Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Bowery Blues - Jack Kerouac

The story of man
Makes me sick
Inside, outside,  
I do not know why
Something so conditional
And all talk
Should hurt me so.

I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I do not know
Where to turn
In the Void
And When
To cut

For no Church Told me
No Guru holds me
No advice
Just stone
Of New York
And on the Cafeteria
We hear
The Saxophone
O dead Ruby
Died of Shot
In Thirty Two,  
Sounding like old times
And de bombed
Empty decapitated
Murder by the clock.

And I see Shadows
Dancing into Doom
In love, holding
TIght the lovely asses
Of the little girls
In love with sex
Showing Themselves
In white undergarments
At elevated windows
Hoping for the Worst.

I can not take it
If I can not hold
My little behind
To me in my room

Then it's goodbye
For me
Girls aren't as good
As They look
And Samadhi
Is better
Than you think
When it starts in
Hitting your head
In with Buzz
Of Glittergold
Heaven's Angels


We've been waiting for you
Since Morning, Jack
Why were you so long
Dallying in the sooty room?  
This transcendental Brilliance
Is the better part
(of Nothingness
I sing)  


In all honesty, I have never been one for the poems of the Beat generation, but I imagine that reading this out loud could be quite dramatic.  I am a firm believer in poetry as performance, but for some reason, I have never become enchanted with the romance of the Beat generation as I know so many others have.  I do particularly like the terse and strong feeling of the last four lines, though, they convey anger and frustration really well to me.


  1. Lydia Lunch did a magnificent job of reading this on "Kicks Joy Darkness".

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