Both prose and poetry

“The technique of writing both prose and poetry, the technical problem of the present day, is the problem of Transcription of the natural flow of the mind, the transcription of the melody of actual thought or speech.”

Allen Ginsberg in Howl. 50th anniversary edition. S.153.



Allen Ginsberg: Howl: original draft facsimile, transcript, and variant versions, fully annotated by author, with contemporaneous correspondence, account of first public reading, legal skirmishes, precursor texts, and bibliography. Ed. Barry Miles. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics Series). New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2006. ISBN 0061137456, 9780061137457. 194 Seiten

Sunflower Sutra

Heute vor 88 Jahren wurde Allen Ginsberg geboren. Gedicht des Tages bei der Poetry Foundation:

Sunflower Sutra


I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery.

The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. (…)


AMERICA allen ginsberg: AMERICA


Ausgewählt von Armin Steigenberger

… und gleich noch einen Beitrag zur Textkette, Allen Ginsberg, die Anregung kommt ebenfalls von Kristian Kühn Wie auch unten schon zu lesen: Wer diesen Text liked, bekommt von mir wiederum eine/n Autor/in empfohlen und das Ganze setzt sich fort. Auch Ginsberg war meines Wissens schon an anderer Stelle in der Textkette da. Neben „Howl“ mein Lieblingstext ist



America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back
it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday
somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle
Max after he came over from Russia.
I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Business-
men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
individual as his automobiles more so they’re
all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and
sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
cere you have no idea what a good thing the
party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
must have been a spy.
America you don’t really want to go to war.
America it’s them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power
mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers‘
Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us
all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
the television set.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes
in precision parts factories, I’m nearsighted and
psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
– Berkeley, January 17, 1956



… und hier auch die Hördatei dazu, die nicht 100% mit obiger Version übereinstimmt Übersetzung kenne ich keine, die mich überzeugt. Ich suche noch danach.
Pega Mund ja. ich möcht es liken, aber …
Armin Steigenberger … aber in die textkette nicht weiter involviert sein!?
Pega Mund ja. zeitproblem. zu viel am hutbein. grad nacharbeitn von heut u dann noch vorarbeitn für morgn. ach.

Armin Steigenberger i see…

Pega Mund … u schnell mal aus der abgründigen einsamkeit der protokoll- und berichtsdateien ins soziale nezwrk springn u guggn u wieder zurück in die schluchten, wo null poem blüh


Mein Beitrag zur Textkette

Das Prinzip ist einfach – jede Person, welche das liked, kriegt eine(n) DichterIn oder SchriftstellerIn zugewiesen. Einfach ein Gedicht raussuchen, posten und so die lyrische Kette fortführen:

Allen Ginsberg

What do I want in these rooms papered with visions of money?
How much can I make by cutting my hair? If I put new heels on my shoes,
bathe my body reeking of masturbation and sweat, layer upon layer of excrement
dried in employment bureaus, magazine hallways, statistical cubicles, factory stairways,


Dir und Carlo Ihde gefällt das.