Quote

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

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
Questions
Bananas
Meats
Asking
Walt
Poking
Saws
Groceries
Whitman
Among
Killed
Chops
Boys
Meat
Refrigerator
Heard
Price
Refrigerators
Lonely
Grocery
Eyeing
Angel
Pork
Childless

More quotes by Allen Ginsberg

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Presumably, if you see spirit at the moment it gained access, then it'll be dropped.
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Scientist alone is true poet he gives us the moon he promises the stars he'll make us a new universe if it comes to that.
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All these books are published in Heaven.
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I know I'm not God, are you? Don't be silly. God? God? Everybody's God? Don't be silly.
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I am neither romantic nor a visionary, and that is my weakness and perhaps my power at any rate it is one difference. In less romantic and visionary terms, I am a Jew, (with powers of introspection and eclecticism attendant, perhaps.) But I am alien to your natural grace, to the spirit which you would know as a participator in America.
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I know too much and not enough
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What is obscenity? And to whom?
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I am learning by the week, but my poesy is still not my own. New rhyme, new me me me in words. I am not all this carven rhetoric.
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There is nothing to be learned from history anymore. We're in science fiction now.
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To get on screen with the Talking Asshole, quite a feat. And it's certainly going to be a cult film that people will be seeing.
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The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That's what poetry does. By poetry I mean the imagining of what has been lost and what can be found - the imagining of who we are and the slow realization of it.
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Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.
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When it snows in your nose, you catch cold in your brain.
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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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It's never to late to do nothing at all.
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I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.
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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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Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?
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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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So the problem for the poetic artist or the photographer is the common problem of continuous attentiveness, continuous attempts to notice what he is noticing, continuous alertness to catch himself thinking or seeing, devotional attentiveness to the world he's moving through.
Allen Ginsberg