e places in all of creation. The first was Jack Kerouac Avenue - a tiny little street connecting North Beach with Chinatown - that Lawrence Ferlinghetti had renamed to honor one of the Beat giants...Along the street are quotes from some of the Beat poets as well as insights from some of the poets of China. On either side of Jack Kerouac Avenue you will find City Lights Books and Vesuvio. City Lights, of course, is known as both the publisher of Ginsberg's "Howl" as well as being the first American all paperback book store. It is a cultural landmark and a treasure to visit.
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own maki
ng
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence
(Ferlinghetti)
Next door - and across Kerouac Avenue - is one of the Beat's favorite watering holes: Vesuvio. There are posters lining the walls of the gre
at poets and writers of our era - from Blake and Yeats to Joyce, Woolf and a host of others. Vesuvio's is also one of the hangouts for Paul Kantner from the Jefferson Airplane (who still holds court from time to time.)The Airplane are still one of my favorite bands - sometimes too full of themselves (a flaw known to most of us, yes?) - but also adventurous, creative, beautiful and always lots of fun.
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own maki
ngand balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence
(Ferlinghetti)
Next door - and across Kerouac Avenue - is one of the Beat's favorite watering holes: Vesuvio. There are posters lining the walls of the gre
at poets and writers of our era - from Blake and Yeats to Joyce, Woolf and a host of others. Vesuvio's is also one of the hangouts for Paul Kantner from the Jefferson Airplane (who still holds court from time to time.)The Airplane are still one of my favorite bands - sometimes too full of themselves (a flaw known to most of us, yes?) - but also adventurous, creative, beautiful and always lots of fun.Another fascinating place just on the edge of Chinatown and North Beach is this work of art: flying and illuminated books. This area is saturated in the printed word and I think the city celebrates this heritage in a stunning way with this sculpture in neon.
Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little weed in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in t
heir bedroom bunks.And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.
(Ginsberg)
And last, but never least, is The Saloon, probably the oldest standing bar in San Francisco and home to blues/rock bands for generations. Whenever I am im town, I insist - which doesn't take too much encouragement - that my brother, sister-in-law and I head down to the Saloon to shake our booties. Seems to me I spent a WILD 50th birthday in this place and we shut it down a few times on this trip, too. Heard two exceptional new blues band this go 'round - one night there were 3 dueling guitar players - and the other a rock and soul quartet that was inspirational.
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