Here are David's thoughts on Corso...
I hadn't read much of Allen's poetry, but I admired his devotion to Gregory's work, just as many of us today appreciate Allen's tireless efforts to get Jack Kerouac's poetic prose novels published. This wasn't easy over 60 years ago, but Allen was always there on behalf of anyone whose work he admired.
It was always a treat to be with Gregory, because like Jack, he was always comfortable in the milieu of the early 1950's informal community of poets, painters, authors, bartenders, waiters and waitresses, moving men, checker and chess virtuosos,theater people, dancers and even budding classical composers and working jazz musicians like myself. Just as Jack was at home at any late night/early morning jam session, Gregory was always respectful of (and therefor respected by) the musicians who created spontaneous and sophisticated improvisations that soared beyond the restrictions of a conformist society, which we felt considered all of us to be schizophrenic nut-cases and terminal losers.
Tiny fragments of conversations, whispered secrets, broken promises and soaring flights of his own imagination inspired Gregory to create a body of work which today shines brighter than ever, as clear and pure and as full of surprises as the classic jazz solos that enriched the lives of all of us who were lucky enough to be there at the moment of their inception, or which were captured on recordings.
When Gregory was reading them for an audience, he was often so outrageous that the audience forgot to pay attention to his poetry. This was basically because he never wanted to be a performer. He often told me 'You can wear people out reading your poetry. It's a 10-minute shot. Get on and get off. Once the poem is written, I'm done with it.'
Unfortunately, there was no recording ever made of Gregory's endless stream of insults, jokes and seethingly accurate criticisms of our non-performances.
'I loved the piece,' said Gregory, after the performance was over. 'You could understand every word of Langston's poetry, the way you set it for the solo singers, the chorus and the orchestra. But this social scene in the opera house is a drag. I borrowed this dumb jacket and tie, but I feel like I'm suffocating. Why do we have to wear a costume to go hear classical music? It's a beautiful work you wrote, man, but get rid of that white tie and tails you're wearing. You look like an out-of-work doorman or Count Dracula about to jump out of his coffin.You look like a penguin!'
In the '70s and '80s, Gregory always scraped up an old doll or a flower as a celebratory gift for each of my kids when they were born, and I always tried to do the same for his growing family. And even though he was sometimes barely hanging on, with kids of his own to take care of, he kept writing, and his work was becoming better known worldwide.
We managed to stay in touch until his last days with his daughter Sheri, when he left New York to be with her in Minnesota. When I visited him for the last time in Greenwich Village, when he was bed-ridden, and I brought my kids. He was still as much fun as always. And when Patti Smith and I were invited by his family to perform at his memorial service at the church where he went as a child, I expected during the service to hear his braying voice shout out some choice insults, telling us all to knock it off and lighten up.
In a world of high-tech shlock, reality TV and instant trash, it more than ever a joy to bask in the shining sunlight of Gregory's work. He had a voice of his own, and it still rings clear and true today.
As his fellow poet Keats said long ago 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.'
Happy birthday Gregory."
David Amram
JazzWax clip: Here's my favorite clip of Gregory Corso, in which he reads and editorializes on The Bill of Rights and parts of the Constitution.
This story appears courtesy of JazzWax by Marc Myers.
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