Why I (Don't) Meditate

The 1950s was an exciting time for the literary demesne.  We saw the influence of the Beat Generation, a group of American post-World War II writers who chronicled and inspired a cultural phenomenon.  A augury rife with tentative attitudes towards drugs and sex, an ardent meditation on Eastern religion, blatant rejection of Materialism and an ideology of exuberant, unexpurgated means of expression and existence.

My bookshelves are stippled with works of the Beat Generation, Kerouac, Burroughs, Ginsberg etc.  Their published works, biographical material and books exploring the movement.  I was enamored with them, just as I was with Jim Morrison, almost around the same time.  I revered bohemian hedonists, not so much for their inimitable writing panache and lifestyles but because they stood up for non-conformity and were vessels dedicated to spontaneous creativity.

Some years back, a writer friend of mine gave me a collected volume of Allen Ginsberg’s poetry for my birthday.  I was grateful for such a gift.  One of his poems, ‘Why I Meditate’ stuck out to me and that year, instead of celebrating my birthday with cake or dancing with friends, I stayed home, blasted the stereo and wrote a response to his poem, ‘Why I Don’t Meditate’.  It was an excellent birthday and great exercise for the creative muscles.

Here is the Ginsberg poem:

Why I Meditate

I sit because the Dadists screamed on Minor Street

I sit because the Surrealists are angry pillows

I sit because the Imagists breathed calmly in Rutherford and Manhattan

I sit because 2400 years

I sit in America because Buddha saw a Corpse in Lumbini

I sit because the Yippies whooped up Chicago’s teargas skies once

I sit because No Because

I sit because I was unable to trace the Unborn back to the womb

I sit because it’s easy

I sit because I get angry if I don’t

I sit because they told me so

I sit because I read about it in the Funny Pages

I sit because I had a vision also dropped LSD

I sit because I don’t know what else to do like Peter Orlovsky

I sit because after Lunacharsky got fired and Stalin gave Zhdanor

a special tennis court because I became a rootless Cosmopolitan

I sit inside the shell of the old Me

I sit for world revolution

Here is my humble, perhaps not so eloquent response as a writing experiment:

Why I Don’t Meditate

I stand because Suits black out book pages

I stand because Pop Art consumed Candy Perfume Girl

I stand because Mothers adopted Town & Country

I stand 2004 years

I stand in Canada because I’ve been saved

I stand because Yappers cooked up wooly blackmail

I stand because there is no Because

I stand because I have spied on the blueprint of conception

I stand because it is laborious

I stand because restlessness antagonizes

I stand because they told me not to

I stand because it was alleged in a refrain

I stand because I dream while drunk

I stand because I want to oppose Allen Ginsberg

I stand because Kurt Vonnegut shared his well-thumbed dictionary

and J.P Jensen blew up his computer in protest

I stand outside the box

I stand inside myself for Cosmopolitan Greetings

I stand for universal uprising

Mine is a little more modern in reference but kept the same format.  I don't know how good it is but it was fun to write, judging from my notes that accompanied the poem in my writing book.  In case you didn’t catch the reference, I wrote that in 2004. Early January to be exact since my birthday is in December, the timing makes perfect sense to me.  It also has a little shout out to my extraordinary writer friend, Johnny Jensen.  That guy can spin words.  I truly admire his sharp talent and his keen literary eye.  He deserves a wide and adoring audience.  I am first in line.  He’s also the one who got me reading Ray Bradbury’s work.  To this day, Fahrenheit 451 is one of my favorite reads.  I may be due to pull that down off the shelf again soon.  

I have a whole slew of poems that are inspired by the Beats.  Last night I tried to locate another to share in this blog but I couldn’t find that particular writing book which caused me to panic.  It could possibly be why I didn’t sleep well last night, trying to think where it could be.  It is always in the same place with my other book and when I reached for it last night there was the other volume, the one I was looking for, missing.  I will hunt high and low (a little A-Ha moment for all of you 80’s babes) for it tonight.  It will turn up somewhere or else my next blog will be full of ire because I’ve lost a whole binder full of writing.  It just cannot be!!

Grrr …

Shine on, you crazy diamonds!

In propinquity,

Nic