Tag Archives: Allen Ginsberg

The Rise of Technology & The History of the Beat Poets

Mackenzie Boucher | April 28, 2023 (dhsspectrum.com)

Allen+Ginsberg

Hans van Dijk for Anefo

Allen Ginsberg

For a “Brooklyn Baby” (1) by nature, with a soft spot for jazz, adoration for “Coney Island Baby” by Lou Reed, and the chronic subliminal fantasy of the life of a beat poet, the formulaic nature of modern convenience has made the flow of consciousness, first thought best-thought theory of the Beat Generation, an impossible dream. Social Media has not only streamlined creativity, dictating what books are read by the masses and which are left collecting dust but has made everything permanent. Whereas just 20 years ago, you had to go to a concert or live event to view it (exceptions of course being shows like SNL, which are live broadcasted) now you can find a video of almost any concert, and immortalized posts of perfected final runs of choreography, and cropped speeches notarizing only the best and worst 15-30 seconds. Songs were allowed to have slow build-ups, to bury the lead. Now most songs start in medias res, there’s no need for songs to be more than 2:00 minutes long, as long as you have a golden 15 seconds, clear chorus, simplistic message, and can prolong that same tune. With little variation for a minute and a half to two minutes, you have a Billboard Hot 100. Songs are no longer spontaneous, psychedelic, or subliminal, but rather calculated and manufactured carefully and precisely, to say the least, Bob Dylan would not do well in the 21st century. Whether or not this is a good or a bad thing, is a personal prerogative, depending on if you subscribe to the idea of musical fate or formula, world-making or songwriting, authentic rough cuts or lo-fi bops. 

This social media frame of mind undoubtedly affects creativity, even latently. One has a thesaurus and encyclopedia on their person at almost all times, as opposed to writing generations before the 2000s, new writers have the crème de la crème of vocabulary, with minimal understanding. Switching out synonyms and phrases until the final product is only a vague maximalist version of the original, that is conventionally pleasing but creatively unstimulating. 

By all accounts, Beat Poetry was nonconformist back in the 50s and 60s when it reached its peak, but now it would not only be nonconformist, but nearly impossible to reintroduce to a new generation.

By all accounts, Beat Poetry was nonconformist back in the 50s and 60s when it reached its peak, but now it would not only be nonconformist, but nearly impossible to reintroduce to a new generation. In San Francisco, Los Angeles, and most notably New York, disillusioned, surreal, spiritual, and high on hallucinogens, Beat Poets were the face of the counterculture. They weren’t concerned with length or rhyme scheme, they welcomed controversy, having affairs with anarchism, and the unfortunate truths of America that would trigger widespread MAGA protests if put into the context of the modern world. Heavily inspired by the syncopated stream of consciousness jazz and challenging mainstream ideologies and trends, Beat Poets took to dive bars, bookstores, and just about anywhere eclectic that wasn’t outright hostile to the movement. With a desire for higher consciousness, and freedom from sexual chastity, the Beat Poets created poems with topics and nuances that even now are marvels of what the human consciousness can create when unconscious desires are tapped into. But with Buddhist beliefs that challenged Christian nationalism, combined with their anti-mainstream, blatant mimicry of the post-WWII message, “war is over and America’s the champion” propaganda, many viewed the Beat Poets as a heretic menace and national threat. In Allen Ginsberg’s case, his publisher was arrested for publishing his 112-line poem “Howl,” a poem that is both an introspective of personal experience, and retrospective of adversity in the U.S, on account of obscenity. Lines like, “Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!” were seen as damaging to the image of Great America, others were sexually obscene and violent in the depiction of the illusion America that often pollutes its citizens with materialistic values driven by sex, drugs, power, and money. Not dissimilar to modern book-banning efforts in conservative states, and even liberal states, Beat Poetry was under the threat of censorship until its eventual end in the 60s. 

“Walking Through Roxbury,” by Jack Kerouac, delves into the effects of this materialism. These pieces were written before the major economic globalization seen decades later, when outsourcing became increasingly more common, and three day delivery, press of a button consumerism expedited the modern buyer experience.“So God bless those trash trucks,” Kerouac says, for hiding the flaws of society, a sentiment that even now is striking, that trash doesn’t dematerialize in the bin, that it not only is a profession, but runs the country, a sentiment which the collective conscious often suppresses, because not only is it depressing, it’s not aesthetically pleasing to be reminded that our waste will leave far more of a impact on society than ourselves.

Today would be by many historical markers a tantamount time as the 50s for the second wave Beat Generation. Even as a counterculture movement, most of the famous beat poets are white men due to the period, a second wave would introduce a new generation of diverse beat poets, that could speak to political turmoil, and the disillusionment of the dream of equality as we reach almost 60 years since The Civil Rights Act of 1964. Like the Beat Poets then, we find ourselves in a violent era of war and gun violence issues that are largely at a political stalemate, which fosters a sense of progressive hopelessness and general mistrust in the political system. The counterculture movement of the Beat Generation was replaced by rock and second-wave feminism, but now music streaming services have made music from the generation easily accessible, whereas at the time of its demise before the internet when a movement ended, it was hard to find pieces to restart it. It was also further destabilized by Nixon’s War on Drugs, but today we have more hallucinogens researched and legal than ever, and modern pop stars openly discuss using them in their creative process, yet the kind of poetry and writing associated with hallucinogens in the Beat Generation is yet to return. All this combined would make now the perfect time for a Beat Generation that could surpass the original in diversity, and political issues, but there are several reasons we will never see this golden age again. 

The rise of auto-correct has removed even the basic right of spelling things wrong and using unconventional grammar in an age when people chiefly use technology to write, making all rough drafts softer.

The rise of auto-correct has removed even the basic right of spelling things wrong and using unconventional grammar in an age when people chiefly use technology to write, making all rough drafts softer. When writing poetry online, the blue line of mistakes riddles the piece, claiming this and phrase and that phrase is wrong, discouraging writing for a beat, a sound, an ambiance, or spontaneity if it’s conventionally incorrect. This speaks to a larger trend of individuals carefully curating everything they put out. Accounts, and messages, all are held to an aesthetic standard, a narrative. Beat Poetry benefited from spontaneity, the idea that you had to be at a place to experience the poetry, but now places that ban phones are not the types of business Beat Poetry thrived on, rather The Masters and medical examination rooms are among the few places where recording is prohibited by civilians, not ideal counterculture scenes. Conventional literary courses also neglect to teach Beat Poetry at all, and most of what the average person knows may be from the U.S. History class and pop culture references, which don’t exactly paint Beat Poets as political and literary minds, but rather pretentious, cigarette smoking, turtle-neck wearing dissociative hippies. 

To be a modern beat poet would mean rejecting social media, reverting to pen-to-pad writing, and unlearning the instinct to make every line perfect, quotable, and indisputable, and instead write to spark emotion, and use raw emotion to write. To a greater extent, the Beat movement is needed now more than ever, we need to see the revitalization of pure unbridled art, that is unafraid of political push-back and societal scapegoating, to spark change and inspiration. Not only is AI correcting how we write, but in the future, it may be able to fully mimic it, but AI will never achieve distilling the human subconscious that makes Beat Poetry and other art worth creating. Beat Poetry is the antithesis of technology globalization and that is both its strength and weakness. Whether or not this could ever be achieved is unlikely, but living it on an individual level may be the solitary self-preserving act to avoid creative conformity, and living by the first thought, best thought rule, is often the only way to write about difficult topics whose message is often lost in embellishment.


 Notes:

  1. Track on the excellent album UltraViolence by Lana Del Rey, which is heavily influenced by Beat Poetry. Features songs that are complete first drafts, and the West Coast music video, which is inspired by Chet Baker’s “Let’s Get Lost.” The song itself romanticizes Lou Reed, jazz, beat poetry, hallucinogens, and New York in the 70s. 

(Contributed by Gwyllm Llwydd)

Poem: “America”

By Allen Ginsberg

America

America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
        17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go **** yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
        need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
        the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back
        it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
        joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday
        somebody goes on trial for ******.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
        I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
        in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle
        Max after he came over from Russia.

I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
        Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
        candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Business-
        men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
        Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
        marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
        private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
        and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
        underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
        under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
        is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
        I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
        mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
        individual as his automobiles more so they’re
        all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
        down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
        munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
        handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
        speeches were free everybody was angelic and
        sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
        cere you have no idea what a good thing the
        party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
        old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
        cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
        must have been a spy.
America you don’t really want to go to war.
America it’s them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
        And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power
        mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
        garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers’
        Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
        Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
        tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
        Him need ******* *******. Hah. Her make us
        all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
        the television set.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes
        in precision parts factories, I’m nearsighted and
        psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

                                Berkeley, January 17, 1956