Anne Waldman's Stellar Example

Gregory Corso invaded my shower one day in the little Townhouse apartment I return to in dreams as “Remember Some Apartments”. It was named “Emerson Apartments”. Ralph Waldo Emerson had always been an inspiration for my memory of this place although he would not have appreciated the commune spirit. Gregory was always barging in, rooting around looking for valium or anything palliative and high-making, gesticulating , checking out my books –did I have any art books? – and would I ever be as good as Jane Austen? So there was that, the sense of invasion.

I was soaping my hair with lavender shampoo. We decided we would probably never sleep together. That was a good idea because he was so complicated to think about sleeping with. I mean it wasn’t even an issue or much of a discussion. I was not going to get my transmissions from Beat poets, I proclaimed, by sleeping with them! I said would you be my pal? And will you behave? He hugged me as we were water rats together in the shower.

(This was 1975, Boulder, Colorado during a summer session of

The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University)

Anne Waldman

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

I am Huncke's literary executor. Roger is now dead but his wife
Irvyne is alive and I can ask for more specifics.

One thing I do remember when I was with my son in Roger's used book
store called the Rare Book Room -- Huncke was there, Roger, Gregory,
James Rasin, myself -- many people -- maybe Marty Matz, I'm not sure
if he was in town that day or not -- in any case my son was about 20
months old -- good looking face, very open with everyone -- good grass
and good whiskey -- anything anybody would have wanted was there
including great literature -- and when Corso met my boy for the first
time he picked up a magic marker and wrote YES across his forehead.

Later in the afternon turned to evening he did a portrait of my son on
the back of a letter off of Rodger's desk and I still have the

All the best,
Jerome Poynton

1 comment:

  1. Kirby the Khrustian, and his PTA beatnik-ism

    I heard Corso on the radio once. His voice, jersey-harsh, and he said "fuck" until they started bleeping his "fucks". He was into some angel-headed hipster jive when I turned it off.