Kerouac Stories

just a poem from my still unpublished book under the shade of the leafy trees

A poem for times of discord.

La Prose Spontanée, c'est quelque chose de rapide, d'instinctif, de vivant, quelque chose qui vous consume et vous brûle. Comme une improvisation de jazz, la prose spontanée, amenée par Jack Kerouac, c'est écrire au fil de la plume sans trop savoir ce qu'il y aura au bout de la page...

"Howl" is a poem written by Allen Ginsberg in 1955, published as part of his 1956 collection of poetry titled Howl and Other Poems, and dedicated to Carl Solomon. Ginsberg began work on "Howl" as early as 1954. In the Paul Blackburn Tape Archive at the University of California, San Diego, Ginsberg can be heard reading early drafts of his poem to his fellow writing associates. "Howl" is considered to be one of the great works of American literature. It came to be associated with the group of writers known as the Beat Generation. There is no foundation to the myth that "Howl" was written as a performance piece and later published by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti of City Lights Books. This myth was perpetrated by Ferlinghetti as part of the defense's case during the poem's obscenity trial. Upon the poem's release, Ferlinghetti and the bookstore's manager, Shigeyoshi Murao, were charged with disseminating obscene literature, and both were arrested. On October 3, 1957, Judge Clayton W. Horn ruled that the poem was not obscene.

For Jack, bless him, he died much too soon. This is another one with a beat, so SING IT! (and speed up a bit near the end).

I couldn't escape Kerouac

A short story I wrote and kind of rushed but it's fine with me. Not really my style of writing either so... I don't know, hope you like it.

Ode to Jack Kerouac (Lost Manuscript - Posthumous "Next Book")

A short story in which Elise and her grandmother, Mirabelle, find a way to rebuild the bond that has faded over time.

To be read out loud.

I wrote this at the age of 17 as a tribute to Allen Ginsberg's Howl

Starbucks A mermaid A writer San Francisco

Deep Prose.

La mattina, al momento del risveglio qualcosa è nell'aria. Una presenza, che di notte ha vegliato sull' inconscio ragazzo, ora si presenta davanti ai suoi occhi. Dalle profondità delle tubature urbane, qualcosa è emerso.

Poems by an Italian guy who moved to Dublin. Cheap loves, cheap beers, bad jobs. And fights. Bukowski would have probably been disappointed. But you always were, Hank, weren't you?

Inspired by Jack Kerouac's "Book of Haikus". Kerouac invented his own personal style of haiku in which he wrote three short, simple lines that had great impact. He strayed away from the traditional 5-7-5 pattern to suit his view of the American language, which he thought was "bursting to pop." "Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery and make a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi Pastorella." -Jack Kerouac So, after reading Kerouac's little book of haiku, I started jotting my own down for a little while. I should say that mine are not connected to nature like Kerouac's. They are my interpretations. Not nearly as effortless, lighthearted, or maybe not even impactful at all, but we can't all be like music. (I will probably be updating these in parts whenever they come to me)