Charles Olson, Projective Verse (1959). Cover by Matsumi Kanemitsu. “On the same small offset press, and as an arm of his magazine Yugen, LeRoi Jones’s Totem Press imprint published thirteen pamphlets, beginning with Diane di Prima’s This Kind of Bird Flies Backward in 1958. The press also published work by Ron Loewinsohn (Watermelons, 1959), Michael […]Totem Press, Yugen – Imamu Amiri Baraka — 1960s: Days of Rage
into the strenuous briefness
handorgans and April
i charge laughing.
Into the hair-thin tints
of yellow dawn,
into the women-coloured twilight
into the big vermilion departure
(Do you think?)the
is probably made
of roses & hello:
(of solongs and,ashes)
— E.E. Cummings, ” [into the strenuous briefness],” 100 Selected Poems (Grove Press January 10, 1994) Originally published 1954.
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley (1875) Published 1888.
“Toward the end of his short life, Jack Spicer began to relax some of his purist principles about the publication and circulation of his poetry. In 1964, impoverished and unable to hold down a job, he consented to allow Lawrence Ferlinghetti to sell his books at City Lights bookstore in San Francisco, officially ending his […]The Collected Books of Jack Spicer (1975) — 1960s: Days of Rage
Georg Trakl (1887–1914) Poet
Photography by Marcus D. Niski © 2018
The Bard of Hollywood
By Marcus D. Niski
He was a tough motherfucker
at least he’d like to have
us think that he was.
Everyday he’d get up
And start drinking and writing
Writing and drinking.
Yet under that
beer barrel chest
lay the heart of a lion,
a heart of gold
He gave us his best stuff
Fresh from the suburbs, the factories
the pool halls, the wastelands, the racetracks, the detritus
of urban life.
He never gave up
gave in until
he gave his last
which as good as his best
He never understood
the human condition
because he was always striving.
‘He didn’t think much of them’
The Humans that is.
One of the most acute observers,
He laid his soul bare
And he told of the blood, the puss
the stink, the shit, the beauty, the horror
and the mundanity of life.
He lived life
To its fullest
despite his own queer
was a one-shot deal
An original even if it’s a clique
To suggest it.
His writing lives on
To grace us with its realness,
And its beauty.
[MN] 15 January 2020
Dedicated to Charles Bukowski (1920–1994) – one of my great literary heroes.
Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.
― Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski — The Vale of Soul-Making
if there is light
it will find
— Charles Bukowski, from “the harder you try,” The People Look Like Flowers. (Ecco; First Edition edition (March 27, 2007)Charles Bukowski — The Vale of Soul-Making
wallyRe is an Austrian sound artist, poet and photographer. This poem – the third part of a triptych – pays homage to the works of the Dada and Surrealist poets as well as the technique of chance operations as articulated by artists such as John Cage. More about wally Re can be found at her website: wallyre.net
Image & Poem Text © wallyRe 2021
And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind
— Mark Strand, from “Pablo Neruda and his passions,” The New Yorker (September 8, 2003)Mark Strand — The Vale of Soul-Making