Kirkus Reviews, 1 February 2003
A zinging, furious output of epistles from the young Corso....Much food for thought here.
Beat Scene, Kevin Ring, Summer 2003
[A] stupendous and voluminous collection.... Thank heavens these letters were preserved.
Washington Post Book World, Joyce Johnson, 25 May 2003
Corso's life was never exemplary, but it produced some surprisingly brilliant and memorable poetry.
Book Description
Fabulous letters from the vagabond Beat poet to his friends—among them Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. For all his charm and intelligence poet Gregory Corso lived a vagabond life. He never held down a regular job. He rarely stayed very long under the same roof. He spent long stretches—some as long as four or five years—abroad. Many of his letters came from Europe—France, England, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Greece—as he kept in touch with his circle of friends—among them his best friend Allen Ginsberg and a steady supporter, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He left (or was left by) a number of girlfriends and he fathered five children along the way. He was apt to raise a bit of a ruckus at poetry readings and other public events. No one could be sure what he might do next except that he would write poetry and get it published and that it would be widely read. When the idea of a book of selected letters was first proposed, Gregory had some reservations about it. Would the book reveal too much of his private life? But then with typical hubris he said the equivalent of "let it all hang out" and "all" does hang out in An Accidental Autobiography. The book is indeed the next thing to an unplanned self-portrait and gives a lively sense of the life Gregory Corso led, marching to his own drummer and leaving in his wake such marvelous books of Beat poetry as The Happy Birthday of Death, Elegiac Feelings American, Long Live Man, and Herald of the Autochthonic Spirit. Bill Morgan, who is extremely conversant with the Beats, has done an admirable job collecting letters from libraries and various individuals across the country and then selecting and organizing them in a progression that spans Corso's lifetime. In addition to Morgan's introduction and commentary, the book includes a special foreword by poet and rock star Patti Smith as well as a number of photographs.
An Accidental Autobiography: The Selected Letters of Gregory Corso FROM THE PUBLISHER
"For all his charm and intelligence poet Gregory Corso lived a vagabond life. He never held down a regular job. Until his final years, he rarely stayed very long under the same roof. He spent long stretches - some as long as four or five years - abroad. Many of his letters came from Europe - France, England, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Greece - as he kept in touch with his circle of friends - among them his best friends Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He left (or was left by) a number of girlfriends and he fathered five children along the way. He was apt to raise a bit of a ruckus at poetry readings and other public events. No one could be sure what he might do next except that he would write poetry and get published and that it would be widely read." When the idea of a book of selected letters was first proposed, Gregory had some reservations about it. Would the book reveal too much about his private life? But then with typical hubris he said the equivalent of "let it all hang out" and "all" does hang out in An Accidental Autobiography. The book is indeed the next thing to an unplanned self-portrait and gives a lively sense of the life Gregory Corso led, marching to his own drummer and leaving in his wake such marvelous books of Beat poetry as The Happy Birthday of Death, Elegiac Feelings America, Long Live Man, and Herald of the Autochthonic Spirit.
FROM THE CRITICS
Kirkus Reviews
A zinging, furious output of epistles from the young Corso--most date from 1958 to 1965--to his friends and publishers, assembled by Morgan, archivist of Allen Ginsberg's papers. The letters start just after publication of Corso's The Vestal Lady on Brattle and continue with abandon until dope and alcohol finally got the better of him in the mid-ﾽ60s. They reveal a Corso vital to the point of rioting, spiritedly all over the place, intoning to Lawrence Ferlinghetti, "I somehow do believe that only great poetry can be written on the spot, and when finished done," after having noted to Ginsberg that "spontaneity in poetry is nothing more than notes, not poems." They display a remarkable degree of self-infatuation--"Read Howl and liked it because it's almost like my Way Out," he writes to Ginsberg--equal to his willingness to indulge in self-pity: "Things are very difficult for me," he writes to Ferlinghetti, "life is becoming too real. When I see it that real, I feel not a poet." Or, to Ginsberg, the pathetic, "you well know how I used to wow ﾽem, Allen." That he became the sensual lyric poet at all is a wonder upon reading long letters to Kerouac and Isabella Gardner, in which he relates his less-than-ideal youth: the orphanages, reform schools, psychiatric wards, prison--and forget about formal education--all before he hit 20. His past gave him a sense of protective fellow-feeling, which flowed into the poetry, and a generous measure of mistrust, fear, and hunger for approval--a need for love without the pro quid quo--that formed his life. The letters from the ﾽ70s and ﾽ80s, but a trickle, promise new work, but fail to deliver. Much food for thought here, all best taken with a grain (ortwo) of salt. Only Corso could willfully utter, "The poet and his poems are a whole," knowing well that one could be sensitive, the other cruel, one responsible, the other destructive.
Art & Photography
Book Info
