Lowell Celebrates Kerouac 2011

We stopped at the "Historic Trolley Pizzeria" on our way into Lowell Friday afternoon and then drove straight to Jack's grave.  We found it pretty easy it being our 3rd trip there.   

Me bringing a rose for Jack's grave from a bouquet Rick had brought me last week.  

An assortment of offerings - the shots, harmonica, a couple of beers, my rose, Rick's book, and the single malt 16 year old whiskey we brought for our toast.

I read the 242nd Chorus from Mexico City Blues.     

After leaving the grave we checked into our hotel - not an easy feat.  It was so absurd I seriously thought we could be on candid camera or something, but it gave us a chance to talk to the other people in line and met a couple in town for the festival from Bordeaux, France and a professor from Quebec with several students.  We then walked over to Ricardo's, getting lost en route and finding the prof and his students wandering as well.  We all found it a few minutes later and had a beer, talked with Mike, listened to a NY street poet named Steve Dalachinsky whom I really liked.  Then this Jack impersonator told a little story about the first time he met Ken Kesey - not a pretty story.  :-)  

This is "Jack" hanging out at Ricardo's - the first pub on our tour.

We stopped at Cappy's Copper Kettle second where we met a pretty interesting local dude playing pool.  He told us he was a fighter - a kick boxer I think - and told Rick he looked like Kevin Nash who apparently is a wrestler.  It's very ironic that Rick is probably the only person in the bar other than this guy who would have a clue as to who Kevin Nash was.  After seeing a photo of Kevin Nash I must say I don't see the resemblance - 6 ft 7 - 300 pounds of solid muscle would be the first difference I notice.  

Next we went on to Major's Pub.  Rick had been posting on his Kerouac-obsessed blog all week that anyone who came up to him and said Rumplestiltskin would get a free book.  While Rick was outside taking photos I grabbed a table and invited some other folks to sit with us.  I got talking to Melissa, Todd and Nancy and then Rick came and joined us.  As we talked, Melissa said - hey, are you that guy with the blog?  I said, what's the magic word and she nailed it!  Rick  had been carrying a couple of books around so true to his pledge, gave her a signed copy.  It turns out she'd come across his blog when googling a Kerouac quote and saw his posts.  Her partner Todd was the Kerouac lecturer for Saturday which turned out to be very interesting.  

The last pub was The Worthen House - the same place we ended last year with all the antique belt driven fans.  As we were going in, the woman in front of us was telling the guy collecting $5 cover charge that she hadn't brought enough cash with her so I paid her way in.  We hung out and listened to Reverend JJ - a pretty good solo guitar and harmonica player and then a rather loud and unique band afterwards.  Walked back to our room about 11:30 I guess.

We had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to Kerouac Park for the bus tour just in time to hear more poetry by Dalachinsky and then a little talk and some flute tunes by Daivd Amram.  

Here's a photo of Steve Dalachinsky from Saturday at Kerouac Park.  

David Amram

People listening at Kerouac Park

We then boarded the bus and went to Jack's place of birth - 9 Lupine Street in Lowell.

Here's Roger Brunelle who grew up in Lowell at the same time that Kerouac lived there.  He never met Jack which he regrets - says Jack died before he was awakened.

We also went to the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, stopped at the Merrimack River, a couple of schools where Jack attended, and the Lowell Library where they say Jack still holds a record for having checked out the most books, among other places.  We broke off the tour when they headed to some locations we'd toured last year and went to a little Mexican restaurant for a quick bite before heading to the Lowell Center for Todd's lecture.  

We had to leave right after he finished so that we could run back to the hotel and get poetry for the open mike back at The Worthen House.  Rick had brought a poem he'd written about being at City Light Bookstore in San Francisco.  I had my moleskine  but none of the poems I had in there were really speaking to me so I decided not to read.  I really wanted some of the more recent poems I'd posted to dVerse poetry.   

Rick reading at open mike upstairs at The Worthen House

We had planned to go the the Centralville Social Club and listen to music at 8 but we were pretty beat (so to speak) at this point and decided to go grab some dinner at a cool pub we'd walked by earlier called The Old Court.  After a nice dinner we knew the music was a no go and decided we'd be redeemed if we went back to the hotel and streamed Howl from Netflix.  Loved the movie - great dialogue.  

When we got up on Sunday we decided to go down to Concord, MA to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Louisa May Alcott, and Ralph Waldo Emerson are all buried.  

Entrance to Author's Ridge

Me in front of Louisa May Alcott's grave.

Here's Henry David Thoreau's tombstone - very simple, as it should be.  There's a much larger family marker next to his stone.

Rick at Thoreau's grave.  He read an excerpt from Civil Disobedience.  

Here's me at Nathaniel Hawthorne's grave.

And here's Rick at Ralph Waldo Emerson's grave.  I read the poem, The Apology.

The Apology

Think me not unkind and rude,

That I walk alone in grove and glen;

I go to the god of the wood

To fetch his word to men.

Tax not my sloth that I

Fold my arms beside the brook;

Each cloud that floated in the sky

Writes a letter in my book.

Chide me not, laborious band,

For the idle flowers I brought;

Every aster in my hand

Goes home loaded with a thought.

There was never mystery,

But 'tis figured in the flowers,

Was never secret history,

But birds tell it in the bowers.

One harvest from thy field

Homeward brought the oxen strong;

A second crop thine acres yield,

Which I gather in a song.

All in all, a fun and interesting weekend.  We had a nice drive home during which I stopped at Starbucks for a caffeinated mocha frapacinno, so here it is 2:00 a.m. and I'm still wide awake and putting my blog together.  I'll be glad tomorrow - and when I look back in 10 years - that I did.  

Mocked

Our eyes met across the crowded room

By the end of the look

We knew we’d be spending the night together

By the end of the night

We knew we’d be spending our lives together

The tumor laughed at our plans

Mocked our passion

Instead of ripping you from my arms

Leaving me sobbing and beaten

It took you bit by bit

Until in the end

Your death was my relief

And it was guilt that crushed me

And now I sit alone on our porch

The one you built for us to grow old upon

A bird call startles me out of my reverie

No doubt a mockingbird.

This poem contributed to
dVersePoets Open Link Week #9

Crystal

They gave me the name before it was all the rage

A Crystal, mixed amongst  the more traditional Linda, Donald, William and Thomas of my siblings

What was its meaning

From what flight of fancy did it derive

I’m sure I was told but it wasn’t a definite thing

The story given, a little vague

Eyes that sparkled,

Something about a soul and the universe

A much better answer than

Your father’s great aunt

Though that gives you good strong roots

This leaves you hanging, gives you wings.

Amazingly I was 50 before a person gave me a crystal

A rough unpolished rock with multiple offshoots

Multi faceted in the truest sense of the word

He’d brought the crystal with him from his homeland

Not sure why until that moment he presented it to me

Wrapped in a silken Thai cloth

His Buddhism training and the time he spent as a monk

Taught him to trust his instincts

He talked about “old friends” as in previous lifetimes

In his broken English,

Trying to make me understand

The connection he felt between us

We’d known each other only a month

But we’d been Old Friends since the day we’d met

I’d felt it too; not in a romantic way

Though he was handsome and virile

But as two who had shared a life

Perhaps siblings or brothers in arms

He told me he meditated about it

Its energy, beauty and mystery

And it started me thinking

Crystal – multi faceted with many rough offshoots

Is that who I am?

It took my Old Friend and 50 years

This poem contributed to
dVersePoets Open Link Week #8 

Cleave Poetry

Have you ever heard of Cleave poetry?  Check it out: http://cleavepoetry.wordpress.com/

Cleave : is a contranym, a word with 2 opposite meanings:

verb 1) split or sever along a natural grain or line. 2) divide; split.

verb 1) stick fast to. 2) become strongly involved with or emotionally attached to.

In its most basic form it is three poems:

two parallel ‘vertical’ poems (left and right)

a third ‘horizontal’ poem being the fusion of the vertical poems read together.  


Click on the poem to make it big enough to read.  

This poem contributed to
dVersePoets Open Link Night #6