A LINDA LERNER REVIEW of WINANS' SELECTED POETRY BOOK

Drowning Like LiPo in a River of Red Wine (Selected Poems 1970--2010) by A.D.Winans 
Reviewed by Linda Lerner
 
In a book that spans forty years of a man’s life, we are given a close up of the American soul by this San Francisco poet whose vision ranges across a country he both loves and mourns.  “This Land is Not My Land,” (1996)  a collection of poems dealing with three years he  served in Panama during the mid fifties, encapsulates themes that recur throughout this unique collection. “Panama city could have been / any slum city in America;” disillusioned with the corruption he sees there, he views the price paid for not fitting in, being poor, black, elderly and refusing to “Buy...into the system” here as well.

“I have watched / listened / observed / only to return home/ and close the door” behind which he shares his revelations in poems written in a deceptively simple style  that startle us with the astuteness of his insights.  The book is divided  chronologically, beginning with Carmel Clowns (1970) in which we meet the poet in Golden Gate Park picking a flower only to look up into the face of a part-time policeman, the first of many authority figures. Winans tries to ignore him and to “Concentrate on the flower” as the poet throughout his life tries to ignore the dishonesty and hypocrisy he sees in the literary world, paralleled in America, and focus on being true to himself, to his own values.

This is a poet who has never felt comfortable with being called a poet, who would have preferred being blessed with “the skills of a union carpenter” and yet the contradiction:  “Poetry and writing have kept me going all these years” he writes in his  introductory essay. This dichotomy is at the heart of this collection:  how to keep from falling into the American literary success trap and yet be successful for the work one does.

For forty years he’s walked the same streets of San Francisco, of North Beach, “stoned on words” observing the misfits, those who’ve never quite made it into corporate America, people struggling to get by, to keep the demons at bay, walked out of the 20th century into the 21st. where everything and nothing changed.

Crazy John (from Tales of Crazy John, 1975) is a local poet who symbolically embodies them along with poets like Bob Kaufman, Jack Micheline, Bukowski,  Kenneth Patchen, A.D. Levya among others,  whose visionary genius puts them outside the mainstream and labeled crazy.  He’s the guy whose laugh “never failed to frighten the establishment” who can’t handle a simple job,  who “invented his own cloud” the guy who “could be seen / dancing a raindance only / flowers understood.” Doctors  locked him up in a padded cell, then “with unbelieving eyes (watched) him / create buterflies / from building blocks/ then turn into a frog / forced to devour his creation / in order to survive.” Crazy John represents those poets, jazz musicians, artists who’ve kept Winans going, helped him to believe in what he is doing, to keep his sanity.

The influence of LiPo, in the book’s title, can be seen in some of the latter poems where Winans has written several Haikus, and some shorter imagistic poems along those lines as in “Rain Poem.” In LiPo on my mind” The poet expresses a kinship with this Chinese poet when he concludes saying,  “I mark time / like LiPo / mixing words with / wine.”
As he does, he still hears “the shrill cry of dead / jazz greats ring out”, and  in North Beach sees “Ghosts at every bar stool” recollecting a time when it “was alive/with creativity.”

There are the ghosts of women he’s loved,  poets, and Jazz musician friends who’ve passed on. Tribute is paid to them in his very moving poem, “I Kiss the Feet of Angels.”Among the poets is Bob Kaufman who took a Buddhist vow of silence for ten years after Kennedy was shot, D.A. Levy who knew that you can’t beat the system and was killed trying, Charles Bukowski who twenty days before his death from Leukemia, sent a poem to Wormwood Review, “ perhaps a wry smile /on his face/ for the doctor/ and a hand on the ass/ of the nurse” a man who  played “out the game to the end /like only the old man / was capable of doing,  Jack Micheline, “A shaman a con man / a vagabond poet ...His poems racing across the / Streets of America / Pure innocence / Pure genius, ...Drunk on the / Pollen of life,  Kell Robertson wondering around the country with his guitar, “Nearly 66 / Hard as the highway...Still scrapping / Like the rest of us / For whatever / time is left.”

They are not dead for Winans.  As he walks along those same San Francisco streets he’s walked along his whole life, he writes
           “I hear the drums
              I feel the beat
              I kiss the feet
              of angels.”

Early in his life, Winans wrote, “america is no place for / a poet to grow old in” which in the new century, by his own admission, he has become.  The poet who in the 1970’s watched old men eat their last meals,” now in his seventies, has become one of them. But, it hasn’t lessened his anger, his determination to stay true to his own values. In “How to Spot a Yuppie” (from South of Market, 2006) he writes, “they are young and have ambitious / looks about them.... like they want something / and are willing to kill / to get it.”


So, go out and get this book;  walk along with A.D.Winans down those same streets. Cross one decade into the next; leave one century behind and begin a new one. Take a  journey you’ll never forget.



Drowning Like LiPo in a River of Red Wine (Selected Poems 1970--2010) by A.D.Winans, Bottle of Smoke Press,  902 Wilson Drive Dover, DE 19904, www.bospress.net, 2010, 364 pp. Trade Paperback. $25.00 with shipping.
ISBN  0-97773000-8-5  hardcover
ISBN  0-97773000-9-3  paperback

Winans Photo at The Beat Museum

Creative Editing by Ginger Eades

Charles Plymell on Drowning Like Li Po in a River of Red Wine by AD Winans

From the shadows of a home town always rising from ashes with eternal fog lying in them like a heavy spirit comes... The Frisco Kid! An appreciation by Charles Plymell (Click for more info)

Drowning like Li Po in a River of Red Wine by A D Winans is a book to be proud of. It’s a pick-it-up-random poem book that gets right to it, with selected poems organized chronologically from past publications, 1970-2010. One might think that 364 pages of verse (and colophon page) would be a lot to take in, but it is not. Everything is all right, like the years went by, exactly right, bringing it all back home.

San Francisco was home to us all. She opened her doors to everyone, alone, weary, and timeless... from Jack Black to Jack Micheline. Everyone got a taste of that home, but Winans is the only one I’ve met who was born there. He must share her coiffed comeliness and spiritual highs, splashing her nacreous pearls from deep black water splayed into the fog of love, the mist from her eddies pressing back the lusty egalitarian thrust until it obeys. It always seemed a small town because it’s vertical, on different planes, each neighborhood seething with scenes.

Mason Street San Fran Circa 1960s
 During my limited tenure, it seemed I lived on every street, if not neighborhood, or knew someone who was in this or that scene. And floating through those different planes were layers to its natural beauty that gave off the essence of love but could also sink down darkly and cruel as hell. Through Winans’s eyes one can live those streets again, like a Bob Kaufman looking out the window of a Muni bus in silent study of all action passing on her streets to the last window-framed panorama.

The book too, is exactly right, as a book should be made. The poems aren’t tucked in as a filler to the pretentious pages of slick magazines; they are presented in the best selection of typeface, the poems placed correctly on the page. Li Po would have approved. It has the right feel, the right dimension, and the right geography to go back to and turn the pages like wrapping dreams.

Winans and I are about the same age, and we both discovered the Beats in the late 1950s. We both had unconventional childhoods. My best times were in the fifties. We heard the McCarthy hearings in real time. We developed a similar political philosophy somewhere between Li Po and Upton Sinclair.

Like most poets in the Bay Area grown into the sixties there was politics in our poetry. He served time in the service. Mine in the ROTC ... a Clinton/Bush deferment. I arrived in his old middle class neighborhood, the Haight, as the decade of the sixties began, before the kids took over the streets from little Russian ladies. He knew poets I did and the bars they read in, and the magazines they published in. San Francisco was constantly changing, sometimes overnight.

I didn’t know Winans in San Francisco but met him later at an Independent publishing event, “Small Press.” We took part in some of their organizations. We learned how the game was played and over the years watched it change into the “Politburo of Poetry” as all things government do with friends rewarding friends. Over the years, we’ve corresponded and shared our views on poetry, political scams and awards. We spot the phonies and neither of us much cares for labels. We’ve seen “revolutionary” poets & middle class kids get permission to protest. We’ve seen famous poets howl against Moloch and the government only to receive several thousands of government money and keep the Beatnik flack, not black, flying at the landmark tourist bookstore in North Beach. We’ve seen hypocrisy in all flavors in all the poets the city spawned. I’ve often wondered how he sees the invasion on his home turf.

AD Winans with Jack Micheline
My biggest regret is that I wasn’t with him when the great jazz clubs flourished in the days of Billie Holliday that he remembers in his poems, or the great blues legends like Johnny Lee Hooker. Yes, the times were always changing there. By the time Pam and I went to Mike’s Pool Hall with Ferlinghetti (Pam was underage), the GoGo girls were dancing in every joint. I got to see Sonny Rollins at an embarrassing two-drink minimum gig in North Beach when he was either too sick or too broken to wail. Yes, the city was built on Rock n’ Roll, Fillmore and the Avalon et. al. But the poets knew that it was really re-built, again and again. It all comes back in the works of Winans. It comes back as subtle and real as Bo Diddley’s words at the Avalon, a thriving line-in the street psychedelic hall bringing us the new sounds and lights. His words haunt me when he came to play to a handful, this “unknown” who said “and here I am now playing for you. Mercy Mercy Mercy.” I think I know what he meant. You will get the full history with Winans’s poems. They tell it real. San Francisco was always home to the outcasts from any origin. They became family. The moon on the water beckoning for all comers. The sun over the hills and bridges all bringing commerce, ships going to war. Friends and families living and dying. A changing city like the long nights and sunny days. My sister died in that Chinese Lantern of the Western Moon.

Gino and Cralos Bar
Jack Micheline came by to rally me to read and bring the “word” to the people. I had a good job on the docks and was starting a family. Besides, I said to him, how would you compete with the fame of sensational book trial no matter the poet and poet storeowner were (out of town) and let the Japanese-American clerk who sold the book stand trial, just in case it backfired. The days of Life and Time are over. They just want the tourist version. Micheline left dejected, but hopefully to Gino and Carlos bar to have a drink with Winans and revitalize the words again. Or the Anxious Asp to hear poets insult the poets from Cleveland in their hippy drag. It was like that. It could be a tough town. We didn’t walk to the docks with Longshoreman hooks in our belts for nothing. The town was built on many layers of compassion and destruction, giver and taker, almost religiously. I wonder sometimes how a poet would live all his life there. Probably by writing lines to William Wantling, an example of the many poets who walked the streets of his town: “Looking into the cracked lips of sorrow/I walk the harsh streets of tomorrow.” (Pg. 297) Pick it up and open it anywhere. But to really find out how the poet down South who wrote about the poet up North and what happens with the poets from the East who come to the West and drank at the bars in Winans’s home town, you’ll just have to open the book in a river of red wine on pg 183.  

-Charles Plymell on Winans's latest publication
 
Drowning Like Li Po in a River of Red Wine: Selected Poems 1970-2010 by A.D. Winans
To Purchase online click HERE for Bottle of Smoke Press
Dover, DE
$25.00 (Paperback) (Shipping Included)
365 pgs
ISBN: 0-9777300-8-5


Looking Back at the Beat Generation by A.D.Winans

Generally speaking, counter-culture describes the values and norms of behavior of a cultural group or subculture in conflict with those of the cultural mainstream of the day, a visible phenomenon that reaches critical mass and persists for some time.
Jack Micheline & A.D.Winans by Linda Lerner
The Beat Generation was composed of a group of American poets and writers who first congregated in New York and later joined their West Coast brothers and sisters.  The movement became prominent in the 1950s and 1960s. The Beats engaged in spontaneity, passionate dialogue, open sexuality, and experimentation with drugs. Their work reflected this and it began to infiltrate the established literary magazines. The influence of the Beats on postmodern literature is undeniable. I grew up in the 1950s, in an era in which you were expected to be a logically thinking, level-headed individual whose purpose was to work hard, raise a family, and be patriotic to your country.  It was a society of rules, order, and materialism.  There was little if any room for individualistic behavior. As the Fifties progressed, the Beat movement began to emerge.  It had its roots in New York (Greenwich Village) and San Francisco (North Beach).  The Beats openly challenged and defied the established order.  They spoke out in opposition to what America represented, as they rebelled against everything the Establishment stood for: the repression of dissent in the name of militarism, racism, materialism, and conformity. 

Bob Kaufman personifies the true meaning of the Beat spirit.  He was one of the original Beat voices to come out of the Fifties and is rightfully considered by many to be the most influential black poet of his era, though his poetry transcends race identification.   Like many of the Beats, he started out in New York and later found his way to San Francisco's North Beach. While Allen Ginsberg was reading his poetry to large audiences, Kaufman chose another path, becoming the undisputed street poet, who frequented the Co-existence Bagel Shop, located on Grant and Green. His poetic technique resembles the surreal school of poets, ranging from a powerful, lyrical vision to the more prophetic tone found in his political poems.  Kaufman considered himself a Buddhist. He believed a poet had a call to a higher order. He lived a life of spirituality. He denounced materialism.

People flocked to the Co-existence Bagel Shop in the hope of seeing him read.  He delighted the audience by jumping up on one of the tables and reciting a newly written poem, or by reading poems from the master poets, such as Eliot, Pound, and Blake.  When he read, there was total silence.  The audience hung on his every word. His fate was sealed, however, the day he wrote on the walls of the Bagel Shop, "Adolph Hitler, growing tired of fooling around with Eva Braun, and burning Jews, moved to San Francisco and became a cop."  This was the beginning of his regularly being harassed by the police and frequently receiving beatings at the old Kearny Street Hall of Justice.   By the late Sixties he had fallen victim to drugs and forced shock treatments at New York's Bellevue Hospital and was but a shell of what he had been in the Fifties.

The Beats were among the first to fictionalize and embellish their lives to readers worldwide who thrived on the experiences of the authors.  By the late Fifties they had cemented their role in the New American Counterculture but, much to their dismay, it was their "lifestyle," rather than their art, that began to take center stage. What distinguished them from ordinary malcontents was their talent and inner conviction.  They represented a large contingency of restless and disenchanted young people around the world.  But it was also a time when the media began to mass-produce and market the "ideal" America. The media began its drum roll to destroy a culture revolution and turn it into a cultural fad. The word Beat began to lose its significance as part of an artistic sub-culture and became instead a label for anyone choosing to live simply and humbly as a Bohemian, or who acted rebelliously. In 1958, the word beatnik was coined by the poet Bob Kaufman to characterize the physical allure of the Beats, instead of their social and intellectual radicalism. 

When I returned from Panama in 1958, the Beats were already beginning to move out of San Francisco's North Beach, migrating to places like Mexico and Venice Beach, California.  The term beatnik became the brunt of jokes, rather than representative of a serious revolution.   The mass media depicted the only two things publishers and tycoons wanted to exploit about the Beats: their image and their lifestyle.   

Jack Kerouac
In order to comprehend the creative surge that took place in North Beach during this time, it is first necessary to understand the literary tradition of San Francisco. It was only natural that the Beat movement flourished there, where it blossomed and came to fruition. But the truth is a literary Bohemia existed in San Francisco long before Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady and other Beat souls came to the city.  

The North Beach creative hub took place in a six-block radius from lower to upper Grant Avenue, centered around a large number of bars, cafés and coffee houses, frequented by poets, artists, and jazz musicians. While Grant Avenue was the center stage of creativity, the bevy of Beat oriented cafés and bars actually extended from Broadway and Columbus, and all the way to the produce district, where the self-proclaimed king of the Beats, Big Daddy Nord, held court in a large warehouse. Eric's Pad, as it was known, remained open at all hours. You could walk in any night of the week and see blacks and whites freely mingling and dancing to the music of bongo and conga drums.  On the upstairs roof there was a string of mattresses, with couples fornicating in full view of onlookers, some quite agog, others blasé.

But two decades earlier, San Francisco was already thriving with creative energy, during what was known as the "San Francisco Renaissance," a designation for a range of poetic activity centered throughout the city. Kenneth Rexroth, often referred to as the "Father of the Beats," is also generally considered to be the founding father of the Renaissance.  Rexroth was a prominent second-generation modernist poet who corresponded with Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams.  He came to the city from Chicago, where he had operated a jazz and poetry tea room known as the Green Mask, which housed an upstairs brothel, right in line with San Francisco's bawdy history.  Rexroth was not only a poet and writer but also a union organizer. He hung out on San Francisco's Waterfront encouraging dockworkers to become union members. 

Rexroth held regular readings in his apartment, located over a record store in the Fillmore District.  Among the many poets who frequented the meetings was Philip Whalen, who later appeared in Kerouac's novels as "Ben Fagin" and "Warren Coughlin."  The poets who attended the meetings represented a wide range of writing styles, from the ballads of Helen Adams to the bawdy rhymes of poet and filmmaker James Broughton.  The readings were a haven for both young and old poets as well as visiting luminaries.

If Rexroth was the father of the Beats, then Madeline Gleason was the founding mother.  During the 1940s, both Rexroth and Gleason befriended a group of younger Berkeley poets, including Jack Spicer and Robert Duncan.   

In 1952, Dylan Thomas came to the city and captivated a standing-room audience, which came to see the Welshman drunkenly read his work.  A year later, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Peter Martin opened City Lights Bookstore, partly to finance City Lights Journal, which, at the time, was publishing the surreal poet Philip Lamantia. 

Young Allen Ginsberg
When Ginsberg came to the city in the early Fifties it was only natural he would find his way to Rexroth's weekly gatherings.   In 1954, Ginsberg had not yet acknowledged his homosexuality, but this same year he met Peter Orlovsky, and the two became life partners. During this same time, Rexroth was reading his poetry to jazz accompaniment at a small cellar bar on Green and Columbus streets, while Jack Spicer presided over the famous "Blabbermouth Night" at a bar called "The Place" on upper Grant Avenue.  It was around this time that Ginsberg began writing the first lines of his epic poem Howl. Encouraged by Kerouac, Ginsberg began searching for a place to showcase the poem.  Rexroth organized a reading at the Six Gallery, located at Fillmore and Greenwich streets.  The reading featured Ginsberg, Snyder, Whalen, Michael McClure, and Philip Lamantia, with Rexroth serving as master of ceremonies.   Kerouac was not on the bill but did attend the event.  The reading drew a large crowd, with Kerouac drunkenly passing large jugs of red wine through the audience.  Ginsberg was the last poet to read and, urged on by Kerouac, gave a passionate reading, a reading which held the crowd spellbound and which launched him on his way to fame.   

The most important accomplishment of Kerouac, Ginsberg and Cassady was to make rebellious young people throughout the land aware that there was others out there who felt the way they felt.  This was expressed by Diane di Prima, who is quoted as saying that Howl encouraged her and others to step forward and make their voices heard.  She was in effect heralding the cause of a new clan of poets who would become known as the Beat Generation. 

Photo from The 1957 Howl Trial
The single most important event that helped the Beats gain notoriety occurred on March 25, 1957, when agents from the U.S. Customs Bureau seized the first shipment of Howl and declared the book obscene. Ferlinghetti and Shig Muro (the manager of the City Lights)) were charged with selling obscene literature.  The American Civil Liberties Union intervened, providing free legal assistance.  Writers and critics testified on behalf of City Lights, and Judge Clayton Horn set a precedent by ruling that if a book has "the slightest redeeming social importance, it is protected under the First and Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. and California Constitutions and therefore can not be declared obscene."  This legal precedent allowed D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover and Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer to be published by Grove Press.   

It's equally important to note the influence of jazz on the work of the Beats.  Charlie Parker and Charles Mingus were among the many jazz musicians to whom the Beats were drawn.  In the late Fifties and into the Sixties, Jazz was central to what was happening.  Wes Montgomery and Cal Tjader were very much part of the scene. The Fillmore District, a largely black community, was known as "Bop City," a hangout for musician such as Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan. 

It was common to see New York jazz musicians visiting San Francisco's Fillmore District, and it was here that musicians and lovers of jazz gathered in the early hours of the morning. The Beats and bebop were like twins.  Carter Monroe points out, "When discussing the Bebop movement in terms of Beat Literature, you are talking about the freedom it represents."

A great deal of Beat literature in terms of influence is all about content and challenging social mores.  Bebop challenged the existing parameters of music. You can see this influence in the work of Jack Kerouac and perhaps even more so in the work of the poet Bob Kaufman.  In North Beach, Kaufman was regarded as the Bebop poet, and much of his poetry is infused with jazz.

William S Burroughs photo by Ginger Eades
Today both literary critics and academics alike recognize the Beats as legitimate poets, writers, and artists, but the legitimacy did not come without a cost.  As is often the case, success comes with a price tag, and so it came for some of the Beats. Many of the Beat poets were co-opted into the system.  Ginsberg applied for and received not one but three NEA writing grants and he sold his archives to Stanford University for over a million dollars.  William Burroughs made commercials and had a small role in a movie.  Ferlinghetti's once avant-garde bookstore can't be distinguished today from other commercial bookstores, and he is second only to Ginsberg in marketing himself, commanding thousands of dollars for a reading.  It was poets such as Jack Kerouac, Micheline, Kaufman, Corso and Ray Bremser who remained true to the Beat spirit right up until the time of their deaths.  And while today's youth remain intrigued by, if not directly influenced by, the Beat Generation, there hasn't been a real counter-culture revolution in the U.S. since the hippie phenomenon, which was a youth movement that began in the U.S. during the early 1960s and, as was the case with the Beats, soon spread around the world.

The word hippie is said to have derived from the word "hipster" and was initially used to describe beatniks who had moved into San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district.  These people embraced the counter-culture values of the Beat Generation, forming their own communities, listening to Psychedelic Rock, embracing sexual revolution, and experimenting with drugs like LSD, grass, and peyote in order to explore alternate states of consciousness.   

In 1967, a "human be-in" was held, leading to the legendary 1967 Summer of Love and two years later to the 1969 Woodstock Festival on the East Coast.  Hippie fashions and values had a major effect on the broader culture, influencing popular music, film, literature, and the arts.  The hippie legacy can be observed in contemporary culture in many forms...from health food to music festivals to today's sexual mores.   

I had the good fortune of experiencing the tail end of the Beat Generation, the Post-Beat Generation that followed and the birth and the death of the Hippie Generation.   

Allen Ginsberg

POEM FOR GINSBERG

I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by greed, not so starving
hysterical, naked under their fashion designer clothes
driving themselves through congested city streets
looking for non-existent parking spaces
aging hormone-driven biological clock mothers
offering their purple-veined breasts to baby suckling
zombies, in and out of public
Whose stock market-driven and laser vision perception
sipped Starbuck's coffee under protective awnings
while watching street cops shoo off the homeless
who chatted aimlessly on their cell phones
making reservations at trendy restaurants
while whining about the quality of the wine
who fucked only by appointment, dutifully expecting
a climax in sixty seconds or less
who shopped at organic food markets looking
for eternal youth while seeking cash rebates
with no idea what to do with them
who saw the Savior while vacationing in Palm Springs
and God on Turner TV
who taught their children how to use ATM machines
while devising clever tax-evasion schemes
who gave up writing to save a tree
and claimed it as a tax deduction
who drove their cars in the bicycle lane
hoping for some excitement
who pierced their nipples cocks and tongues
wanting to be among the hip and young
who pledged their allegiance to the Almighty Dollar
while writing protest letters to their daily newspaper
Holy is the sock.  Holy is Swiss cheese.
Holy is the Bank of America. Holy is cable television.
Holy is the condom.  Holy is the U.N.
Holy is pop culture.
Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching is the new
Holy Order
the holy of the unholy
the best minds of my generation