At 96, Poet And Beat Publisher Lawrence Ferlinghetti Isn't Done Yet
Lawrence Ferlinghetti lives in a modest second-story walk-up in San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood. Hanging on his walls are his doctorate from the Sorbonne, an unframed Paul Gaugin print and posters of celebrated poetry readings dating back to the days when he personified a hip, literate and rebellious San Francisco. Not that he's nostalgic.
"Everything was better than it is when you're old," he says.
Sixty years ago, Ferlinghetti, now 96, was the principal publisher of an iconoclastic band of writers and poets known as the Beat Generation. Today, he's still co-owner of City Lights, one of the most celebrated independent book stores in America. These are quieter days for the internationally acclaimed poet and painter. His eyes are going, but his mind and humor are sharp. And while he may have slowed down some, he's still publishing three books this year.
Ferlinghetti is generous with his time, and he greets this reporter's visit with a surprise. "I see you've got those reporter's notebooks," he says. "I wrote a whole novel here in these reporter's notebooks — 78 of them there." (We'll get to back to his unfinished novel a bit later.)
From his desk window, Ferlinghetti surveys his North Beach neighborhood, which he says is changing just like the rest of San Francisco. Take for example his favorite neighborhood coffee shop, where he says no one talks to anyone else anymore because they're all staring at a screen. "Yesterday morning I was walking down there and a guy passed me. I said, 'Good morning;' he didn't even look at me. He just went right on past," he recalls with a laugh.
The guy probably didn't know he was ignoring the man who helped spark a literary revolution. Ferlinghetti was a young bookstore owner in 1956 when he first published Allen Ginsberg's iconic Beat-era poem, "Howl." It was a sexually explicit critique of American materialism, and its publication landed Ferlinghetti and an associate in hot water. They were busted for selling obscene literature and their trial drew international attention.
"And then Judge Horn rendered his decision that a book could not be considered obscene if it had the slightest redeeming social significance," Ferlinghetti says. It was a redeeming victory for the young bookseller.
Ferlinghetti's own ideas about freedom were forged as a Navy lieutenant commander in World War II. He saw action in Normandy, France, and the ruins of Nagasaki, Japan. "That made me an instant pacifist," he says.
The "Howl" trial also brought national attention to what would be called the Beat Generation, which included writers like William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac. Ferlinghetti says he never considered himself a part of that movement because his poetry was less frenetic than the Beats. Take the poem "Constantly Risking Absurdity (No. 15)" from his first book of poetry, 1958's A Coney Island of the Mind:
A Coney Island of the Mind was translated into more than a dozen languages. It would sell more than a million copies, making Ferlinghetti arguably the best-selling American poet of the last century. Yet when you mention his name today, many San Franciscans will likely point to City Lights, his landmark book store in North Beach.
Paul Yamasaki has been working in the bookstore for 45 years, but he says, "The last five years have been the best five years in City Lights bookstore's economic history in terms of sales." He walks through the store's many nooks and crannies, crammed full of books from floor to ceiling, passing by City Lights' fiercely loyal customer base.
He says, "I think the essence of what Lawrence does is really looking at literature that represents both hope and resistance and the broader possibilities of a just world, you know, that also embraces literary excellence."
What the customers won't see is Ferlinghetti himself. At 96, he rarely visits the bookstore anymore, but he still lunches regularly with friends and keeps a brisk schedule with visitors. And 2015 is a busy year: He's publishing a 60th anniversary edition of the City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology, a collection of poetry packaged to fit into anyone's back pocket or purse; a book of selected correspondence between himself and Allen Ginsberg; and Writing Across the Landscape, a compilation of his travel journals dating back to 1944.
And then of course there's the novel he's working on — the one that's still in all those notebooks. "I'm writing a stream of consciousness novel," he says. "It's an endless novel and may never be finished. It could be called Portrait of the Artist as an Old Red." An Old Red the likes of which San Francisco may never see again.
9(MDE1MTIxMDg0MDE0MDQ3NTY3MzkzMzY1NA001))
Transcript
ARI SHAPIRO, HOST:
San Francisco's beat poets from 60 years ago might not recognize their city today. Amid all the tech startups and social media entrepreneurs, though, one familiar face remains, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He was the main publisher of Beat Generation poets like Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Today, he's still co-owner of City Lights, one of the most celebrated independent bookstores in America. At age 96, Ferlinghetti is publishing three books this year. NPR's Richard Gonzales recently paid him a visit to talk about his latest work.
LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI: So just go right up.
RICHARD GONZALES, BYLINE: Lawrence Ferlinghetti lives in a modest second-story walk-up in San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood. On his walls, his doctorate from the Sorbonne, an unframed Gaugin print, and posters of celebrated poetry readings dating back to the days when he personified a hip, literate and rebellious San Francisco - not that he's nostalgic.
FERLINGHETTI: Everything was better than it is when you're old (laughter).
GONZALES: These are quieter days now for the internationally acclaimed poet and painter. His eyes are going, but his mind and humor are sharp. And he's generous with his time as he greets a visitor with a surprise.
FERLINGHETTI: I see you've got those reporter's notebooks. I wrote - I wrote a whole novel here in these reporter's notebooks (laughter).
GONZALES: Wow.
FERLINGHETTI: Seventy-eight of them there.
GONZALES: We'll get back to his unfinished novel a bit later. From his desk window, Ferlinghetti can survey his North Beach neighborhood, which he says is changing like the rest of San Francisco. Take, for example, his favorite neighborhood coffee shop, where he says no one talks to anyone else anymore because they're all staring at a screen.
FERLINGHETTI: And yesterday morning, I was walking down there, and a guy passed me. I said, good morning. He didn't even look at me. He just went right on past (laughter).
GONZALES: The guy probably didn't know he was ignoring the man who helped spark a literary revolution. Ferlinghetti was a young bookstore owner in 1956 when he first published Allen Ginsberg's iconic Beat-era poem, "Howl."
(SOUNDBITE OF POEM, "HOWL")
ALLEN GINSBERG: I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked.
GONZALES: Ginsberg's poem is a critique of American materialism and sexually explicit. Its publication landed Ferlinghetti and an associate in hot water. They were busted for selling obscene literature, and their trial drew international attention.
FERLINGHETTI: And then Judge Horn rendered his decision that a book could not be considered obscene if it had the slightest redeeming social significance.
GONZALES: It was a redeeming victory for Ferlinghetti. His own ideas about freedom were forged as a Navy lieutenant commander in World War II, who not only saw action in Normandy but also the ruins of Nagasaki.
FERLINGHETTI: So that made me an instant pacifist.
GONZALES: The "Howl" trial also brought national attention to what would be called the Beat Generation. It included writers like William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac. But Ferlinghetti says he never considered himself a part of that movement because his poetry was less frenetic than the Beats. In 1958, Ferlinghetti published his first book of poetry, "A Coney Island Of The Mind."
FERLINGHETTI: 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 making.
GONZALES: "A Coney Island Of The Mind" was translated into more than a dozen languages. It would sell over a million copies, making Ferlinghetti arguably the best-selling American poet of the last century. Yet, when you mention his name today, many San Franciscans will likely point to City Lights, his landmark bookstore in North Beach.
PAUL YAMASAKI: To put it simply, the last five years have been the best five years in City Lights bookstore economic history in terms of sales.
GONZALES: Paul Yamasaki has been working in the bookstore for 45 years. He leads us through the store's many nooks and crannies, crammed full of books from floor to ceiling, perused by City Lights' loyal customer base.
YAMASAKI: I think the essence of what Lawrence does is really looking at literature that represents both hope and resistance and broader possibilities of a just world, you know, that also embraces literary excellence.
GONZALES: But what the customers won't see is Ferlinghetti himself. At age 96, he rarely visits the bookstore anymore. But he still lunches regularly with friends and keeps a brisk schedule with visitors. And 2015 is a busy year. He's publishing the 60th anniversary edition of the "City Lights Pocket Poets Series." It's a collection of poetry packaged to fit into anyone's back pocket or purse. Ferlinghetti's also publishing a book of selected correspondence between himself and Allen Ginsberg. And there's a compilation of his travel journals, "Writing Across The Landscape," dating back to 1944, which will be published by Norton Liveright Books in September. And then, of course, there's a novel he's working on, the one that's still in all those notebooks.
FERLINGHETTI: I'm writing a stream of consciousness novel. It's an endless novel and may never be finished. It could be called "Portrait Of The Artist As An Old Red."
GONZALES: An old red, the likes of which San Francisco may never see again. Richard Gonzales, NPR News, San Francisco. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
300x250 Ad
300x250 Ad