Michael McClure (1) (1932–2020)
Autor de Scratching the Beat Surface: Essays on New Vision from Blake to Kerouac
Para otros autores llamados Michael McClure, ver la página de desambiguación.
Sobre El Autor
A native Midwesterner born in 1932, Michael McClure is associated with the San Francisco renaissance of the mid 1950's, and his work, in the tradition of Blake and Artaud, is prophetic in tone and usually quite experimental on the printed page. His plays, "The Beard" (1965) and "The Tooth of Crime" mostrar más are underground theater classics. He is part of the poet's theater movement that was revived in San Francisco in the 1980's. His more recent work includes Persian Pony, and Mephisto and Other Poems. His other books include Rain Mirror; Simple Eyes & Other Poems; Rebel Lions; Ghost Tantras; Of Indigo and Saffron: New and Selected Poems; Passage; and the nonfiction work, Scratching the Surface of the Beats. He was a professor of poetry at California College of the Arts, a position he held for 43 years. He was given an honorary doctorate degree as the longest-tenured faculty member at the art college. After a career of more than 60 years, Michael McClure died at the age of 87, on May 4, 2020. (Bowker Author Biography) mostrar menos
Créditos de la imagen: empty mirror books
Obras de Michael McClure
Lighting the Corners: On Nature, Art, & the Visionary : Essays & Interviews (American Poetry Series) (1993) 17 copias
For Artaud 2 copias
Bob Dylan The Poet's Poet 2 copias
[Mandales] 2 copias
Unto Caesar 1 copia
Isamu Noguchi 1 copia
Thirteen Mad Sonnets 1 copia
Dream Table 1 copia
Madame Secretary 1 copia
Trip: for Joanna 1 copia
Liberation 1 copia
Transfiguration 1 copia
The Stitching 1 copia
GRAHHR 1 copia
Fifteen Ideas 1 copia
The Cherub 1 copia
Obras relacionadas
The Rolling Stone Book of the Beats: The Beat Generation and American Culture (1999) — Contribuidor — 167 copias
Stan Brakhage: Correspondences (Chicago Review, 47:4 and 48:1) — Contribuidor — 8 copias
Peace or perish : a crisis anthology — Contribuidor — 4 copias
West Coast Plays 2: Outstanding New Plays from the Coast (And; Goethe: Eine Fragment; The Last of the Marx Brothers'… (1978) 2 copias
ACTS 6, A Book of Correspondences for Jack Spicer — Contribuidor — 2 copias
Recollection: Best of Concrete Blonde — Songwriter — 2 copias
Origin, Second Series, No. 6, July 1962 — Contribuidor — 1 copia
San Francisco poets [sound recording] — Contribuidor — 1 copia
Etiquetado
Conocimiento común
- Nombre legal
- McClure, Michael Thomas
- Fecha de nacimiento
- 1932-10-20
- Fecha de fallecimiento
- 2020-05-04
- Género
- male
- Nacionalidad
- USA
- Lugar de nacimiento
- Marysville, Kansas, USA
- Lugar de fallecimiento
- Oakland, California, USA
- Causa de fallecimiento
- stroke
- Lugares de residencia
- San Francisco, California, USA
- Ocupaciones
- poet
novelist
documentary filmmaker
journalist
songwriter - Organizaciones
- Rat Bastard Protective Association
Miembros
Reseñas
Mephistos and Other Poems por Michael McClure
An important and influential collection of poems by one of the original Beats. Strongly recommended!
I was initially drawn to The Adept by its psychedelic book cover. Even after a friend pointed out that each "e" in the title on the dust jacket looked like a Pac-Man — albeit striped Pac-Mans — I didn't care. I didn't care even though I was strictly a Galaga kid when Pac-Man was all the rage. I had to have it, that cover called to me; I was transfixed by its meditative, out of body experience, in its cover art and design. Thankfully, Lorne Bair Rare Books, self-described "specialists in the history, art and literature of American social movements" (Woodstock's generation, for instance) was there for me when I was jonesing hard for it and needed this amazing fix fast.
The Adept was Michael McClure's second novel, published by Delacorte Press forty-five years ago, and so far, it has been his last. After safariing deep underneath its alluring surface cover, I polished the novel off last night.
Sure wish McClure had written another novel (or would write one more soon). Pure pleasure finding myself unself-consciously submerged by the reading, swirling deep into the vortex of Michael McClure's immense imagination — a subversive, unpredictable, and visionary realm at once spiritual and corporeal. Michael McClure has long been an Artist well attuned to whatever it is out there that stalks and breathes beyond our senses, and in The Adept he takes us there.
The Adept is "anti-narrated," you could say, anti-narrated by an expert antihero; by a metafictional-minded ("Listen, my Dear Reader, my Fine Punk Asshole, my Lovely Hypocrite, and you shall hear what it is to be a full-grown adult male animal with hair down to the ass and a fine set of muscles"), cocaine addled mystic, this drug dealing New Yorker, Nicholas, with his kooky predilection for impromptu longueurs galore on things like leonine symbolism one second or Botticelli's illustrations for The Inferno the next. The novel compels its "Dear Reader ... Lovely Hypocrites" along with Nicholas' digressive commentary (is it maybe Michael McClure's astute social commentary disguised?) because, yes, it blends like this linguistic smoothie out of erudite esoterica and streetwise jive. The Adept is serious funny brains. McClure's colloquial commingling of down and dirty earthiness and high art prefigured David Foster Wallace's own super-smarts-meets-low-arts sensibility of style.
Nicholas' worldview counters the counterculture of his time. In 1971, when we meet him — we "Fine Punk Assholes" — whatever happy hippie idealism he may have once had has long escaped this enigmatic cynic for good—
"I despise the radical and social Left which would poison me and put me in a prison of Society—leaving me no pleasures but those of happy work, and marriage, and perhaps finally automation so that there would be nothing for me to do but watch state-owned television and pursue crafts and cultural events until the utopia breaks up in sheer boredom of existence."
I said I was enamored by the The Adept's cover at the outset. I'll say now I was mind blown by the book, and leave it at that, except for this beautiful bit of prose—
"A rose is not only beautiful when new but it is also beautiful when wilted. The Japanese know this. There is more thought in a wilted rose than in a new rose. The new rose, lucent flower meat, gleams and gives off light like a psychedelic drug being whirled in a centrifuge in a dark room. No, not like that. The new rose is new flesh. It stares back at you. It is shocked to be removed from the garden, but newborn to be unitary, disparate, and free.… (más)
The Adept was Michael McClure's second novel, published by Delacorte Press forty-five years ago, and so far, it has been his last. After safariing deep underneath its alluring surface cover, I polished the novel off last night.
Sure wish McClure had written another novel (or would write one more soon). Pure pleasure finding myself unself-consciously submerged by the reading, swirling deep into the vortex of Michael McClure's immense imagination — a subversive, unpredictable, and visionary realm at once spiritual and corporeal. Michael McClure has long been an Artist well attuned to whatever it is out there that stalks and breathes beyond our senses, and in The Adept he takes us there.
The Adept is "anti-narrated," you could say, anti-narrated by an expert antihero; by a metafictional-minded ("Listen, my Dear Reader, my Fine Punk Asshole, my Lovely Hypocrite, and you shall hear what it is to be a full-grown adult male animal with hair down to the ass and a fine set of muscles"), cocaine addled mystic, this drug dealing New Yorker, Nicholas, with his kooky predilection for impromptu longueurs galore on things like leonine symbolism one second or Botticelli's illustrations for The Inferno the next. The novel compels its "Dear Reader ... Lovely Hypocrites" along with Nicholas' digressive commentary (is it maybe Michael McClure's astute social commentary disguised?) because, yes, it blends like this linguistic smoothie out of erudite esoterica and streetwise jive. The Adept is serious funny brains. McClure's colloquial commingling of down and dirty earthiness and high art prefigured David Foster Wallace's own super-smarts-meets-low-arts sensibility of style.
Nicholas' worldview counters the counterculture of his time. In 1971, when we meet him — we "Fine Punk Assholes" — whatever happy hippie idealism he may have once had has long escaped this enigmatic cynic for good—
"I despise the radical and social Left which would poison me and put me in a prison of Society—leaving me no pleasures but those of happy work, and marriage, and perhaps finally automation so that there would be nothing for me to do but watch state-owned television and pursue crafts and cultural events until the utopia breaks up in sheer boredom of existence."
I said I was enamored by the The Adept's cover at the outset. I'll say now I was mind blown by the book, and leave it at that, except for this beautiful bit of prose—
"A rose is not only beautiful when new but it is also beautiful when wilted. The Japanese know this. There is more thought in a wilted rose than in a new rose. The new rose, lucent flower meat, gleams and gives off light like a psychedelic drug being whirled in a centrifuge in a dark room. No, not like that. The new rose is new flesh. It stares back at you. It is shocked to be removed from the garden, but newborn to be unitary, disparate, and free.… (más)
2 
absurdeist | Sep 5, 2016 |
absurdeist | Sep 5, 2016 | 
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