By Jack Kerouac
Even supposing he's top referred to as a author of prose, Jack Kerouac used to be a huge poet, his paintings defined via Michael McClure as "startling in its majesty and comedy and gentleness and vision." those 8 prolonged poems, composed among 1954 and 1961, supply exuberant forays into language and awareness that mix wealthy imagery, advanced inner rhythms, and a reverent attentiveness to the moments.
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Extra resources for Book of Blues
Now the sun's goin down In old San Fran The hills are in a haze Of Shroudy afternoon— Bent withered Burroughsian Greeks pass In gray felt hats Expensively pearly On bony suffer heads 48 47TH CHORUS And old Indian bo's With no stockings on Just Chinese Shuffle Opium shoes Take the snaily constitutional Down 3rd St gray & lost &c Hard to see. Tragic burpers With scars of snow Bound bigly Huge to find it To the train Of time &C pain Waiting at the terminal. Young punk mankind Three abreast Go thriving downwards In the hellish street.
I also have loud poems: Broken plastic coverlets Flapping in the rain To cover newspapers All printed up And plain. 29TH CHORUS Guys with big pockets In heavy topcoats And slit scar Head bands down The middle of their hair All Bruce Barton combed Stand surveying Harrison Folsom & the Ramp And the redbrick clock Wishin they had a woman Or some money, honey Westinghouse Elevators Are full of pretty girls With classy cans And cute pans And long slim legs And eyes for the boss At quarter of four. 30TH CHORUS Old Age is an Indian With gray hair And a cane In an old coat Tapping along The rainy street To see the pretty oranges And the stores On his big day When the dog's let out.
I got the San Francisco blues Bluer than misery I got the San Francisco blues Bluer than Eternity I gotta go on home Fine me Another Sanity I got the San Francisco blues Bluer than heaven's gate, mate, I got the San Francisco blues Bluer than blue paint, Saint,-— I better move on home Sleep in My golden Dream again 38 37TH CHORUS I got the San Acisca blues Singin in the street all day I got The San Acisca Blues Wailin in the street all day I better move on, podner, Make my West The Eastern Way— San Fran Cis Co— San Fran Cis Co Oh— ba by 39 38TH CHORUS Ever see a tired ba by Cryin to sleep in its mother's arms Wailin all night long while the locomotive Wails on back A cry for a cry In the smoke and the lamp Of the hard ass night That's how I feeeel— That's how I fee-eel!
Book of Blues by Jack Kerouac