A woman from the audience asks: ‘Why were there so few women among the Beat writers?’ and [Gregory] Corso, suddenly utterly serious, leans forward and says: “There were women, they were there, I knew them, their families put them in institutions, they were given electric shock. In the ’50s if you were male you could be a rebel, but if you were female your families had you locked up.

Stephen Scobie, on the Naropa Institute’s 1994 tribute to Allen Ginsberg (via fuckyeahbeatniks)

#LOOK AT THE FUCKING BELL JAR

(via talkwordytome)

(via tracydimond)

At Night the States

This on repeat until I am off this goddamn farm.

cassandragillig:

Notley & Timberlake.  This poem is really incredible & emotional & especially my last post about not wanting to appear “irreverent” is applicable here

Love ate the red wheelbarrow.
Jack Spicer (via annececeliaholmes)

lucybiederman:

The most
          swaying blade of grass in its mass of sisters, I was just in the wind
to move. Just in the wind to move.



Caroline Crew, from “the heartlands and the furniture”

bibliomancyoracle:

remember
there are sad songs
you should choose better

*

from “Plastic Sonnet 17” by Caroline Crew

malformalady:

Relics of a saint — delicately arranged bone fragments. Treasury, Residenz, Munich

Photo credit: seriykotik1970

(via pankmagazine)

The new issue of Phoebe Journal arrived! In it our three horoscope poems by Chris Emslie & me— nestled right next to Bob Hicok poems!

You can get it here:

http://www.phoebejournal.com/subscribe/

markcugini:

biglucks:

THE BIG LUCKS KICKSTARTER

Every night, I work on this magazine. I’m either formatting pieces or reading submissions or laying out manuscripts or concepting/designing covers or setting up readings. Most nights, I’m lucky to get four hours of sleep. Most mornings, I wake up early and get right back at to work. I send 50 emails a day. I go to the post office three times a week. I have neglected family obligations, personal aspirations, and social gatherings. I have favored faceless strangers over lifelong friends, all to make this thing bigger and better than it was ever supposed to be. 
Every night. For five years. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Laura and I started Big Lucks five years ago. We thought we were getting a hobby. Instead, we ended up with a family. When I think about all the brilliant people we’ve had the pleasure of meeting and publishing and hosting…I mean, I crying right now. I wish I wasn’t, but when I think about how far we’ve come, I just can’t help it. Starting this magazine was the best decision we’ve ever made. It’s grown bigger than we could ever imagine, and haven’t even gotten started yet.
We’re about to launch a press. We’ve already accepted 11 books for publication. We have plans to do more, but I can’t talk about that yet. 
What I have to talk about is this Kickstarter. We’re trying to raise $2,500. That will cover the simple stuff—the ISBNs, the distribution, the bookfairs. The bullshit. If we get past the bullshit, we can get to the magic.
I believe that poetry is its own sort of magic. I believe that, when the world’s gone to shit, poetry will be there. I believe that this press is going to be huge, and it’s going to happen organically. I’m excited to take this next step. I hope you take it with us.
I love you. I hope you know I mean that.

(via kdecember)