There was a time when I was a child when we seemed to be moving all the time, Dad hopped from one job to another and it was always somewhere else. (Eventually he came to rest in Greece. Amen.) My mum says even today, “I could just pack my bags and go.” She probably won’t. She’s sixty-two and has a bad knee.
But to a family of peripatetics the Beat writers are a perfect accompaniment.
Beat is living by the beat. Being beat up, worn down. Following the rhythms. Beat is being beatific, joyful, trying new things.
Life is beautiful, you know?
The Beats were a group of American writers, post war, who broke with the traditions of the American mainstream. This was through their subject matter, their style and their sexuality.
Jack Kerouac’s book, ‘On The Road’ (1957) was a call to arms. It follows Kerouac’s aimless journey, hitchhiking back and forth across America. This was largely in company with his friend, the fictional Dean Moriarty - in reality - Neal Cassady.
They loved each other those guys, I mean, really.
Cassady wrote to Allen Ginsberg, ‘Allen, Allen, will you let me spatter my come at you’.
Cassady liked to walk around naked. Allen loved to walk around naked. Sleep in flop houses, sleep with his friends, grow his beard long, piss in sinks.
Ginsberg loved to howl.
‘Howl’, (1956) Ginsberg’s poem got Felinghetti owner of City Lights bookstore, San Francisco, arrested, largely because Ginsberg was open about his homosexuality and wasn’t afraid to howl about it.
I mean this was America for Chrissakes!
So the beat moved on.
William Burroughs had been in Tangiers, having sex with men, taking drugs, developing a writing style. He was sending parts of his manuscript for Naked Lunch, to Ginsberg. Both Ginsberg and Kerouac were convinced of Burroughs' genius.
“Read it in any order,” said Burroughs.
It was Kerouac who came up with the title.
The book was detective fiction, pornography, sci-fi, surreal - in parts and sometimes all at the same time.
When Burroughs heard Ginsberg was in Paris he went there to meet him. Hotel Rachou. He had the manuscript in tow. Kerouac passed through there too. Paris 1957 it was the place to be.
Only don’t stay too long.
That was the thing - movement. Breaking away. Doing your own thing. The beats were in the tradition of Genet, who in turn was in the tradition of Rimbaud. And something they had in common was an alternate sexuality.
If the mainstream doesn’t want you then fight your corner, don’t let it get you down, but kick it in the teeth. Run dancing and screaming into the night.
William Burroughs - ‘Last Words’ (I love this book. Burroughs diaries before he died, still raging, government cover ups, making a video with U2, and what I liked best, a house full of cats.)
