domingo, 12 de febrero de 2012

ED SANDERS [5.852]



Ed Sanders 

Poeta de la Beat Generation
Nació el 17 de agosto de 1939 en Kansas, Missouri, EE.UU. es un poeta, cantante, activista social, ecologista, novelista y editor. Ha sido llamado el puente entre las generaciones Beat y Hippie.
Sanders abandonó los estudios en la Universidad de Missouri en 1958 para hacer auto-stop hacia la Greenwich Village de la ciudad de Nueva York. Su primer gran poema ("Poema desde la Cárcel") fue escrito en papael de baño en su celda después de haber sido encarcelado por protestar contra la proliferación nuclear en 1961.
En 1962, fundó el diario vanguardista A Magazine of the Arts (Una Revista de las Artes). Sanders abrió la librería Peace Eye (en el 147 Avenue A dentro de lo que era entonces el Lower East Side), que se convirtió en un sitio de reunión para bohemios y radicales.
Sanders de graduó en la New York University en la titulación de Clásicos. En 1965, fundó The Fugs con Tuli Kupferberg. La banda se escindió en 1969 y se volvió a unir en 1984.
En 1971 Sanders escribió The Family (La familia), una retrato de los eventos que llevaron al asesinatos Tate-LaBianca. Obtuvo acceso a la Mansión de la Familia haciéndose pasar por un "Maniático-gurú satánico y psicópata atrapado en las drogas."
A día de hoy, Sanders vive en Woodstock, New York donde publica su "Woodstock Journal", con una esposa de unos 36 años, la escritora y pintora Miriam. R. Sanders. También se dedica a inventar instrumentos musicales como la Corbata Habladora, el Microtono y la Lira Lisa, un artilugio musical con interruptores que se activan por luz y una reproducción del cuadro Mona Lisa de Da Vinci.

Bibliografía
Poem from Jail (1963)
Peace Eye (1966)
The Family: The Manson Group and Aftermath (1971, Reedición, 1990)
Egyptian Hieroglyphics (1973)
Tales of Beatnik Glory, Volume 1 (1975)
Investigative Poetry (1976)
20,OOO A.D. (1976)
Fame & Love in New York (1980)
The Z-D Generation (1981)
The Cutting Prow (1983)
Hymn to Maple Syrup & Other Poems (1985)
Thirsting for Peace in a Raging Century: Selected Poems 1961-1985 (1987)
Poems for Robin (1987)
Tales of Beatnik Glory, Volumes 1 & 2 (1990)
Hymn to the Rebel Café (1993)
Chekhov (1995)
1968: A History in Verse (1997)
America, A History in Verse, Vol. 1 (1900-1939) 2000
The Poetry and Life of Allen Ginsberg 2000
America, A History in Verse, Vol. 2 (1940-1961) 2001
American, A History in Verse, Vol. 3 (1962-1970) 2004

Discografía en solitario
Sanders' Truckstop 1969
Beer Cans on the Moon 1972
Yiddish-speaking socialist of the Lower East Side 1991
Songs in ancient Greek 1992
American Bard 1996










Publicó un aviso en la sección Salud
del periódico local:
“Cure sus crisis mentales con Creeley”


Y sabés qué
doce personas pagaron c/u 175 dólares
para asistir a un taller durante ocho semanas


Suma suficiente para hacer algunos arreglos en la casa!!


Los hacía sentarse cómodamente
las sillas en un círculo
cada uno de ellos sosteniendo en su manos
la Poesía Completa de Robert Creeley 1975-2005
luego los hacía abrir el volumen
/ en una página cualquiera
leer en voz alta
y discutir
la sensación curativa
de las palabras
y cómo éstas se relacionaban
con la crisis personal del lector


Y funcionó!
Las sonrisas resquebrajaban el círculo
y algunas veces las lágrimas!


Le rogaron que repitiera el taller
especialmente en esas fechas en que el año
se arrastra hacia
una triste Navidad

Traducción Esteban Moore






“Fuck You”, una revista de artes fundada por los beats

13 NÚMEROS DE LA REVISTA LITERARIA FUNDADA POR EL POETA, MÚSICO Y ACTIVISTA RADICAL ED SANDERS EN COLABORACIÓN CON ALLEN GINSBERG, WILLIAM BURROUGHS, ANTONIN ARTAUD, PETER ORLOVSKY Y ANDY WARHOL, ENTRE OTROS MÁS


Fuck You, a Magazine of the Arts fue una revista fundada por el poeta beatnik Ed Sanders, el activista radical que escribió su primer poema en prisión luego de haber protestado contra la proliferación nuclear en 1961. Además de considerarse uno de los mayores promotores del movimiento hippie auténtico, Sanders fundó una legendaria banda de rock que unió a la literatura y la contracultura de la época con la composición musical: The Fugs. El nombre fue tomado del eufemismo fuck utilizado en la novela de Norman Mailer The Naked And The Dead. Pero así como Ed consiguió unos híbridos impresionantes de música y poesía (como alguna vez lo hicieron con el jazz y el hip hop The Black Poets), también le ocurrió lograr una mixtura extravagante entre beatniks y un par más de artistas visionarios de la época que no precisamente se inmiscuían en la cultura hippie. Fuck You, su revista de artes, resultó ser un valioso compendio que retrata los pensamientos de los años 60 en toda su extensión: Encontramos personajes como Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Antonin Artaud, Gary Snyder, Peter Orlovsky, Andy Warhol, Tuli Kupferberg (también de The Fugs), Diane Di Prima, Carol Bergé, Carl Solomon, Gregory Corso, Robert Duncan, John Wieners, Ray Bremser, Lenore Kandel, Charles Olson, Joel Oppenheimer, Herbert Huncke, Julian Beck, Frank O’Hara, LeRoi Jones, Robert Kelly, Judith Malina, Robert Creeley, Michael McClure, Ted Berrigan, Joe Brainard, Gilbert Sorrentino y muchos otros. La impresión fue hecha en andrajos de papel de construcción; 13 números minimalistas, nada ostentosos, que plasmaron algunos pensamientos sobre los placeres libertinos de la contracultura: la promiscuidad, los psicodélicos, la libre expresión del sexo, todos ellos liderados bajo una moral espiritual heredada a la generación más joven que, como nos dice Mark Dery: “heredaron de Blake la visión de un retorno al Edén, y de Emerson, la idea de una unión trascendente con la Naturaleza”.

Sanders y sus colaboradores son los responsables de puentear a la generación beat de los años 50 con la contracultura hippie de finales de los 60; un híbrido especial que marcó las primeras piezas del new age arcaico. El fanzine Fuck You también fue protagonista de la Revolución Mimeo, aquella caracterizada por hacer uso del mimeógrafo para realizar las primeras propagandas en esténcil:

Publiqué Fuck You, a Magazine of the Arts de 1962 a 1965, por un total de 13 números. Además, formé una imprenta con mimeógrafo que emitió un torrente de andanadas y manifiestos durante esos años, incluyendo Roosevelt After Inauguration, de Burroughs, Vancouver Report, Auden’s Platonic Blow y The Marijuana Review de Carol Bergé y una colección clandestina de los cantos finales de Ezra Pound.

Ed Sanders

http://pijamasurf.com/2015/02/biblioteca-pijama-surf-fuck-you-una-revista-de-artes-fundada-por-los-beats-pdfs/




Freedom

Mary Ellen tapes,
While Ed Sanders recites.
Poems about common sense,
and everyone's rights.

The right to recite 
whatever we please,
That was bought by heroes,
blood sweat and tears.

That is protected
for all and one,
by the freedom to own
and cherish our guns.

Mary Ellen records
for posterity to hear,
a poem about the rights,
we Americans hold so dear.

The right to a press
that is free,
to report all the news
to you and me.

That these days tells
only half of the story,
and sensationalizes
with whatever is gory.

Mary Ellen is shocked
and surprised to learn,
that where criminals
are concerned...

Rapes, robberies, murder
and all manner of harm,
increase when only
criminals are armed.

The people of Cambodia, Russia,
and Germany believed they'd be safe,
when their leaders said, guns are bad,
give yours to the state.

The second amendment
for Americans ensures
that all of the others
for all time shall endure.




Old Squire

The Old Squire chose carefully every word. 
His wisdom now needs by all to be heard. 
For print just cannot convey 
What the Old Squire had to say. 

His voice drew the most from each word,
his thoughts need be not merely read, 
but from his own singular voice heard. 

Growing up in northern Vermont 
I never suffered from the want 
of enjoying hearing his nasal tone 
as he philosophized and reminisced in poem. 

One can't imagine my glee 
when I caught his voice when on I-93 
coming through the static of distance and time 
the familiar sound of his wonderful rhyme. 

Thank God for Vermont's WDEV 
booming from Blush Hill in Waterbury. 
Thanks to the magic of magnetic tape
the Old Squire lives on although he is the "late". 

Now another medium awaits, 
nay, not the kind that conjures the dead, 
but can worldwide be listened to and read. 

Where there is room and time to expound 
on his words that were so profound. 
So folks from far away from Blush Hill 
can understand the subleties of a sawmill. 

As folks from afar sometimes need explained 
the words and phrases from his refrains. 

What say you, folks of WDEV, 
to this vision before me I see? 

The Old Squire immortalized, 
his thoughts and voice digitized, 
and indexed so one can pick 
a topic of the day, 
and hear what the Old Squire 
had to say. 

The Worldwide Web should be 
the medium of choice, 
to spread the sound of 
his singular voice.  




THE OUTHOUSE 

The service station trade was slow 
The owner sat around, 
With sharpened knife and cedar stick 
Piled shavings on the ground. 

No modern facilities had they, 
The log across the rill 
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers 
That sat against the hill. 

"Where is the ladies restroom, sir?" 
The owner leaning back, 
Said not a word but whittled on, 
And nodded toward the shack. 

With quickened step she entered there 
But only stayed a minute, 
Until she screamed, just like a snake 
Or spider might be in it. 

With startled look and beet-red face 
She bounded through the door, 
And headed quickly for the car 
Just like three gals before. 

She missed the foot log -- jumped the stream 
The owner gave a shout, 
As her silk stockings, down at her knees 
Caught on a sassafras sprout. 

She tripped and fell -- got up, and then 
In obvious disgust, 
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas, 
And faded in the dust. 

Of course we all desired to know 
What made the gals all do 
The things they did, and then we found 
The whittling owner knew. 

A speaking system he'd devised, 
To make the thing complete, 
He tied a speaker on the wall 
Beneath the toilet seat. 

He'd wait until the gals got set 
And then the devilish tyke 
Would stop his whittling long enough, 
To speak into the mike. 

And as she sat, a voice below 
Struck terror, fright and fear, 
"Will you please use the other hole, 
We're painting under here!"




Doesn't Matter

They said, listen to us liberals now,
lower your heads and bow
to your new religion, ours
socialism and government
will do everything for you.

We'll take you hard earned money
at the point of a gun.
And give it away
to everyone.

Doesn't matter that you worked
in the shadows we lurked.
when you weren't looking
we made ourselves kings.

And Gloria said,
kill your kid.
Reproductive freedom,
open the lid
to Pandoras box
do as I bid
declare your freedom
and kill your kid.

We'll call murder choice
do it now and you'll rejoice
in your newfound freedom
to kill your daughters and sons.

Just do whatever you want.
Don't worry about tomorrow.
What you did will never haunt.
Never sadness, never sorrow.

So you killed a kid or two
before they could escape from you.
Nothing matters any more
just pick yourself up off the floor.

So you wanna really have a living kid?
Life is just an auction, see it, bid.
No need for a family or a dad.
Who cares if the kid is sad?

Life is all about you,
matters not what you do.
We'll not hold you accountable,
there is no crucible.

You see we are all liberals,
We don't care if our ideas
make you miserable.
Nothing matter in the end.
Just our power that we win.

You say you like your house.
You're no higher than a louse.
Give it to me now,
don't worry why or how.

We want to get more taxes,
Bring out the wrecking ball and axes.
We'll throw you off your land
Do what we demand.

We are liberals who are you
to question what we do?
Constitution? What is that?
We don't care, we're democrats!

We're in the courts,
We run the papers and TV.
We control what you hear and see.
We're beaurocrats,
legislators and diplomats.
We're in charge, we're democrats.

We're in charge of you
we'll tell you what to do.
Go ahead and sue,
it doesn't matter what you do.

You can even become president.
Doesn't matter, we run the government.
You're only here for a while.
We'll still be here with a smile.

We brainwash your kids
when you send them to school.
we'll make them think
you are fools.

We'll finnish the job in the colleges and universities.
Where we'll lie about diversity.
With our PC rules only liberalism is allowed.
We'll have your kid before us, cowed.

No Republicans here,
students will agree with us or fear.
For we'll never give them grades they deserve,
unless they bow and serve.
The religion of liberalism,
environmentalism and socialism.

We are liberals who are you
to question what we do?
Constitution? What is that?
We don't care, we're democrats!










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