poems he loved his letters and even included a part of his letter in “Paterson”. It was Williams that taught Ginsberg not to copy his masters but to write in his own voice.

Follower:

One person that Ginsberg influenced is the well known, Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan is an American singer/ songwriter, author, poet, and painter. Much of his work dates from the 1960s which was around the time that Ginsberg had befriended Dylan. It was at this time that there was a bridge that formed between the beat movement and the hippie movement.

Lost

It was all about the impression. None of it would've happened if she just didn't care what other people thought of her. It was the typical cold winter day on their freshman year of high school's christmas break, and Sarah had her cousin Katie down. Katie was done sitting in the house watching movies and playing games, she wanted some real fun knowing that her aunt and uncle were out of the house all day. Sarah complied to Katie's wishes, although feeling hesitant and thinking it wasn't really all that great of an idea. However, she knew what she was going to do. She told her cousin that her friends had hidden a bottle of Jack Daniels down the street in a path and although not knowing quite where it was they could find it and get drunk.
So they headed off down the street to the path and when they approached about where the bottle would be she found her friends already there drinking it. There were three boys, one was her best friend Sy, another was his friend Will, and another boy named Jonny she had never seen. As soon as they saw Sarah and Katie they invited them to join. Katie took a shot from the bottle first, then Sarah took the bottle and just started to chug. That was the last thing Sarah remembered that afternoon.
Sarah woke up feeling like she couldn't move, her cousin on top of her was crying begging that it should be her and not Sarah. Half of Sarah's clothes were off and she was shaking and throwing up all over the place. It was dark now and Sarah was confused what happened to the whole day. She started to cry begging her friends and cousin to take her home. They wouldn't let her leave, she was stuck in the woods. She fall back asleep and woke up again, a few hours later this time by a voice.
The voice was her Dad and dog looking for her and her cousin. She heard him ask if he knew where Sy was, knowing full well who she had been with and knowing his reputation. Little did he know that he was talking to Sy and he denied even know who Sy was. The dog was running around and while her Dad was talking, her dog came right up to her. Her dad then saw her body by the fire and grabbed her by the arm. He started yelling telling her he's called everyone looking for her and has been so worried. He then started back out of the path dragging Sarah and Katie with him, furious.
Sarah tried to walk but couldn't so Katie tried to hold her up as best as she could although she kept falling down. After what seemed like the longest walk of their lives they got into her father's car and drove back to the house. When they got back to the house her father dragged her into the kitchen. He couldn't bear the sight of her, she had throw up all down her shirt, and her new coat had burns on it. He yelled at her for the few moments he could bare to look at her then told to her to run upstairs and take a shower. Katie had already been on the phone and told her parents what happened by this time. Sarah was extremely scared at what was going on by this point so she asked Katie to go in the bathroom with her and make sure she didn't pass out in the shower.
While in the shower Sarah told Katie she had no idea what just happened to her and wanted Katie to fill her in. Katie told her that the boy she didn't know stole her cell phone while, Sy, who Sarah thought was her best friend had sex with Katie, numerous times. Katie was raped while Sarah was asleep and had no idea what was going on. Sarah felt so guilty for this, feeling that everything was all her fault. Katie deserved none of this. Katie also told Sarah how she started to jump over the fire burning her new shoes and coat. Sarah asked her why her her clothing had been off when she woke up and Katie had to tell her that she too, was raped.
After the shower Sarah just didn't know what to do with herself, she was just so dissapointed at herself. She decided that on top of the punishment she would be recieving from her parents she would take the television out of her room also. After moving the television out of her room she just had no more effort and passed out in her bed again.
Sarah woke up again, hours later with the worst headache of her life, it felt like someone was stabbing her in the head. She woke up with throw up all around her and Katie no where in sight. Sarah went downstairs to get advil and look for Katie. Katie was on the couch downstairs watching a movie. She told Sarah she couldn't be in the same room as her because she was throwing up everywhere. That night, Sarah spent her night hugging the toilet while Katie cried herself to sleep.
The next day Katie's mother came to pick her up. Sarah couldn't look her aunt in the eye because she was so embarresed at what had happened the previous day. After Katie left, that was the last night they ever spoke of their night from hell.

My Love

At first sight
I knew he was the one
With a twinkle in his eye
and his hot body
I wanted him to hold me
I wanted him to be with me forever.

We will be together forever
He will keep me in sight
and will always love me
I will be his one
He will want my body
and I will be the apple of his eye

He is the apple of my eye
Trying to keep this feeling forever
touching his body
I knew it was a sight
We became one
It will be him and me.

I don't know what's coming over me
He is still the apple of my eye
I know he will always be my one
And we will love each other forever
We will be a sight
Together, one soul, one body.

One soul, one body
He loves me
in his sight,
In his eye,
Together forever,
We will be each others one.

We are each others one
As he holds my body
Together forever
Him and me
In my eye
In my sight.

At first sight, I knew he was the one.
He had my eye, and got my body.
It will always be me and him, always and forever.

Reading Response

Letters to Wendy's was an extremely different kind of book, one that I am not used to reading. I have never read a book that went off on random tangents and spoke so vulgarly about its subjects. I would have to say Wendy's would be one of the most famous restaurants in the United States. Not only do they have commercials on television every other second but it is a cheap place where everyone can afford to eat a meal off of the dollar menu. Wendy's is also easily identifiable with the red haired Wendy on the bright yellow sign. This is one of the reasons why I believe Joe Wenderoth chose to write Letters to Wendy's, to Wendy's.

Not only is Wendy's one of the most popular restaurants, but it's also extremely fattening. Our nation is obese now from all the fast food we have eaten. Instead of making healthy home cooked meals, we look for our quick fix and pull up to the drive thru of our local Wendy's and order a few things off of the dollar menu. Our nation has been obsessed with this new fast food craze. I bet there isn't a person in this country that hasn't heard of a double cheeseburger or a frosty and to put the icing on the cake they now have biggie size. It's not enough to have a large french fry now, we have to go beyond large, to biggie. This new status that our nation has recieved with our food, is yet another reason why I think Wenderoth chose to write Letters to Wendy's.

I think he chose Wendy's over McDonalds or Burger King, because it's the only fast food place that uses a woman as the model. Burger King has the King as their model and McDonalds has Ronald Mcdonald. We are now in a new age where women are not being looked down on anymore. We have women running for presidents, and every job a man can do, a women is now allowed to do. So, because of these few things that Wendy's does different than other restaurants, I believe is why Wenderoth chose it.

Workshop

Strapped on the stretcher,
What do you do?
Hit rock bottom,
got nothing left to lose.

Staring down the long corridor,
Seeing nothing but other people staring back at me,
You know what there thinking,
Just what your thinking,
"How do you think they ended up here?"

You don't know how it started,
You don't know how it will end,
All that you know is how you wanted it to end.

Countless hours in comfy chairs,
Tasting nothing but salty tears,
This time has to be it,
The darkness inside you has to come to an end,
Life has been nothing but a never ending abyss into deeper troubles.

A Letter From Trix

Dear President Clinton,

Thank you for choosing me out of all people to write too. It is good to know that my optimistic ways are acknowledged by the public. Each day I act as if I'm going to get what I want because I truly believe that I will, rabbits are known for the quickness after all! I keep chasing after what I want because I want to fix the mistake that I made a long time ago. The Cereal Company came after me one day and asked me if I would be on the cover of their cereal box. Of course I was delighted and immediately said "Yes!" I didn't even care about how much I would be paid or what I would have to do or get in return. However, I found out since I was going to be on the cover, it meant that I would never be able to have even the tiniest bite of Trix cereal, ever. I was fine with that seeing how I was on a diet anyways (I have been training for the forest marathon). After a few months of not even thinking about what I had gotten myself into Trix was voted the number one cereal in the world. Of course after knowing I was on the box for the best cereal in the world, I just had to try it. But the cereal company had spies everywhere! They even put little children after me saying if they caught me i'd be the best pet they would ever have. I decided to memorize the faces of each person that has ever gone after me so I know who I should avoid and maybe then I can sneak around them and get what I have wanted for all this time. I feel as though I am getting a lot closer now, there can't be many more people that they can even put after me. Unless... are you a spy for them also? I'm sorry I cannot answer anymore questions of yours, I have a race to train for. Good luck living with your mistakes, I hope you didn't ruin your families reputations too badly.

Sincerely,

Trix Rabbit