Naropa & The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics
Those of you who still read and admire the Beat writers and their heirs might be entertained by a brief account of my two summers attending the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. I was there in the late 1970's and, since I had already published a book of poetry, had the good fortune to be a kind of "graduate assistant" for Allen Ginsberg one year, and Anne Waldman the other.
What was it like? Well, it was pretty amazing. Naropa's founder, Rinpoche Chogyam Trungpa, had a far-reaching vision of education which would combine both Eastern and Western wisdom, melding artistic, scientific, and religious insights. His friendship with Ginsberg (Trungpa was a poet as well as author of books on Buddhism) led him to invite the Beat luminary to establish a writing school there.
In my two summers, I got to take classes with Robert Duncan (one of my literary models at the time), Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso (during one class, some news item convinced Mr. Corso that marijuana would soon be legalized in the US, so he pulled out a joint and lit up), and others. Part of the magic of summer school at Naropa was the mixing with interesting people from many different disciplines -- Buddhism, psychology, dance, music, acting. To round out my literary pursuits, one year I took a great course in improvising music with Glen Moore, bass player from the group Oregon, who at the time were the house band for Naropa. I also got to attend performances/readings by people of the caliber of Meredith Monk, the Talking Band, Diane di Prima, Ken Kesey, and Michael McLure.
There's too much for one little blog, so I'll just add a couple of anecdotes. When I was serving as Allen Ginsberg's assistant, one duty he assigned me was cataloguing the contents of a box that had been moving with him from place to place for years. A lot of it was old posters and other publicity for readings and so on, but near the bottom I found a large ticket stub for a Bob Dylan Concert at the Royal Albert Hall. When I turned it over, there in tiny handwriting was a poem titled "Guru." Needless to say, I was tempted to keep it, but archival ethics won out. I turned it over to Allen. He was ecstatic, saying "I've been looking for this poem for years!" I think it later appeared in one of his collections. I have to add that, by and large, AG seemed to have integrated the best aspects of Buddhism into his daily practice. He was (usually) good humoured, compassionate, helpful, and really interested in other people -- even student writers.
When I assisted Anne Waldman, she decided we would record interviews with some of the writers around then. In particular, we taped Robert Duncan and William Burroughs, asking about their writing and many other things. I had these transcribed, and thought that was it -- they'd sit in archives somewhere. But never underestimate the energy of Anne Waldman. The Robert Duncan Interview ("A Little Endarkenment and in my poetry you find me" was published first on its own as a chapbook, and then in the excellent anthology Civil Disobediences: Poetics and Politics in Action which Anne edited. The Burroughs interview was published as a chapbook, You Can't Win, by Elk Press in 2001, and it seems also to be in the new book Beats at Naropa, which Anne co-edited with Laura Wright.
I wasn't informed of any of these publications before they came out, even though I'm not that hard to find. But I don't mind-- I consider interviews to be more the property of the subject than the interviewer anyway. I'll gladly skip a few small royalties for my tiny foothold on the archival mountains of Beat Greatness... did I tell you about how many gun magazines Burroughs had in his apartment?
- Login Or register To Post Comments
- Send To A Friend
- Share With:
Jayne Lyn Stahl says:
Wonderful!
Many thanks for posting these wonderful reminiscences, esp. loved the one about AG and the ticket stub! You were lucky to have worked that closely with both Allen and Anne.
As for Gregory, he lived with me, briefly, in Buffalo, in the early 1970's, and Allen and I spoke about him. I started going to Ginsberg's poetry readings in high school, and had a small correspondence with him which included a postcard he sent to me, back in 1966, in which he wrote: "nice Rimbaud phase." He was an amazing man, and he is missed, missed, missed.... he'd be blogging like crazy if he were around.
Terrific post; thanks again.
John Parker Oughton says:
Your comment
You had Gregory living with you for a little while? That must have been interesting. When I knew him, he seemed like an ageing enfant terrible; still brillliant at times, but a little lost. I have a poem somewhere about hearing Gregory read at York University when I was there-- I should look it up. I noticed AG would look after him somewhat, almost literarlly making him chicken soup.
Farzana Versey says:
Ginsberg is fairly huge in
Ginsberg is fairly huge in India, and I suppose the confluence of cultures made it possible for his works to be accessible, although I suspect a lot of it was emulation of a hippie cult prevalent among the elite here! Talk about irony.
It is great to be a part of that history, as you have been.
One quibble with your wonderfully anecdotal post, John. You say:
"I consider interviews to be more the property of the subject than the interviewer anyway"
Often, what you ask and bring out in the subject has to do with the interviewer ability to probe a mind...
~F
John Parker Oughton says:
Good quibble
And actually I'm a fairly experienced interviewer ... but in this case, since the interviews were a kind of assignment and I didn't set the whole agenda, I didn't feel the same sense of co-ownership. It was just great to be part of it.
pamela hardyment says:
Gregory
Gregory came to stay with me for a while when he came to the UK to read at Westminster Abbey for the Poetry Olympics, a setup by Michael Horovitz. It was a hoot. He was a tiresome but adorable house guests, even washed up for me with his urine. But my son thought this was great. At Westminster Abbey we all filed in, the Dean sat opposite me and Gregry took the lectern, and said in a loud voice 'c***. There were shocked looks, and the Dean fingered his cassock even more nervously, and finally left, so Gregory was able to read on, and we tried not to smell the funny baccy coming from somewhere to my left while we all wore Andrew Logans mirrored broaches, and Gregry went on with us to a tea party given by a lady somebody in a wheelchair, and he was horrifically rude to her because she told him to sotp smoking dope, 'lady, why do you think you have cancer'and by the end of the party they were best of friends, so those days were fun and will never come back. Send your account to Kevin Ring at Beatscene John, he will love it and print it out. I managed to get John Clellon Holmes sister Elizabeth von Vogt's memoir of Kerouac and John into a chap book through him, and she has now published her memoirs, so its a wondrous small world. I am off to see Jay Landesman (he is 90) who published Neurotica in the states in the 40's, I am a friend of Carolyn Cassady who lives here, and so on. Thanks for sharing. I thought Ginsberg was great when he read Blake here at the Roundhouse, and I took loads of pics at the Poetry Olympics in the Albert Hall with a new camera and none of them came out, imagine! Galling. I am Pam Hardyment by the way, no claim to Beat fame, just a camp follower...
John Parker Oughton says:
Your comments
Thanks for these memories, Pamela. It's always interesting to hear stories about these guys... one thing they never were was boring! I appreciate you reading my blog and giving back so much in return.
pamela hardyment says:
Ken Kesey
The last time I saw Ken was just before his death in Islington at Jay Landesman's house, we all had a good supper (macrobiotic) and reminisced, Fran Landesman loved it, then we went to Filthy McNastys a pub close by where Ken was reading and he followed on after us, it was a warm night and we heard a drumbeat and there down the hill came Ken wearing his cowboy hat, I will never forget, and his sidekick beating the drum and the pub was filled to overflowing with young people with their beat books, and they were clambering all over each other to get into the tiny back room, people stood on shoulders, a nutter came onto the stage from the audience, Ken engaged him and they stayed on stage for ages chatting and singing, that was Ken, generous spirited and multi talented, aahhh, such good memories
Michael Pokocky says:
Being in the presence of greatness
Your anecdote on AG, where you say,"AG seemed to have integrated the best aspects of Buddhism into his daily practice. He was (usually) good humored, compassionate, helpful, and really interested in other people -- even student writers," certainly makes this demi-god icon human to me. I like feeling that. Knowing that.
Did you sense their greatness at that time--not knowing that they'd be raised to world iconic status? Also, when you were around them did you feel like one of the gang?
Kindest,
Michael Pokocky
John Parker Oughton says:
They were pretty iconic...
when I was there. I wish now, of course, that I'd taken more pictures, got more signed books etc. as mememtos, but the contact with them was the best part. I wouldn't say I felt like one of the gang, not having their shared history, but because I had already published something and was older than many students there, I did feel they treated me closer to an equal than they might have.