Penguin Modern Poets - Gregory Corso - Lawrence Ferlinghetti - Allen Ginsberg

PENGUIN MODERN POETS –

GREGORY CORSO – LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI – ALLEN GINSBERG

Poetry used to always be published in expensive hardback books but during the 1960s and 1970s in an attempt to introduce contemporary poetry to the general reader a series of inexpensive paperbacks were published containing some thirty poems by each of three modern poets in a single volume. These were the Penguin Modern Poets and apparently the venture was an outstanding success.

There was an unlikely encounter once upon a time between Freddie Mercury and Sid Vicious where Freddie greeted Sid with a “Aha! Mr Ferocious!”, to which Sid replied “'Ello, Fred. Still trying to bring ballet to the masses are we?”

If true, this was an interesting exchange for not only Freddie's witty greeting but also for Sid's retort which was actually ambiguously multi-layered. Was Sid saying this so as to mock Freddie due to ballet being an uncool art form to try and foist upon the public, or was he implying that Freddie was on a hiding to nothing in trying to promote ballet as the general public were an ignorant bunch who would never appreciate it? Knowing Sid, it could have been either – or both. “I've met the man in the street,” as Sid is quoted as once saying “And he's a cunt.”

Poetry isn't all 'Moon in June' and chasing butterflies with nets though that's probably a not too uncommon perception. It all depends on how discerning the reader is and what they are presented with and what they discover by actively seeking or venturing out beyond the given horizons. As with anything, of course.

Penguin Books' endeavour to bring poetry to the masses was a noble one. Somebody back then obviously possessed of a love of poetry took a gamble and it paid off - and not only financially. The influence of this series is incalculable. The man on the street might well be a cunt, as Sid advised, but there is a vast number who are curious of mind and have a thirst for culture and knowledge only hindered by access and economics. Penguin Modern Poets was a solution and nothing less than a key to a kingdom.

The series is no longer available so can only nowadays be bought second-hand. Number 5, first published in 1963, features poems by Gregory Corso, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Allen Ginsberg. The Beat poets, of course. Ferlinghetti and Ginsberg I've read before but for some reason I've not actually read a lot by Gregory Corso though I'm fully aware of who he is. 

The value in this book (and subsequently the whole series?) was instantly proven by it instigating me to read-up on and investigate Corso further. The wikipedia page on him was the obvious place to start and though badly composed, it was sufficient enough to nudge me to YouTube and various old interviews with him there along with recordings of him reciting some of his poems.

No frat boy was Corso but rather a product of deprivation and poverty, terrorised by time in jail at an early age but then also finding salvation there through encountering books by the classical poets. Another chance encounter – this time in a bar – with Allen Ginsberg led to further salvation through him becoming an integral inner circle member of the Beat poets.

That's not to single Corso out for special attention in this book, however, because none of the poets featured are any better than the other. There are no single lines to quote and no particular poems to highlight for special praise. They are all equally good.

No, on reading this book it caused something else and that was to consider the meaning of being a poet and why anyone would choose to be one? There's no money in it, that's for sure, so why bother? According to Plato, “at the touch of love everyone becomes a poet” and therein lies the answer. No-one writes a poem from a position of hate. As Che Guevara even once said: “At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.”

To be a poet and to compose a poem is in itself an act of love. It's a declaration of having love in one's heart. A declaration of love. A declaration of being alive and an inkling of being aware of what that might mean. To write even just one poem in your life is a life well spent. Whether a poem is any good or not is academic. Subjective. Every act of creativity in whatever medium is meaningful. One act leads to another to another and to another. Corso, Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg, Kerouac et al begat the beatniks who begat the hippies who begat the punks along with a million other off-shoots along the way including me sat on a train writing these thoughts down.

All this from a book bought for 10p in a second-hand shop in Exmouth. It can't be bad.

John Serpico