On the flight back from Portland, I was reading more of Michael Schmidt's Lives of the Poets. In the section on Charles Olson I found this passage, which made me snort out loud on the plane:
At his[Olson's]funeral in 1970 Allen Ginsberg was of course present, chanting his Kaddish and getting in the way; carelessly (is it legend or fact?) stepping
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Then again, my frustration usually melts when I see that -- for example -- that he drew a picture of his own asshole in the middle of a collection of poems.
His shamelessness is his primary contribution to poetry, I think.
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One of the few pieces of poetic trivia I know is that Frank O'Hara and Edward Gorey were roommates together at Harvard.
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Thanks for this visual of Frank's passing! Makes me think of his "Day Lady Died". :)
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As with Ginsberg, I imagined rayon would be predictable in its shocking taste, shocking in its everydayness.
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