"I Am 25" by Gregory Corso
Will Dockery
With a love a madness for Shelley
Chatterton Rimbaud
and the needy yap of my youth
has gone from ear to ear:
I HATE OLD POETMEN!
Especially old poetmen who retract
who consult other old poetmen
who speak their youth in whispers,
saying : --- I did those then
but that was then
that was then ---
O I would quiet old men
say to them: --- I am your friend
what you once were, thru me
you'll be again ---
Then at night in the confidence of their homes
rip out their apology-tongues
and steal their poems
-Gregory Corso
--
"I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect." -Warren Zevon
The Netherlands/Shadowville cross cultural exchange
project <http://www.kannibaal.nl/shadowville.htm>
Autograph Of Zorro" {from *Shadowville Live*}:
<http://www.kannibaal.nl/zorro.mp3>
ggamble
<shamank...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>Gregory Corso
born in New York City on 26 March 1930.
Will Dockery
ggamble wrote:
> On 9 Apr 2005 10:55:24 -0700, "Will Dockery" wrote:
>
> >Gregory Corso
>
> born in New York City on 26 March 1930.
Gregory Corso, 1930-2001
by Robert Creeley
Gregory Corso died last night (January 17), happily in his sleep in
Minnesota. He had been ill for much of the past year but had recovered
from time to time, saying that he'd got to the classic river but lacked
the coin for Charon to carry him over. So he just dipped his toes in
the water.
In this time his daughter Sherry, a nurse, had been a godsend to him,
securing him, steadying the ambiance, just minding the store with great
love and clarity. He thought she should get Nurse of the Year
recognition at the very least.
There's no simple generalization to make of Gregory's life or poetry.
There are all too many ways to displace the extraordinary presence and
authority he was fact of. Last time we talked, he made the useful point
that only a poet could say he or she was a poet -- only they knew.
Whereas a philosopher, for instance, needed some other to say that that
was what he or she was -- un(e) philosophe! -- poets themselves had to
recognize and initiate their own condition.
There are several quick websites that help recall him now. One gives a
brief biography and discussion of a few of his poems:
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/corso/corso.htm
Another, more usefully affectionate, is taken from Ed Sanders' The
Woodstock Journal. It was Lawrence Ferlinghetti who had suggested last
summer that a spate of respects might help cheer Gregory in his illness
-- and that they were certainly well merited:
http://www.woodstockjournal.com/corso.html
A third, which includes some previously noted, is The Museum of
American Poetics. There's a 'streamable' video available there of
Gregory reading at Naropa , if you can get the sound clearly:
http://www.poetspath.com/corso.html
Lots of us propose to be poets but who finally stakes all, or just
takes all, as being that way? In my life time only Robert Duncan could
be his equal in this way. It was honor indeed to have had his company.
-- RC, Buffalo, January 18, 2001
---------------------
See also: "Gregory Corso, a Candid-Voiced Beat Poet, Dies at 70" (New
York Times) http://www.nytimes.com/2001/01/19/national/19CORS.html
The Whole Mess ... Almost
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life
First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
"Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!"
"Oh yeah? Well, I've nothing to hide ... OUT!"
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:
"It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!" "OUT!"
Then Love, cooing bribes: "You'll never know impotency!
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!"
I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:
"You always end up a bummer!"
I picked up Faith Hope Charity
all three clinging together:
"Without us you'll surely die!"
"With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!"
Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty --
As I led her to the window
I told her: "You I loved best in life
... but you're a killer; Beauty kills!"
Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her
"You saved me!" she cried
I put her down and told her: "Move on."
Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.
The only thing left in the room was Death
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
"I'm not real!" It cried
"I'm just a rumor spread by life ..."
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left --
All I could do with Humor was to say:
"Out the window with the window!"
Just an additional note with respect to Gregory Corso's sad death:
"A wake here in NYC Tuesday aft & eve (January 23rd) on Bleeker Street,
directly across from the house where he was born. Italian gov't gave
permission for his ashes to be interred in the English cemetery in Rome
with Shelley."
-- RC
robertc...@yahoo.com
Will Dockery wrote:
> I Am 25 <http://www.kilbot.net/writing/iam25.php>
>
> With a love a madness for Shelley
> Chatterton Rimbaud
> and the needy yap of my youth
> has gone from ear to ear:
> I HATE OLD POETMEN!
> Especially old poetmen who retract
> who consult other old poetmen
> who speak their youth in whispers,
> saying : --- I did those then
> but that was then
> that was then ---
> O I would quiet old men
> say to them: --- I am your friend
> what you once were, thru me
> you'll be again ---
> Then at night in the confidence of their homes
> rip out their apology-tongues
> and steal their poems
>
> -Gregory Corso
>
Yeah, I know what he means: Chaucer writing an apologia for the
_Canterbury Rales_, Wordsworth expanding _The Prelude_, Whitman working
and reworking _Leaves of Grass_, Auden editing the poems of his younger
days. And one wonders if it was really worth it. Except in the case of
Chaucer, I think that all this revisiting old poems was a matter of
vanity.
Of course, Corso would never have done anything like that. I remember
reading Mary Jarrell's memoir of her husband Randall and recalling a
brief time when Corso stopped at their house--a week or so perhaps.
Jarrell noticed that Corso would work on a piece and then, if it didn't
strike his fancy, throw the draft away and begin another poem. Jarrell
suggested that perhaps, instead of discarding his rough drafts, Corse
should work on them, build them into something he _could_ like. But
Corso said that was not his way; that if it didn't come out right the
first time, it wasn't any good and would never be any good.
I don't know if that was Corso's habitual way of working. I don't think
it would ever work for me; and probably not most other poets, some of
whom agonize over a poem line by line, almost word by word. But I
can't put it down. If it works for you, do it.
Bob Champ
Will Dockery
Yeah, it's the way I've worked for years and years, and only recently
have moved into the other frame the guys you mention worked in.
That's why I'm pulling things from the archives that seem to
more-or-less work in that "first take", to get a look at what could be
clipped, what could be rewritten. So far, I haven't gotten any serious
answers that could be of any possible use.
So, as always, I go it alone.
I have the textbooks, thanks to Colin Ward... sometimes I wonder if
even *he* has read them... no evidence that he has, from what he posts
here.
--
"God Smiles/Sleepy Lizard Girl" [Will Dockery]
http://www.lulu.com/items/26000/26881/preview/Irony_Waves_-_Track__5.mp3
"Greybeard Cavalier" [0x0000/Fowler/Dockery]
http://www.lulu.com/items/26000/26663/preview/Track__1.mp3
ggamble
<shamank...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>Yeah, it's the way I've worked for years and years, and only recently
>have moved into the other frame the guys you mention worked in.
That's clearly untrue; I doubt you've ever given any of your typing
more than a cursory second look, if that.
>That's why I'm pulling things from the archives that seem to
>more-or-less work in that "first take", to get a look at what could be
>clipped, what could be rewritten. So far, I haven't gotten any serious
>answers that could be of any possible use.
Tinder?
>So, as always, I go it alone.
At least you have your friend, George Dickel.
I'll bet he's a *professional* critic just like marty!
>I have the textbooks, thanks to Colin Ward... sometimes I wonder if
>even *he* has read them... no evidence that he has, from what he posts
>here.
I'll bet he's kicking himself now for attempting to help you.
Will Dockery
"Ozzie" wrote
> "Will Dockery" <shamank...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> >
> > That's why I'm pulling things from the archives that seem to
> > more-or-less work in that "first take", to get a look at what could be
> > clipped, what could be rewritten. So far, I haven't gotten any serious
> > answers that could be of any possible use.
> >
> > So, as always, I go it alone.
> >
> > I have the textbooks, thanks to Colin Ward... sometimes I wonder if
> > even *he* has read them... no evidence that he has, from what he posts
> > here.
>
> mostly through Roger Richards at the Rare Book Room in the Village. What a
> guy. The bad-boy front, the incredible intelligence and erudition. Rest in
> peace, my friend.
I've a hunch at whatever level he went to, he's not resting! Way too out of
character for Corso!
> My posting name is a pseudonym. I've published poetry for 30 years. If
you
> will post one or two poems that you want advice on, I'll give a serious
> critique. We all can use an experienced pair of eyes from time to time.
>
> Best,
> 'Ozzie'
Corso, a king of poets, and men.
Tell us more, man!
Barbara's Cat
Will Dockery <shamank...@hotmail.com> said:
Your writings show no evidence of any *work*.
> That's why I'm pulling things from the archives that seem to
> more-or-less work in that "first take", to get a look at what could be
> clipped, what could be rewritten. So far, I haven't gotten any serious
> answers that could be of any possible use.
None? It's more like you paid no attention to the ones you did get.
> So, as always, I go it alone.
And always will with your megalomaniac self-conceited attitude.
--
Cm~
Barbara's Cat
Will Dockery <will_d...@knology.net> said:
As usual, megalomaniac self-conceited attitude
wouldn't even allow you to thank 'Ozzie' for
their offer to critique your writings. Sad.
Whine on, Little Willma.
--
Cm~
Will Dockery
Barbara's Cat wrote:
> Will Dockery said:
> > "Ozzie" wrote
Your apparant obsession with my every move noted, Barbara. The fact
that Ozzie knew Gregory Corso is much more important to me today...
this being a Corso thread... your lack of any worthwhile contribution
to, also noted.
> Whine on, Little Willma.
Sniff on, Barbie.
j r sherman
>
>
>"Ozzie" wrote
>> "Will Dockery" <shamank...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>> >
>> > That's why I'm pulling things from the archives that seem to
>> > more-or-less work in that "first take", to get a look at what could be
>> > clipped, what could be rewritten. So far, I haven't gotten any serious
>> > answers that could be of any possible use.
>> >
>> > So, as always, I go it alone.
>> >
>> > I have the textbooks, thanks to Colin Ward... sometimes I wonder if
>> > even *he* has read them... no evidence that he has, from what he posts
>> > here.
>>
>> Will - thanks for posting the Corso piece. I knew Gregory in the 80s,
>> mostly through Roger Richards at the Rare Book Room in the Village. What a
>> guy. The bad-boy front, the incredible intelligence and erudition. Rest in
>> peace, my friend.
>
>I've a hunch at whatever level he went to, he's not resting! Way too out of
>character for Corso!
>
>> My posting name is a pseudonym. I've published poetry for 30 years. If
>you
>> will post one or two poems that you want advice on, I'll give a serious
>> critique. We all can use an experienced pair of eyes from time to time.
>>
>> Best,
>> 'Ozzie'
>
>Corso, a king of poets, and men.
>
>Tell us more, man!
dockery, why are you setting yourself up for such disappoint? there's a chance
this Ozzie-person might not tell you what you want to hear.
and you know how you react to people who don't tell you what you want to hear.
you get a little pathetic.
don't say i didn't warn you.
--
------------------------------------------------------------------
"I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect."
Warren Zevon
------------------------------------------------------------------
Will Dockery
j r sherman wrote:
> Will Dockery says...
> >"Ozzie" wrote
> >> >
No memories Ozzie could share about Corso would disappoint *me*, JRS.
If Ozzie returns, I'll be interested in what he writes.
> there's a chance
> this Ozzie-person might not tell you what you want to hear.
What could he possibly write about Gregory Corso that I wouldn't want
to hear, JRS?
--
"Mirror Twins" [Will Dockery]
http://www.lulu.com/items/29000/29085/preview/Will_Dockery_-_03_-_Track__3.mp3
j r sherman
says...
sure it will. you might make the embarrasing gesture of showing him what
you..."write," and he might be forced to give you his honest opinion.
then you'll be digging up his stuff, posting it on usenet, making one or two
word comments about it bad it is, because he didn't tell you what you wanted to
hear, and just embarrassing yourself, again.
why not avoid the heartbreak. just say nothing, it's safest that way.
>If Ozzie returns, I'll be interested in what he writes.
you're such a liar, dockery. you're not interested in hearing what he has to
say. you're hoping he tells you that you're wonderful.
that's the only reason you're sucking up to him, so that he will tell you want
you want to hear.
and when he doesn't, i'm sure you'll create your fantasy world filled with
people who agree with you. you always do.
i have your number, dockery. there's no need to lie to me.
--
------------------------------------------------------------------
"I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect."
Warren Zevon
------------------------------------------------------------------
Will Dockery
Found buried *in the archives*, a Gregory Corso story:
----
From: Mehram Maleki
Subject: Ginsberg and Corso
Newsgroups: soc.culture.iranian
Date: 1997/03/07
Hello everybody,
Following a little push and pull over something that had nothing
to do with Ginsberg but in a wrong context had been brought to
SCI in connection with him, I went back to the old book on him I
had read years ago (Jane Kramer's), dug up that and a few other
bits and pieces I remember I had on him. Read some parts. I don't
know if it's the memory of that Autumn 1981 when I read them, or
much earlier memories of early 1970s when I lived differently and
hung around certain like-minded friends, or even memories of yet
10 years earlier watching my elder brothers living like that,
whatever the reason is, it was sure pleasant to go through it
again :)
Here for a little show of my appreciation and respect for
Ginsberg I'll type in one of the best articles I've seen (and
kept) about him. It was written by Dom Moraes in mid-1960s, later
appeared as part of the latter's memoir "My Son's Father" [1968].
I have it in an old copy of Horizon magazine I own.
Maleki
-------------
Somewhere Else with Allen and Gregory
-------------
It all started in Paris in the spring of 1958,
when the young British poet Dom Moraes invited
Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso to visit
Oxford. They did.
On our first morning in Paris, sitting in the Deux Magots with my
friend K., I suddenly saw two unkempt and unshaven young men
bounding toward us and recognized one of them as Allen Ginsberg,
the beat poet, whom I had met briefly in London a few weeks
before. Ginsberg's face had not at that time assumed the
considerable quantity of foliage that was later to enshroud it.
It was a sad, intelligent face, with large eyes that stared
through thick spectacles. His companion was Gregory Corso, the
other leading beat poet, a stocky yet faunlike young man with a
wild look and an incessant flow of conversation. They sat down
with us, and Corso asked K., "Would you like to ball with me,
baby?" There was no surer way to K.'s heart. She declined with a
small, secretive, pleased smile and at once exerted herself to be
charming. Ginsberg and Corso seemed oblivious to these efforts:
Ginsberg fixed me with a sad stare and demanded to know my views
on God, man, and poetry. When I was slow to answer, he told me
his, in a rapid and hypnotized voice, at great length, and then
fell into a deep silence, head bent and hands locked between his
knees. Corso meanwhile described his experience of communicating
with God as he watched a corpse being fished out of the Seine.
Eventually they left, inviting us to breakfast next day in their
hotel on rue Git-le-Coeur.
We went. Ginsberg and Corso lived in an attic of the hotel, which
they shared with William Burroughs, the author of "The Naked
Lunch." The attic held three pallet beds and a quantity of beat
literature stored away in suitcases that contained nothing else.
Ginsberg and Corso scattered this literature over one of the beds
and advised me to read it, while Burroughs, a tall, angular man
with a gray face, rolled up his trousers and showed K. the
network of needle marks that covered his legs. When a pigeon
moaned at the window, he hastily rolled his trousers down and
said in a quiet flat voice, "Birds, I hate birds."
There was no sign of breakfast, but eventually Corso produced a
sack from under the bed, fished some marijuana out, and rolled us
all cigarettes. Then the two poets dragged us off to meet the
painter Larry Rivers, Rivers had a young American woman with him,
and they leapt at her, suggesting that we all strip and make love
on the pavement. "Like William Blake and the angels, man" cried
Corso. The girl became upset and burst into tears, and the poets
were much concerned, petting her with repentant hands and
offering her poems and candy that Corso pulled from his pockets.
After that we spent a lot of time with Ginsberg and Corso, I came
to like them both very much. Corso had immense charm, the charm
of a wicked schoolboy, which he used very consciously. Ginsberg
was very serious and given to long silences; though some of his
statements seemed absurd, they were absurd in a consistent,
rather beautiful way. He told me, for instance, that in his poem
"Howl" he had invented a new kind of prosody, undreamed of
before, and that he had had a vision of William Blake in his
apartment in Harlem. I inquired what Blake had worn to the
interview. "Oh, like a toga, man," Ginsberg said, "the kind of
clothes all the people wore in those days." He also told me of
his first encounter with Corso. "Gregory was just out of prison,"
said Ginsberg reverently, "and one day I went into this bar in
Greenwich Village, and he was sitting at a table. He was beating
it with his fist, like, and shouting that he was a great poet. So
of course I knew at once he was a great poet."
And they were both poets; neither could have been anything else.
Their methods were far from mine: they believed in verbal
extravagance and visions. I didn't, but I respected their
beliefs. Also I admire some of their work. I invited them to
visit Oxford in th summer and to read their poetry there.
As summer put flowers back in the college quadrangles, Ginsberg
and Corso announced their impending arrival. I went up to London
to collect them, and on our arrival at Oxford, a reception
committee consisting of Peter Levi, Quentin Stevenson, and Del
Kolve met us. Our tour around Oxford was crowded with
difficulties. I took Gregory to look at Shelley lying obscene in
white marble at University College. He inquired whether he was
allowed to kiss the statue's foot. I said probably not. He then
demanded to know where Shelley's rooms were. I had not the
faintest idea but indicated the nearest door. I hadn't dreamed
that he would want to enter, but he did; he flung open the door
and crawled over the carpet, kissing it reverently, inch by inch,
while its occupant, who prior to his arrival had been making tea,
stared at him in dumbfounded silence.
Later the visitors demanded to see W.H. Auden. Auden had
specifically forbidden me to bring any beat poet anywhere near
him, but they found out where he lived from someone else, and
since I could not prevent the visit, I went along. Auden, though
surprised, was very tolerant. He either ignored Allen's remarks
on prosody or received them with noncommital grunts. He then
offered to show the beats around Christ Church Cathedral, and did
so. At the end both Allen and Gregory turned to him with tears in
their eyes. This, they said, was the high point of their visit to
Oxford: they could never forget how a great poet had shown them
around a cathedral. They knelt and attempted to kiss the hem of
Auden's garment- the cuffs of his trousers, to be exact. Auden
hastily stepped out of reach, gruffly said his good-byes, and
departed. Allen and Gregory got up and dusted their knees. "That
was a drag," said Gregory. "Man, we went right around this church
with a guidebook yesterday." This curious mixture of innocence
combined with a sharp eye for the main chance was
attractive. Somehow everybody took to the visitors.
We took the poets punting; they smoked marijuana as we eddied
over green, scumbled water in which trees trailed their arms. As
we passed under Magdalene Bridge amidst liquid shadows, the boom
of a bell came to us through the yellow stone overhead. Gregory
said in a childish, wistful way, "I wish I'd been to school
here."
They stayed for several days. During their visit Edith Sitwell
arrived in Oxford to read at the town hall. Quentin took Allen
and Gregory and me to the rehearsal. A large John Piper screen
had been set up on the platform, and to it, presently, came Dame
Edith, in a long sibilant dress on which dark, heavy necklaces
faintly swung and clashed. She looked frail but very queenly, and
she offered us her hands like a holy relic. Allen, however, was
unimpressed. He told her that he was editing an anthology of
verse illustrated with photographs of the poets in the nude and
asked her if she would like to contribute. Fortunately Dame Edith
took this well and declined in the most courteous way. She also
rejected an offer of marijuana from Gregory because, she said, it
made her feel ill. I thought she had the best manners of anyone I
had ever met.
Later, however, when in her customary fashion she had retired
behind the Piper screen and was moaning effectively behind it,
things changed. The screen was not properly attached; it was
swaying about, and she demanded to know why this was so. She
demanded it once only, but the tone of her voice set people into
manic activity. It was no use. Eventually several bystanders,
including Allen and Gregory, were commanded to hold the screen
steady at each end. Dame Edith resumed; but barely a minute had
passed when unexpectedly the screen tilted forward and fell with
a resounding crash, hurling its supporters in all directions. The
only ones undamaged were Allen and Gregory, who stood back with
curious little smiles as Dame Edith rose on the now naked stage
and demanded in outraged tones: "What is the matter, Pray?" Her
voice brought all the bruised and dolorous bodies lying around
her to their feet, and forgetful of their own sorrows, they
rushed to reassure the great poet. Later Quentin said
thoughtfully to me, "Someone _pushed_ that screen, you know."
Things became more frantic toward the end of the visit. Even
then, in 1958, they had numerous English supporters and
imitators, and a reading that took place at New College was a
disaster largely because it was invaded by numbers of them. The
hosts, the college poetry society, were understandably
exasperated. One hairy young man, with large, bare, smelly feet
ambled in and stretched himself out on a sofa. There he rolled a
marijuana cigarette. The ceiling of the room was low, and to the
astonishment of everyone else present he placed a match between
his toes, struck it on the ceiling with a careless sweep of the
foot, and lit his cigarette.
Quite apart from the uninvited hordes, the reading itself was not
a success. I had forgotten to advise Allen and Gregory that New
College was a stronghold of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.
When Gregory began to read a poem about the aesthetic pleasures
of a nuclear explosion, his hosts were outraged. There was a
great deal of heckling, and finally the New College poetry
society, led by Stephen Hugh-Jones, the editor of Isis, took off
their shoes and threw them at the poets. Allen and Gregory packed
up their poems and left. They were tight-lipped and silent, with
hurt eyes, like children who have been chastised for the first
time. Peter Levi and I, indulgent nannies, nursed them out of
their hurt, and the night, their last in Oxford, ended in riotous
laughter.
I never saw Ginsberg again, but Gregory and I met frequently over
the years, in London and Paris. Last time I saw him he was lying
on a bed in a large empty room in the Plaza, saying bitterly,
"Allen's off on his holy kick, and I'm finished with the beat
stuff. When I tell people I'm not a beat, I'm a poet, they don't
believe me. They don't believe I've grown up." He shook his head
uncomprehendingly and turned away.
[Dom Moraes was a thirty year old poet when writing
this- from Horizon, Winter 1969, page 66.]
----
Hey Ozzie, perhaps this could kick off some Corso adventures? Never
mind JRS, he's known in our neck of the woods as the Howard Sprague of
poetry... I'm Don Knotts, but never mind *those* bullocks.
ggamble
Will Dockery
ggamble wrote:
> On 10 Apr 2005 19:03:18 -0700, "Will Dockery" wrote:
>
> >I'm Don Knotts
You may not remember where that came from, Gamble... my character to be
played by Don Knotts in the a.a.p.c. film two years ago, but the film
never came to be. Now many of the characters originally set to be in
the film are gone:
----
From: Lulubell Scruggs
Subject: Casting of the AAPC movie
View: Complete Thread (80 articles)
Newsgroups: alt.arts.poetry.comments
Date: 2003-05-25 19:00:38 PST
My initial picks. Alternative/additional suggestions welcome.
Bindi if female: Billie Burke
http://www.movieprop.com/tvandmovie/reviews/wizardofozcharacters.htm
Bindi if male: Gene Wilder
http://www.genewilder.org/
Dale Houstman: Jeremy Brett
http://www.sherylfranklin.com/sh-brett.html
Dennis Hammes: Walter Mathau
http://www.matthau.com/sys-tmpl/door/
Gwyneth Box: Angelica Huston
http://www.angelfire.com/ny3/anjelicahuston/
Paul Heslop: Bill Murray
http://www.imdb.com/Name?Murray,%20Bill
Tom Bishop: Mike Meyers
http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Set/6172/
Thomas Dillion: Jimmy Stewart
http://www.jimmy.org/
Michael Cook: Pete Postlethwaite
http://film.guardian.co.uk/Player/Player_Page/0,4159,45416,00.html
Art McNutt: Woody Harrelson
http://www.imdb.com/Name?Harrelson,%20Woody
Aidan Quinn: Robert Walker
http://www.cchr.org/art/eng/page05c.htm
Julie Carter: Colleen Dewhurst
http://entertainment.msn.com/celebs/celeb.aspx?c=235608
jr sherman: Eartha Kitt
http://www.usca.sc.edu/aasc/kitt.htm
Dennis Ciscel: John Ratzenberger
http://s9000.furman.edu/~ejorgens/cheers/characters/cliff.clavin.html
Will Dockery: Don Knotts
http://www.worldofcheese.org/knotts/
Chuck Lysaght: Jeffrey Jones
http://www.cnn.com/2002/SHOWBIZ/Movies/11/15/actor.arrested/
... ???
----
There isn't even a pick for you on here, Gamble... perhaps its time for
a new casting session.
--
"Sure, I pray. What the Hell have I got to lose?" -Sean Connery
Shadowville/Netherlands project:
http://www.kannibaal.nl/shadowville.htm
ggamble
>Will - I take it you don't want a critique? Ok with me either way.
>
>Ozzie
Ozzie,
You'll have to excuse Will, he's our resident village idiot.
He's not interested in critique. He's repeated proven over several
years that he's totally incapable of writing a critique, receiving a
critique, or even recognizing a critique when he sees one.
He's just here to promote himself.
M.H.Benders
ggamble wrote:
> On 11 Apr 2005 20:32:05 GMT, oswalds...@hotmail.com(Ozzie) wrote:
>
>
>>Will - I take it you don't want a critique? Ok with me either way.
>>
>>Ozzie
>
>
>
> Ozzie,
>
> You'll have to excuse Will, he's our resident village idiot.
How the fuck do you know that I don't have a relationship with jc, you
fucken ignorant jesusfuck moron. You don't know a fucken thing about me,
moron
Gary gamble's attempt to show the world he's not a village idiot, in
spite of posing online in his tennispants.
Will Dockery
ggamble wrote:
> On 11 Apr 2005 20:32:05 GMT,(Ozzie) wrote:
>
> >Will - I take it you don't want a critique? Ok with me either way.
> >
> >Ozzie
>
And if you haven't seen already, you will, Gary is our resident burned
out Gas-fly.
--
ggamble
Nice joke, marty.
I've seen pictures of you, too.
But, I don't need to latch onto every real and imagined snippet of
your personal information I can find or invent in order to
successfully make you make yourself look like a total
fucken
moron.
Not fifty
Not bald
Not single
Not living in my mommy's basement
Not unemployed
Not gay
Not whatever other lameass cliches you may want to trot out from your
obviously exhausted imagination.
heh
M.H.Benders
ggamble wrote:
> fucken
> moron.
is this self-referential jumble of typing anything close to what you
consider to be a critique, you fucken illiterate moron?
What the fuck is the matter with you? Fucken moron.
Will Dockery
Gamble is *exactly* as he appears: a burned out Gas-fly.
--
Will Dockery
>
> <http://www.kilbot.net/writing/iam25.php>
>
> With a love a madness for Shelley
> Chatterton Rimbaud
> and the needy yap of my youth
> has gone from ear to ear:
> I HATE OLD POETMEN!
> Especially old poetmen who retract
> who consult other old poetmen
> who speak their youth in whispers,
> saying : --- I did those then
> but that was then
> that was then ---
> O I would quiet old men
> say to them: --- I am your friend
> what you once were, thru me
> you'll be again ---
> Then at night in the confidence of their homes
> rip out their apology-tongues
> and steal their poems
>
> -Gregory Corso
>
> --
> "I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's
> And his hair was perfect." -Warren Zevon
George J. Dance
Will Dockery
George J. Dance
> One cliche is true, old age is definitely not for sissies...
The Scholars
Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love’s despair
To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.
All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?
Will Dockery
Will Dockery
http://pennyspoetry.wikia.com/wiki/Yeats
"After undergoing the Steinach operation (vasectomy) in 1934, when aged 69, he found a new vigour evident from both his poetry and his intimate relations with younger women.[63] During this time, Yeats was involved in a number of romantic affairs with, among others, poet and actress Margot Ruddock, and novelist, journalist and sexual radicalist Ethel Mannin.[64] As in his earlier life, Yeats found erotic adventure conducive to his creative energy, and, despite age and ill-health, he remained a prolific writer. In a letter of 1935, Yeats noted: "I find my present weakness made worse by the strange second puberty the operation has given me, the ferment that has come upon my imagination. If I write poetry it will be unlike anything I have done".[65] In 1936, he undertook editorship of the Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892--1935..."
Good Time Charley
> I Am 25 <http://www.kilbot.net/writing/iam25.php>
>
> With a love a madness for Shelley
> Chatterton Rimbaud
> and the needy yap of my youth
> has gone from ear to ear:
> I HATE OLD POETMEN!
> Especially old poetmen who retract
> who consult other old poetmen
> who speak their youth in whispers,
> saying : --- I did those then
> but that was then
> that was then ---
> O I would quiet old men
> say to them: --- I am your friend
> what you once were, thru me
> you'll be again ---
> Then at night in the confidence of their homes
> rip out their apology-tongues
> and steal their poems
>
> -Gregory Corso
Will Dockery
Bad Bad Leroy Brown
> I Am 25 <http://www.kilbot.net/writing/iam25.php>
>
> With a love a madness for Shelley
> Chatterton Rimbaud
> and the needy yap of my youth
> has gone from ear to ear:
> I HATE OLD POETMEN!
> Especially old poetmen who retract
> who consult other old poetmen
> who speak their youth in whispers,
> saying : --- I did those then
> but that was then
> that was then ---
> O I would quiet old men
> say to them: --- I am your friend
> what you once were, thru me
> you'll be again ---
> Then at night in the confidence of their homes
> rip out their apology-tongues
> and steal their poems
>
> -Gregory Corso
>
> "I saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vic's
> And his hair was perfect." -Warren Zevon
>
> project <http://www.kannibaal.nl/shadowville.htm>
>
> Autograph Of Zorro" {from *Shadowville Live*}:
> <http://www.kannibaal.nl/zorro.mp3>
Blackbeard
George J. Dance
Let me give you the poem it reminded me of. Same scene, really, but from an oldpoet's perspective.
The Scholars
Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love’s despair
To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.
All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?
Blackbeard
And top of the morning to ye....
George J. Dance
Will Dockery™
😊
Blackbeard
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbY6KXPg6wY
*****Two lions of the Beat Generation filmed by Francois Bernadi
Original Beats is a short documentary film by Francois Bernadi on Gregory Corso and Herbert Huncke.*******
General Zod
General Zod
Will Dockery
news:0e8dbbd8-a734-4b05...@googlegroups.com...
Interesting...