I picked up a massive volume of Allen Ginsberg's poetry the other day--Collected Poems 1947-1997, a hardcover which clocks in at almost 1,200 pages--and I keep thinking it would be the perfect accompaniment to a long road-trip. This is my first introduction to the Beat movement of the 1950s--no, I've not yet read anything by Jack Kerouac, but The Dharma Bums is high on my list of must-read books. Yet the collection is fascinating because of the personal touches Ginsberg brings; Collected Poems 1947-1997 could be seen as an autobiography of sorts, but it's also a postmodern chronicle of America, starting with the post-war years and ending at the beginning of the Clinton era--and in that respect, the book seems to work best when read chronologically. There's a lyrical, subversive, and freewheeling beauty in Ginsberg's vernacular, with his imagery and language taking you back to the counterculture revolution and the halcyon days of drug-fueled free love and classic rock. (Had I grown up in the sixties or seventies, I probably would've been a hippie, dropping acid and smoking pot and trading girlfriends with my similarly stoned buddies.) It's the kind of verse that begs to be read aloud--preferrably while on the road, and by your literature-loving significant other.

That sounds better than fiddling with the radio dial and arguing over which station to listen to.

Comments

[Citizen Reader]

Never read Ginsberg--well, tried to read Howl, didn't get very far--but I thought I'd put in a good word for listening to rather than reading "The Dharma Bums." I listened to it on tape and LOVED it. I know exactly what you mean about stuff meant to be read aloud--and I would guess both Ginsberg and Kerouac fall handily into that category.