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Allen reads a poem on the death of his father, Louis Ginsberg, titled “Don’t Grow Old.” He recounts how his aged, ailing father, reduced to the state of an infant to be bathed, lifted and laid in bed by others, ruefully remarked to Peter: “don’t grow old.” Allen also relates how he read poetry aloud to his dying father, including Wordsworth’s “Ode: Intimations of Immortality.” As he pronounced to his father Wordworth’s lines concerning how at birth the human soul “cometh from afar / Not in entire forgetfulness / And not in utter nakedness, / But trailing clouds of glory do we come / From God, who is our home,” his father sighed deeply and said to him: “That’s beautiful, but it isn’t true.” Now, harmonizing with Steven, Allen sings a melancholy composition called “Father Death Blues.”
At intervals, throughout the reading of poems and the singing, the madman in the room continues to voice loud and enraptured “heil Hitlers.” Once, Ginsberg stops and with patient weariness addresses the man, saying: “Please let me read. Please don’t interrupt me. The poems are quiet.” There are further songs, “The Little Fish Devours the Big Fish,” and the lively “Do the Meditation Rock,” and further poems, “The Black Man,” “What Are You Up to?” and “Libellous Poem.” To all of these, the Danish audience responds with much applause.
Then Peter, who has been smoking, staring and musing the while, reads from his own collection of verse, the scandalously titled Clean Asshole Poems & Smiling Vegetable Songs . Peter sits wide-legged on a chair, holding his book in his right hand, while with his left hand lifted in the air he gestures delicately, moving his fingers somewhat in the manner of a flamenco dancer. As Peter reads, Allen sits to one side of the stage, nodding approval, smiling, intent. Peter’s poems include “First Poem,” “Second Poem,” “Dream, May 18, 1958,” “Leper’s Cry,” “Someone Liked Me When I Was Twelve,” and “Write It Down Allen Said.” These are poems of buoyant whimsy, exuberant invention and deep seriousness. They are the poems of a guileless heart utterly bewildered by human cruelty and the world’s deceit. Peter reads them with touching sincerity in his raspy voice. The audience reaction is enthusiastic.
There is an intermission, after which Stephen and Allen sing a country blues titled “When You Break Your Leg,” and, joined by Peter, sing William Blake’s “The Tyger,” for which Allen has composed a melody. Then, Allen reads “America,” (pausing occasionally in the course of his reading to explain to the audience certain allusions in the poem, such as references to the I.W.W., Tom Mooney, and the Scottsboro Boys, and improvising additional lines pertaining to current political events concerning President Reagan and Iran.)
Plutonian Ode cover.
The final poem of the evening is “Plutonian Ode.” Alan stands, holding the recently published City Lights book of that title in his left hand, gesturing as he reads with his right hand, raising his right index finger like a teacher, closing his fingers in a fist, his body rocking, his shoulders shrugging, his hands trembling. (Orlovsky sits on a chair beside the stage, gaping enormous and protracted yawns.) As Ginsberg begins part II of the poem, he drops the volume of his voice, reads calmly and tranquilly, then for the third and final section of the poem, builds force and volume, tension, drama, passion until the last syllable sound, resolving all in sorrow and affirmation: “Ah!”
There is a gasp from the audience, then cheers and ardent and sustained applause.
The evening’s performance ends with Allen and Steven singing Blake’s “The Nurse’s Song,” while Peter yodels his accompaniment. The audience is exhorted to join in the refrain, “and all the hills echoed.” The audience is warm and gracious in its extended final round of applause.
The poems and the musical pieces are effectively paced and well-proportioned, complementary, rather like the balance between hymns and sermons in some church services. Indeed, the reading or performance taken as a whole bears some resemblance to a kind of ideological-cum-spiritual rite or ceremonial observance for the adversarial culture. A common denominator among the songs and poems performed is a summons to awareness, to resistance, to dedication. The audience is encouraged to learn to meditate, to reflect on the brevity and vanity of life, to oppose the forces and agencies of injustice and oppression, and to practice the virtues of “patience and generosity” (as expressed, for example, in “Do the Meditation Rock.”) For a poet considered by many to be avant-garde, irreverent and indecorous, Ginsberg seems in many ways closer to Vachel Lindsay and Carl Sandburg than to his hero Rimbaud or to his mentor William Carlos Williams. In his dramatic energy and his impassioned idealism echoes can also be heard of the populist prophets and militant labor orators of the American past. (I’m thinking of figures such as William Jennings Bryan and John L. Lewis, among others.) The physical voice in which Ginsberg brings his poems to life before the audience is familiar to me from tapes and records, a resonant baritone with east coast American inflections, his delivery richly cadenced, by turns conversational and incantatory. He is an expressive reader of his own poems, clearly aware that sound in poetry is integral to meaning.

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