Jack Kerouac Collected Haikus* - Terebess
Terebess Asia Online (TAO)Jack KerouacCollected Haikus**Haiku is both singular and plural. Kerouac’s usage of "s" is unusual."He's the only one in the United States who knows how to write haikus Kerouac thinks in haikus, every time he writes anything—talks that way andthinks that way. So it's just natural for him He's the only master of thehaiku."Interview with Allen Ginsberg, The Paris Review, 37 (Winter, 1966), 52-53."The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese Haiku. The Japanese Haiku isstrictly disciplined to seventeen syllables but since the language structureis different I don't think American Haikus (short three-line poems intendedto be completely packed with Void of Whole) should worry about syllablesbecause American speech is something again. bursting to pop.Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery andmake a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a VivaldiPastorella."Jack KerouacThen I'll inventThe American Haiku typeThe simple rhyming triolet:-Seventeen syllables?No, as I say, American Pops:-Simple 3-line poemsJack Kerouac - Reading Notes, 1965Renowned for his groundbreaking Beat Generation novel On the Road, Jack Kerouac wasalso a master of the haiku. He incorporated his nearly 1,000 American haiku pops innovels and in his correspondence, notebooks, journals, sketchbooks, and recordings.A selection is listed in alphabetical order below.Jack Kerouac spent 63 days during the summer of 1956 as a fire lookout onDesolation Peak. He wrote about his experiences in the books Lonesome Traveler, TheDharma Bums and Desolation Angels. The ‘Desolation Pops’ manuscript is a collectionof seventy-two haiku experiments, numbered by the author, represent Kerouac’seffort in relating his mountain loneliness to nature and mystical experience.2 traveling salesmenpassing each otherOn a Western road50 miles from N.Y.all alone in Nature,The squirrel eating
A balloon caughtin the tree – duskIn Central Park zooAbbid abbayd ingrat- LighthouseOn the AzoresA black bulland a white birdStanding together on the shoreA big fat flakeof snowFalling all aloneA bird hangingon the wireAt dawnA bird onthe branch out there- I wavedA bird pecking kernelson a grassy hillsideJust mowedA bottle of wine,a bishop Everything is GodA bubble, a shadow woop The lightning flashA car is coming butthe cat knowsIt's not a snakeA current pimpleIn the mind’sOld manAfter a year and a halffinally saw the ratBig and fatAfter supperon crossed paws,The cat meditatesAfter the earthquake,A child cryingIn the silenceAfter the shower,among the drenched roses,the bird thrashing in the bath
After the showermy cat meowingon the porchAfter the showerthe red rosesIn the green, greenA full November moonand mild,Mary CarneyAh, Genghiz Khanweeping – wheredid Autumn go?Ah Jerusalem – how manyAutumn saints slaughteredThee with Christ?Ah the birdsat dawn,my mother and fatherAh, the cricketsare screamingat the moonAh who cares?I’ll do what I want Roll another jointAll day long wearinga hat that wasn'tOn my headAll I see is whatI see Red fire sunsetAll that ocean of bluesoon as those cloudsPass awayAll the insects ceasedin honorOf the moon(Desolation Pops, 28)All these sagesSleepwith their mouths openAll the washon the lineAdvanced one footAlone at home readingYoka Daishi,Drinking tea
Alone, in oldclothes, sipping wineBeneath the moonA long islandin the skyThe Milky WayA long way fromThe Beat GenerationIn the rain forestAlpine fir withsnowcap’t backround –It doesn’t matterAmerica: fishing licensesthe licenseTo meditateAm I a flowerbee, that youStare at me?A million acresof Bo-treesAnd not one Buddha(Desolation Pops, 51)Among the nervous birdsthe morning doveNibbles quietlyA mother & sonjust took a shortcutThru my yardAncient ancient world- tight skirtsBy the new carAnd as for Kennedy in Autumn he sleptBy swishing peaceful treesAnd the quiet catsitting by the postPerceives the moonAnswered a letterand took a hot bath- Spring rainApassionata Sonata- hiballs, grayAfternoon in OctoberApril mist under the pineAt midnight
A pussywillow grew thereAt the footOf the breathless treeA quiet Autumn nightand these foolsAre starting to argueA quiet moment low lamp, low logs Just cooking the stewA raindrop fromthe roofFell in my beerArms foldedto the moon,Among the cowsA spring mosquitodont even knowHow to bite!As the cool eveningsmake themselves felt,Smoke from suburban chimneysAsking Albert Saijofor a haiku,He said nothingA stump with sawdust- a placeTo meditate(Desolation Pops, 7)At a Coney IslandhamburgerIn Vancouver Washington(Desolation Pops, 3)At nightThe girl I deniedWalking awayA turtle sailing alongon a log,Head upAurora borealisover Mount Hozomeen The world is eternal(Desolation Pops, 70)Aurora Borealisover the Hozomeen –The void is stiller(Desolation Pops, 33)
Autumnal cowflops a manMakes a living.AutumnalCowflops but a man mustmake a living.Autumn eve – mymother playing oldLove songs on the pianoAutumn night in New Haven- the WhippenpoofersSinging on the trainAutumn nightlow moon Fire in SmithtownAutumn nightSalvation Army signOn a cold brick buildingAutumn night stove- I’ve never beenon a farm before.Autumn nite- Lucien leans to Jackon the couch.Autumn nite Lucien’s wifePlaying the guitarAutumn nite my mother cuts her throatAutumn nite my mother remembersmy birthAutumn nite the boysplaying haiku.August in Salinas Autumn leaves inClothing store displaysAugust moon - ohI got a boilOn my thighAugust Moon Universe- neither newNor oldA whole pussywillow
over there,UnblownA yellow witch chewinga cigarette,Those Autumn leavesBach through an opendawn window the birds are silentBarefoot by the sea,stopping to scratch one ankleWith one toeBarley soup in Scotlandin November Misery everywhereBee, why are youstaring at me?I'm not a flower!Beautiful young girls runningup the library stepsWith shorts onBeautiful summer nightgorgeous as the robesOf JesusBig books packagedfrom Japan Ritz crackersBig drinking & pianoparties – ChristmasCome and gone –Big wall offrom theComing in –(DesolationcloudsNorthbrrrr!Pops, 69)Bird bath trashing,by itself Autumn windBirds chirpfogBugs the gateBirds flewOver the shackRejoicingBirds flying north Where are the squirrels?There goes a plane to BostonBirds singing
in the darkIn the rainy dawnBird suddenly quieton his branch – hisWife glancing at himBird was goneand distance grewImmensely white(Desolation Pops, 64)Black bird - no!bluebird - pearBranch still jumpingBlizzard in the suburbs- the mailmanAnd the poet walkingBlizzard in the suburbs- old man driving slowlyTo the store 3 blocksBlizzard’s just startedall that bread scattered,And just one birdBlowing in an afternoon wind,on a white fence,A cobwebBlueberry dubberythe chipmunk’sIn the grass(Desolation Pops, 68)Bluejay drinking at mysaucer of milk,Throwing his head backBreakfast donethe tomcat curls upOn the down couchBred to rejoice,the gigglingsunshine leaves(Desolation Pops, 14)Brighter than the night,my barn roofOf snowBrokenback goodshitHeap bigshotamong the Birchtrees.Buddha laughingon Mt. Lanka!Like Jimmy Durante!
Buddhas in moonlight- Mosquito bitethru hole in my shirtBuds in the snow- the deadly fightbetween two birdsButterfat soilof the valley Big black slugsBut the Lost Creek trailthey dont believeIs in existence any more(Desolation Pops, 67)Came down from myivory towerAnd found no worldCat eating fish heads- All those eyesIn the starlightCatfish fighting for his life,and winning,Splashing us allCat gone 24 hours- A piece of his hairWaving on the doorChange Su Chi’s artstudio, a silentShade in the windowChief Crazy Horselooks tearfully northThe first snow flurriesChipmunk went in- butterflyCame out(Desolation Pops, 71)Chou en Lai, his briefcaseshould be fulla leaves,For all I knowChrist on the Cross crying- his mother missedHer October porridgeChurchbells ringing in town- The caterpillarIn the grassClose your eyes Landlord knocking
On the back doorClosing the book,rubbing my eyes The sleepy August dawnCloudy autumn nite- cold water dripsin the sink.Coffee beans!- Methinks I smellThe Canaries!Cold crisp October morning- the cats fightingIn the weedsCold gray tuftsof winter grassUnder the starsComing from the West,covering the moon,Clouds – not a soundConcatenation! – the bicyclepulls the wagonBecause the rope is tiedContent, the top treesshroudedIn gray fog(Desolation Pops, 13)Cool breeze - maybejust a shillyshallying snowThat'll ruin everythingCool breezy morning- the cat is rollingOn his backCool sunny autumn day,I’ll mow the lawnone last timeCradled and warm,the upper snow,The trackless(Desolation Pops, 15)Crisp windMy tired limbsRelaxed before the coalsCrossing the football field,coming home from work,The lonely businessmanDawn, a falling star
- A dewdrop landsOn my head!Dawn – crows cawing,ducks quack quacking,Kitchen windows lightingDawn – the firstrobins singingto the new moonDawn – the tomcathurrying homeWith his tail downDawn – the writer whohasn’t shaved,Poring over notebooksDawn windin the spruces- The late moonDebris on the lake- my soulIs upset(Desolation Pops, 22)Desk clutteredwith mail My mind is quietDesolation, Desolation,so hardTo come down off ofDesolation, Desolation,wherefore have youEarned you name?Disturbing my mind essence,all that foodI have to cookDo you know why my name is Jack?Why?That’s why.Drinking wine- the Queen of Greeceon a postage stampDrizzle Midnight pine,I sit dryDrunk as a hoot owlwriting lettersBy thunderstorm
Drunken deterioration ho-hum,Shooting starDusk - boysmashing dandelionsWith a stickDusk in the holywoods Dust on my windowDusk now –what’s left ofAn ancient pierDusk - the birdon the fenceA contemporary of mineDusk – The blizzardhides everything,Even the nightEarly morning gentle rain,two big bumblebeesHumming at their workEarly morning with thehappy dogs I forgot the PathEarly morning yellow flowers- Thinking aboutThe drunkards of MexicoElephants munchingon grass - lovingHead side by sideEleven quick skulksto FallAnd still coolEmptinessof the Ananda glass bead,Is the bowing weedsEmpty baseball field- A robin,Hops along the benchEvening coming The office girlunloosing her scarfEverlastingly looseand responsive,The cloud business(Desolation Pops, 16)
Every cat in Kyotocan see through the fogEveryone of my knocksdisturbs my daughterSleeping in her December graveEverywhere beyondthe Truth,Empty space blue(Desolation Pops, 17)February dawn – froston the pathWhere I paced all winterFebruary gales - racingwestward throughThe clouds, the moonFiddlydee! Another day,Another something-or-other!Fighting over a peachstone, bluejaysIn the bushesFirst December coldwave - not evenOne cricketFirst frost droppedall leavesLast night – leafsmokeFlowersaim crookedlyAt the straight deathFor a momentthe moonWore gogglesFollowing each other,my cats stopWhen it thundersForever and forevereverything’s alright midnight woodsFour bluejays quietin the afternoon tree,Occasionally scratchingFour in morning creak my motherIn her bed
Free as a pinegoofingFor the windFrogs don’t carejust sit thereBrooding on the moonFront hooves spread,the mule scratches hisNeck along a logFrozenin the birdbath,A leafFull moon in the trees- across the street,the jailFull moon of October- The tiny mewof the KittyFull moon Pine tree Old houseFull moon, white snow, my bottleOf purple jello(Desolation Pops, 30)Gary (Snyder) gone from the shacklike smoke- My lonely shoesGary Snyderis a haikufar awayGee last night dreamedOf Harry Truman(Desolation Pops, 23)Geronimo, in Autumnsays no to peacefulCochise - Smoke risesGet to go fork a hossAnd head for Mexico(Desolation Pops, 39)Ghengis Khan looks fiercelyeast, with red eyes,Hungering for Autumn vengeanceGirls' footprintsin the sand
- Old mossy pileGirl trapped beneath thesteering wheel, beautifulAs the Dalai Lama’s dreamGirl with wagon what doI know?Giving an appleto the mule, the big lipsTaking holdGlow wormsbrightly sleepingOn my flowersGlow worm sleepingon this flower,Your light's on!God’s dream,It’s onlyA dreamGrain Elevators are tall trucksthat let the roadapproach themGrain Elevators onSaturday waiting forThe farmers to come homeGrain elevators, waitingfor the roadTo approach themGrass waves,hens chuckle,Nothing’s happeningGray day the blue spruceIs greenGray orb of the moonbehind silver clouds The Spanish mossGray spring rain- I never clippedMy hedgesGreyhound bus,flowing all night,VirginiaGull sailingin the saffron sky The Holy Ghost wanted it
Haiku! Haiku!Still wears a bandageOver his injured eye!Haiku my eyes!my mother is calling!Haiku, shmaiku, I cantunderstand the intentionof realityHalloween colorsorange and blackOn a summer butterflyHand in hand in a red valleywith the universal schoolteacher the first morningHaunted Autumn visitingfamiliar August,Those last 2 daysHaydn’s creation orColeman Hawkins, I canFix em just rightHere comesMy dragon goodbye!Here comes the nightlymoth, to his nightlyDeath, at my lampHer yellow dolls bowingon the shelf My dead step grandmotherHighest perfect fool the wisdomOf the two-legged ratHigh in the Skythe Fathers Send MessagesFrom on HighHigh noonin Northport- Alien shoreHitch hiked a thousandmiles and broughtYou wineHmf – Ole Starvation RidgeisMilkied o’er(Desolation Pops, 27)
Holding up my purringcat to the moon,I sighedHoly sleep- HanshanWas right(Desolation Pops, 72)Horse waving his tailin a field of cloverAt sundownHot coffeeand a cigarette –why zazen?(Desolation Pops, 32)Hot tea, in the coldmoonlit snow a burpHow cold! – lateSeptember baseball The cricketsHow’d those guysget in here,those two flies?How many cats they needaround hereFor any orgy?How flowers lovethe sun,Blinking there!How that butterfly’ll wake upWhen someoneBongs that bell!Cf. Yosa Buson (1716-1784): The butterfly / Resting upon the temple bell, / Asleep.(trans. R.H. Blyth, Haiku, Vol. 2: Spring, Hokuseido, 1950, p. 258.)Huge knot in theRedwood treeLooking like Zeus’ faceHummingbird humshello – bugsRace and swoopHurrying things along,Autumn rainOn my awningI called – Dipankarainstructed meBy saying nothing(Desolation Pops, 60)I called Hanshan
in the fog Silence, it said(Desolation Pops, 59)I called Hanshanin the mountains- there was no answer(Desolation Pops, 57)I close my eyes I hear & seeMandala(Desolation Pops, 10)I don’t care the low yellowMoon loves meI don’t carewhatthusness isI drink my teaand sayHm hmIf I go out now,my pawswill get wetI found mycat - oneSilent starIgnoring my bread,the bird peekingIn the grassI gotta make it in terms /that anyone can understand/Did I tell ya about my nightmare?I hate the ecstasyOf that rose,That hairy roseI'll climb up a treeand scratch KatapatafatayaI made raspberry fruit jelloThe color of rubiesIn the setting sunI’m back here in the middleof nowhere At least I think so(Desolation Pops, 35)I’m so madI could biteThe montaintops(Desolation Pops, 31)
In a Mojave dust stormAlbert said: "Senzeie,Was a Mongolian waif"In Autumn Geronimoweeps - no ponyWith a blanketIn back of the Supermarket,in the parking lot weeds,Purple flowersIn enormous blizzardburying everythingMy cat’s out matingIn enormous blizzardburying everything My cat turned backIn Hakkaido a cathas no luckIn London-town catscan sleepIn the butcher's doorway.In my medicine cabinetthe winter flyHas died of old ageIn the chairI decided to call HaikuBy the name of PopIn the desert sunin Arizona,A yellow railroad cabooseIn the late afternoonpeaks, I seeThe hope(Desolation Pops, 25)In the lovely sunreading lovelyHaikus - SpringIn the middle ofthe corn, a newCar slitheringIn the morning frostthe catsStepped slowlyIn the quiet house,my mother'sMoaning yawns
In the sunthe butterfly wingsLike a church windowIowa cloudsfollowing each otherInto EternityI rubbed my beardedcheek and looked inThe mirror – Ki!(Desolation Pops, 61)I said a jokeunder the stars- No laughterI should have scratchedthat spot beforeI started to sleepI’ve turned upthe lamp again- The sleeping mothI went in the woodsto meditate It was too coldI woke up- two flies were boffingOn my foreheadJack reads his bookaloud at nite- the stars come out.Juju [ juzu] beads on theZen manual My knees are coldJune – the snowof blossomsOn the groundJust woke up- afternoon pinesPlaying the windKicked the cupboardand hurt my toe- Rage(Desolation Pops, 43)Kneedeep in theblizzard, the ancientMisery of the catKneedeep, teethto the blizzard,My cat gazing at me
Late afternoon –it’s not the voidThat changed(Desolation Pops, 44)Late afternoon my bare back’sCold(Desolation Pops, 41)Late afternoon the lake sparkleBlinds meLate afternoon the mop is dryingOn the rock(Desolation Pops, 40)Late Aprildusk bluster Lions & lambsLate autumn nitethe last faint cricket.Late moon rising- FrostOn the grassLay the pencilaway – no morethoughts, no leadLeaf dropping straightIn the windless midnight:The dream of changeLeaves falling everywherein the NovemberMidnight moonshineLeaves skittering onthe tin roof- August fog in Big SurLilacs at dusk- one petalfellListen to the birds sing!All the little birdsWill die!Listening to birds usingdifferent voices, losingMy perspective of History
Little frogs screamingin the ditchAt nightfallLittle pieces of icein the moonlightSnow, thousands of emLonely brickwalls in DetroitSunday afternoonpiss callLonesome blubbersgrinding out the decadeswith wet lipsLooking around to thinkI saw the thick white cloudAbove the houseLooking for my catin the weeds,I found a butterflyLooking up at the stars,feeling sad,Going "tsk tsk tsk"Looking up to seethe airplaneI only saw the TV aerialLost cat Timmy he wont be backIn a blue moonLoves his own bellyThe way I love my life,The white catMade hot cocoaat night,Sang by woodfire(Desolation Pops, 56)Man dying Harbor lightsOn still waterMan – nothing butaRain barrel(Desolation Pops, 21)Mao Tse Tung has takentoo many Siberian sacredMushrooms in AutumnMay grass Nothing muchTo do
Mayonnaise mayonnaise comes in cansDown the riverMemère says: "Planets arefar apart so peopleCan't bother each other."Me, my pipe,my folded legs Far from Buddha(Desolation Pops, 9)Men and womenYakking beneaththe eternal VoidMexico – After the dimmarkets, brightSan Juan LetranMe, you – you, meEverybody He-heMiddle of my Mandala- Full moonIn the waterMild spring night a teenage girl said"Good evening" in the darkMissing a kickat the icebox doorIt closed anywayMist before the peak- the dreamGoes onMist boiling from theridge - the mountainsAre cleanMist falling- Purple flowersGrowingMists blew by, IClosed my eyes, Stove did the talking(Desolation Pops, 62)Misurgirafical & plomlied- ding dangThe Buddha’s gang(Desolation Pops, 65)
Moon behindBlack clouds Silver seasMoon in thebird bath One star tooMorning meadow Catching my eye,On weed(Desolation Pops, 1)Morning sun The purple petals,Four have fallenMoth sleepingon the newly plastered wall- the spring rainM’ugly spine – the lossof the kingdomOf Heaven(Desolation Pops, 46)Mule on the seashoreOne thousand footBridge aboveMy blue sprucein the paleHaze duskMy butterfly cameto sit in my flower,Sir MeMy cat eatingat his saucer- Spring moonMy cat’s asleep- poor little angel,the burden of flesh!My Christ blindsare down I’m reading about VirginMy corncub pipehot fromthe sunMy critics jiggleconstantly likePoison ivy in the rainMy flashlight,where I put it this afternoonTwisted away in sleep
My friend standingin my bedroom The spring rainMy hand,A thing with hairs,rising and falling with my bellyMy hands on my lapJune night,Full moonMy Japanese blindsare down I’m reading about EthiopiaMy rumpled couch- The lady's voiceNext doorMy rose arbor knows moreabout JuneThan it'll know about winterMy pipe unlitbeside the DiamondSutra - What to think?Napoleon in bronzethe burning BlakeanmountainsNat Wills, a tramp- AmericaIn 1905(Desolation Pops, 34)Neons, Chinese restaurantscoming on Girls come by shadesNew aluminumg
Jack Kerouac spent 63 days during the summer of 1956 as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak. He wrote about his experiences in the books Lonesome Traveler, The Dharma Bums and Desolation Angels. The ‘Desolation Pops’ manuscript is a collection of seventy-two haiku experiments, num
Jack Kerouac is another author who uses religious language and imagery to represent a philosophical rejection of consumerism and corporate oppression. In his semi-autobiographical novel, On the Road, Kerouac refers to his friend Dean as “having the energy of
Keep going”. Discussing Kerouac’s novel On the Road (1957), Allen then pressed him to define the word “Beat”, to which Kerouac responded with a single word: “sympathetic”.1 The interview had been scheduled following the success of Kerouac’s novel, the original une
KEROUAC at the NPS Visitor Center Panel 1 prepared by proun, 05.25.11 ack Kerouac (1922-1969) is Lowell’s preeminent author and a major American writer. Best known for his novel On the Road (1957), many of his works draw on his experiences growing up here and reflect the city’s
OOP-POP-A-DA Dizzy Gillespie Dizzy Gillespie Basic Hip (01:13) Del Close and John Brent . David Amram Quintet with Lynn Sheffield October in the Railroad Earth (07:08) Jack Kerouac Jack Kerouac / Steve Allen . (the Parson to the Conclusion)
13 Jack Kerouac, On the Road, New York: Viking Press, 1957 14 Jack Kerouac, “The Depression,” undated 15 Lily Brooks-Dalton, Motorcycles I’ve Loved, New York: Riverhead, 2015 16 Nathan Asch, The Road
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