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Some poets throw paint on paper like Jackson Pollock and then call it poetry. Like Jack Kerouac. They infuriate me. Is it coincidence that Kerouac and Pollock both begin with a J and end with a K? Why does society slather such honors on such vagabonds so deprived of intelligence, and not recognize the truly talented poets whom I have come to know and have hunted down under the rose bushes with the wind howling out a haunted tune over our heads braying "turn back!" because society will never appreciate you? Perhaps I might as well ask why society would like Jackson Pollock in the first place, and the wind would only howl back at me more. Are we the same as the Indie bands who claim that mainstream music has gotten so commercial and so shallow as to be an embodiment of depravity? I don't think so - because the difference is that normal people like pop music -- and normal people think that Kerouac is crap. So the question is, why do literary circles laud such laurels on such low-lying scum and then try to pass it off as talent? Are they envious of the road-raring life that was lived by Jack Kerouac and not by Bruce Springsteen? Perhaps it would be good to keep in mind that Jack Kerouac was the one who walked out on his wife and kids for months at a time, and that Bruce Springsteen was the one who became one of the best selling artists of all time. [While being a great guy] |
Copyright ©2010 Ashi Shadow - 7/26/2010
Jack is a pet peeve of mine. I have never read On the Road, but his poetry is terrible.
Maybe the novel is better.
I found out recently that actually it was the novel that brought him fame, not the poetry.