dKos Open Mic and Poetry Slam! Monday Night Edition
Mon Mar 26, 2007 at 07:11:16 PM PDT
Good Evening.
While the dKos Open Mic and Poetry Slam has been a regular series on Saturday nights, I wanted to open the floor for some poetry on this fine Monday eve. My reason for doing so is to celebrate the lives of two great American poets – one known to any who took high school literature courses, the other relatively obscure – who were born on this date: Robert Frost (1874) and Gregory Corso (1930). Two very different poets, each having had a major impact on American poetry.
I will be sharing works by both poets and a little background on each. For Gregory Corso, I will re-present the Pslam I posted in his honor earlier this year.
DISCLAIMER - In the wake of concerns over copyright and possible violations, it is asked that any works by published poets be properly sourced (to the best of your ability), kept to less than 250 words and posted within blockquotes.
Our goal with this series is to share poetry, both known and obscure, to share our love for the written word and those who compose them, and to open new eyes to works and poets that may be unknown or unfamiliar.
Robert Frost
Born March 26, 1874 in San Francisco, Robert Frost is most known for his poems about life in rural New England in the early twentieth century. Frost was a master of rhyming verse, setting up rhyme schemes as no other who proceeded him, unmatched by any who would follow. Frost was actually somewhat dismissive of the growing free verse style of poetry, supposedly having stated "I'd just as soon play tennis with the net down." 
In what seems like a lifetime ago, while in college, I began to embrace the written line of poetry. Frost was one of the first to capture my interest. His poems flow with rhythmic beauty and philosophical poignancy.
One of his first works I became attached to, and can still to this day recite from memory is "Nothing gold can stay". In these few short lines to follow, Frost paints a picture of the brevity of life and the fleeting nature of beauty.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Robert Frost
from New Hampshire,1923
now in public domain
Next up is a piece I had not read prior to today, while compiling this essay.
The Freedom of the Moon
I've tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I've tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water start almost shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I've pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
Robert Frost
from West Running Brook, 1928
now in public domain
And finally, another favorite of mine, in a much different vein than those preceding in this essay.
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost
from New Hampshire,1923
now in public domain
Frost passed in 1963 in Boston, his pen silenced, but his voice lives on in the volumes of verse he brought the world.
Gregory Corso
When the term "Beat Generation" comes up, certain names almost always come to the forefront – Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Within the depths and bowels of this literary movement were so many other important voices, those names who don’t get the shelf space at Borders and Barnes and Nobles. One of those names is Gregory Corso.
Corso was the epitome of a Beat – the urchin of the streets, in and out of jail in his youth, not adept at assimilating into "mainstream society". He met Ginsberg in 1950, at age 20, and quickly became an integral part of the growing literary movement.
His first volume of poetry, The Vestal Lady and Other Poems was privately published in 1955, a year before Ginsberg’s first published volume and two years prior to On the Road.
Corso passed away on January 17, 2001, succumbing to cancer.
Now, a few of his works...
I Held a Shelley Manuscript
My hands did numb to beauty
as they reached into Death and tightened!
O sovereign was my touch
upon the tan-inks' fragile page!
Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!
I would have taken the page
breathing in the crime!
For no evidence have I wrung from dreams--
yet what triumph is there in private credence?
Often, in some steep ancestral book,
when I find myself entangled with leopard-apples
and torched-skin mushrooms,
my cypressean skein outreaches the recorded age
and I, as though tipping a pitcher of milk,
pour secrecy upon the dying page.
Gregory Corso
from A Happy Birthday of Death
New Directions, 1960
more info from Powells here
The reverence Corso held for Shelley is clear in the lines above. Corso’s grave is next to that of Shelley.
Last Night I Drove a Car
Last night I drove a car
not knowing how to drive
not owning a car
I drove and knocked down
people I loved
...went 120 through one town.
I stopped at Hedgeville
and slept in the back seat
...excited about my new life.
Gregory Corso
from Gasoline
City Lights Pocket Poet Series #8, 1958
available from City Lights here.
and finally, an excerpt from the piece "Bomb", which can be found in its entirety here. I will share the poignant closing lines...
from Bomb
Yes Yes into our midst a bomb will fall
Flowers will leap in joy their roots aching
Fields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the wind
Pinkbombs will blossom Elkbombs will perk their ears
Ah many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle look
Yet not enough to say a bomb will fall
or even contend celestial fire goes out
Know that the earth will madonna the Bomb
that in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be born
magisterial bombs wrapped in ermine all beautiful
and they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empires
fierce with moustaches of gold
Gregory Corso
from A Happy Birthday of Death
New Directions, 1960
more info from Powells here
NOTE: To the best of my knowledge, A Happy Birthday of Death was originally published by City Lights in 1958, but it does not appear to be part of their catalog anymore.
As mentioned above, Corso is buried next to the grave of Shelley. The words of Corso’s epitaph, written by Gregory himself follow...
Spirit
is Life
It flows thru
the death of me
endlessly
like a river
unafraid
of becoming
the sea
Gregory Corso
I strongly encourage any reading here tonight to dig deeper into Corso’s works, you will not be disappointed. More information about Corso can be found at the City Lights website.
As always, the tip jar is at the foot of the mic stand...
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