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Fortunately art is a community effort - a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.

Allen Ginsberg

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Allen Ginsberg
Age: 70 †
Born: 1926
Born: June 3
Died: 1997
Died: April 5
Autobiographer
Diarist
Musician
Photographer
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Teacher
Writer
Paterson
New Jersey
Irwin Allen Ginsberg
Ayālena Gīnasabārga
Alen Ginzberg
Living
Interpret
War
Select
Artist
Wars
Art
Solitude
World
Flesh
Spiritualized
Effort
Solitudes
Small
Endeavoring
Community
Fortunately

More quotes by Allen Ginsberg

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What is obscenity? And to whom?
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I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.
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Now I have enough money to travel wherever I want, but I haven't got the health.
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The actual materials are important. A book at the nightstand is important - a light you can get at - or a flashlight as Kerouac had a brakeman's latern.
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From it's inception Beat poetry was hailed as something NEW and like all good spontaneous jazz, newness is acceptable and expected - by hip people who listen. But the newness of jazz has in it the echoes of J. S. Bach.
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This is the one and only firmament therefore it is the absolute world. There is no other world. The circle is complete. I am living in Eternity. The ways of this world are the ways of Heaven.
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The whole blear world of smoke and twisted steel around my head in a railroad car, and my mind wandering past the rust into futurity: I saw the sun go down in a carnal and primeval world, leaving darkness to cover my railroad train because the other side of the world was waiting for dawn.
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What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
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If I had a soul I sold it for pretty words If I had a body I used it up spurting my essence Allen Ginsberg warns you dont follow my path to extinction
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Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.
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who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism
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Nobody saves America by sniffing cocaine. Jiggling your knees blankeyed in the rain, when it snows in your nose you catch cold in your brain.
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First thoughts are the strongest.
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The apparition of an evil, sick unconscious wild city rose before me in visible semblance, and about the dead buildings in the barren air, the bodies of the soul that built the wonderland shuffled and stalked and stalked and lurched in attitudes of immemorial nightmare all around.
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It's time we did something to assert ourselves. After all, we do comprise 10% of the population.
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Because systems of mass communication can communicate only officially acceptable levels of reality, no one can know the extent of the secret unconscious life. No one in America can know what will happen. No one is in real control.
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I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs - when I was 17 - that I realized I was talking through an empty skull... I wasn't thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.
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Poetry's role is to provide spontaneous individual candor as distinct from manipulation and brainwash.
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I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas / but not afraid / to speak my lonesomeness in a car, / because not only my lonesomeness / it's Ours, all over America, / O tender fellows --/ & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy / in the moon 100 years ago or in / the middle of Kansas now.
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Taxi September along Jessore Road Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load past watery fields thru rain flood ruts Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof huts Wet processions Families walk Stunted boys big heads don't talk Look bony skulls & silent round eyes Starving black angels in human disguise.
Allen Ginsberg