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Gregory Corso

Gregory Corso at Naropa University, 1981 Gregory Corso passed away on January 19, 2001 at the age of 70. He had been quite ill for some time.

Gregory Corso was one of the major figures of the Beat Generation. He was a poet, painter, traveler, and occasional lecturer. His vibrant, vital, authentic poetry celebrates the mystery of life and death through everyday detail and mystic visions.

Though he never gained the truly widespread fame that his fellow Beats Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs enjoyed, his work had an impact on contemporary poetics that continues to this day.

His poetry has earned praise from many. Jack Kerouac is quoted as saying (on the back cover of Corso's "Gasoline") "I think that Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg are the two best poets in America and that they can't be compared to each other. Gregory was a tough young kid from the Lower East Side who rose like an angel over the rooftops and sang Italian songs as sweet as Caruso and Sinatra, but in words. 'Sweet Milanese hills' brood in his Renaissance soul, evening is coming on the hills. Amazing and beautiful Gregory Corso, the one & only Gregory the Herald. Read slowly and see."

Bob Dylan has spoken about how the early Beat writing, and particularly Ginsberg's "Howl," Ferlinghetti's "Coney Island of the Mind," and Corso's "Gasoline" awakened him to new possibilities of the written word.

Corso was born in Greenwich Village, New York, on March 26, 1930. He had a turbulent childhood, his mother abandoning the family to return to Italy, and his father unable to offer much support. Gregory was a chronic runaway, and was in and out of jail during his adolescence.

He began reading & writing poetry while serving time in prison for theft. Shortly after his release, he met Allen Ginsberg in a Greenwich Village bar, and, after showing Ginsberg some of his poems, the two became close friends. Allen Ginsberg introduced Corso to Kerouac, Burroughs, and his other literary friends. Thus was the beginning of a great literary career.

Some of Gregory Corso's major publications are:

"The Vestal Lady on Brattle & Other Poems" 1955
"Gasoline" 1958
"The Happy Birthday of Death" 1960
"The American Express" 1961
"Long Live Man" 1962
"Elegaic Feeling American" 1970
"The Herald of the Autochthonic Spirit" 1981
"Mindfield: New and Selected Poems" 1989


Here are some links to pages concerning Gregory Corso:

General:

News stories:

DESTINY

They deliver the edicts of God
without delay
And are exempt from apprehension
from detention
And with their God-given
Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria
ferry like bolts of lightning
unhindered between the tribunals
of Space & Time

The Messenger-Spirit
in human flesh
is assigned a dependable,
self-reliant, versatile,
thoroughly poet existence
upon its sojourn in life

It does not knock
or ring the bell
or telephone
When the Messenger-Spirit
comes to your door
though locked
It'll enter like an electric midwife
and deliver the message

There is no tell
throughout the ages
that a Messenger-Spirit
ever stumbled into darkness


DEATH

1

Before I was born
Before I was heredity
Before I was life
Before I was - owls appeared and trains departed

2

Death is not a photograph
Nor a burning mark on the eyes
Everything I see is Death
Not Grim Reaper scythed and hourglassed
Scratch nor skullcrossbones
Nor bull butterfly

3

Call Death not a lesser name
Dead men I've known called Death less
A stubborn roar is a sad error
Nor valor once resuscitated be valor again

4

Owls hoot and the train's toot deflate
I beg for the breath that keeps me alive
Pitch I spew and pitch I wait
-- A departed train is a train to arrive

5

The bitter travel is done
Take me Death into your care
I wait in the terminal
Exultant to breathe your avalanche air
My body's quilt hath spilt
I raise my feet
And the porter sweeps
What once was my meat

6

Death comes zoomed-hands like a storm
Whoa the tailcoats of old men!
Whoa aching futures!

7

O when I close my eyes
      the black I see is blacker still
      and when I sleep the sleep I sleep is not at will
      and when I dream I dream children waving goodbye

8

Desperate clinky tumult merging cank
Midnight dense slumber thaw
Gold murmurous silk pullman
Double townsmen
Polluted boot witchmaker bootmaker shoemaker
Dust crime
Dull budge
Stale lace
Irrigated casket
Purple lips flap message that breath is now alien
Death's laughing nose
Black week
Is dead side by side with cobbled hour
      is dead of building whirlwind shy centurions
      is dead windless mortal dry
      is dead uncomprehending harsh divorce from life
      to life to death and linger blacker week
      to succombed year terrific obscurity a bitter trek
O this White War
This snowskull
This immaculate thaw

9

Hang all kinds of ailments cramps and shrieks away
Outflush allegoric atoms
Summon flexile agonies transfusions bloats and shrinks
Rekindle fire in a Browny cafe

10

There be a palace in Deathland
Deathchildren sapping in sunny porticos
Deathhorses nibbling deathgrass
Death king and death queen heralding a tournament of Death
There be the Deathslayer breathing cold fire
There be the knighly Death
Deathmaiden
Sound clarions! combat
And all the dead be avenged

11

Let's all die
Let's practice a little
Let's play dead for a couple of hours
Let's everybody weave elegant everlasting cerements
      build fantastic tombs
      carve lifelong coffins
      and devise great ways to die lets!
Let's walk under ladders, cross the paths of black cats,
      break mirrors, burn rabbit feet, snip the 4th petal,
Yes! let's draw the ACE OF SPADES --
Let's sleep with our doors unlocked

12

Hark witchen!
Envy the make of Death
Crank the earth
Jake the moss
Give weep for the right of tend
Filtrate the fierce soul
Hello the sook of night
Give should for need
Chance be it many sures are in the making
Merry lack!
Full-lept impervious jack!
Ox-flushings, scour'd malady, suffused sulphur,
Sepulchral ebb --

13

On to explore Death I go
Bragging old snowballs to Osnag Tragaro dumping
      Esufer Wolb in the snow
Trumpet in a satchel of Deaf I go
Soon on Death's bandstand
      I'll blizzard the ashed blow

14

Witch pickles dilled in broomsweat
Werewolf hair from Transylvanian bathtubs
Ho! the rosebee from its skeptical let
      eyes me as being unscientific --
O tail of Indian workhorse!
O abandoned farms!
Hear my formulae!
I have the way to bring back the dead
I have I have and love me for it
O I the KNOW of Death!
I dark mad ah solace dreams grace miracle quack awful O!

15

Drsxqo! Pitchfork Blook fires chickens
      down a perilous road
Drsxqo! have you a dead beast for me?

16

And the owl sobs
The vizer Croat
      is scratched a tally
Hear the owl rally

from the book The Happy Birthday of Death by Gregory Corso, ©1960.

May his words live on.
a rose for Gregory Corso