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Corso Gregory:     more books (100)

Gasoline by Gregory Corso, 1968-01-01 [Ankh] by Gregory CORSO, 1971-01-01 Gasoline..pocker Poets Series by gregory/Allen Ginsberg (introduction) Corso, 1958 Earth egg by Gregory Corso, 1974 Herald of the Autochthonic Spirit. by Gregory. CORSO, 1981 Wholly Communion: International Poetry Reading at the Albert Hall by Gregory; Ferlinghetti, Lawrence; Ginsberg, Allen; Voznesensky, Andrei Corso, 1965-01-01 Unmuzzled Ox, Vol. 2, Nos. 1 & 2, 1973. by Gregory. CORSO, 1973 Long Live Man by Gregory Corso, 1959-01-01 Evergreen Review: Vol. 1, No. 3 by Donald Rosset Barney & Allen, William Carlos Williams, et all 1957 Wholly Communion Poems International Poe by Gregory Corso, 1965 i.e.: The Cambridge Review -- Volume 1, Number 1 by Gregory, V.R. Lang, E. Beuhling, David Ferry, Peter Sourian, Mac Hammond, Robert Shattuck, and Albert Berman) (CORSO, 1954 Wings, Wands, Windows (Ashes, Chapbook #2) by Gregory Corso, 1982 FELIZ CUMPLEA/OS DE LA MUERTE ,EL (Spanish Edition) by CORSO GREGORY, 2008 THE TRANSATLANTIC REVIEW. #5. December 1960. by James Merrill, George Garrett, R.G. Vliet, Contributions by Gregory Corso, 1960

lists with details

81. Gregory Corso Has Gone
    Translate this page Attualità di gregory corso. Vi mettete a ridere? Lo so vi sembra azzardatodi fronte a una situazione disperata di un mondo sempre  
    http://www.cinemah.com/cameraverde/corso/

82. Gregory Corso Has Gone
    BOMB by gregory corso Budger of history Brake of time YouBomb Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you Do I hate  
    http://www.cinemah.com/cameraverde/corso/bomb.html
    
    Extractions: Gregory Corso has gone BOMB by Gregory Corso - Budger of history Brake of time You Bomb Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt the jawbone of an ass The bumpy club of One Million B.C. the mace the flail the axe Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Cochise flintlock Kidd dagger Rathbone Ah and the sad desparate gun of Verlaine Pushkin Dillinger Bogart And hath not St. Michael a burning sword St. George a lance David a sling Bomb you are as cruel as man makes you and you're no crueller than cancer All Man hates you they'd rather die by car-crash lightning drowning Falling off a roof electric-chair heart-attack old age old age O Bomb They'd rather die by anything but you Death's finger is free-lance Not up to man whether you boom or not Death has long since distributed its categorical blue I sing thee Bomb Death's extravagance Death's jubilee Gem of Death's supremest blue The flyer will crash his death will differ with the climbor who'll fall to die by cobra is not to die by bad pork Some die by swamp some by sea and some by the bushy-haired man in the night O there are deaths like witches of Arc Scarey deaths like Boris Karloff No-feeling deaths like birth-death sadless deaths like old pain Bowery Abandoned deaths like Capital Punishment stately deaths like senators And unthinkable deaths like Harpo Marx girls on Vogue covers my own I do not know just how horrible Bombdeath is I can only imagine Yet no other death I know has so laughable a preview I scope a city New York City streaming starkeyed subway shelter Scores and scores A fumble of humanity High heels bend Hats whelming away Youth forgetting their combs Ladies not knowing what to do with their shopping bags Unperturbed gum machines Yet dangerous 3rd rail Ritz Brothers from the Bronx caught in the A train The smiling Schenley poster will always smile Impish death Satyr Bomb Bombdeath Turtles exploding over Istanbul The jaguar's flying foot soon to sink in arctic snow Penguins plunged against the Sphinx The top of the Empire state arrowed in a broccoli field in Sicily Eiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia Gardens St. Sophia peeling over Sudan O athletic Death Sportive Bomb the temples of ancient times their grand ruin ceased Electrons Protons Neutrons gathering Hersperean hair walking the dolorous gulf of Arcady joining marble helmsmen entering the final ampitheater with a hymnody feeling of all Troys heralding cypressean torches racing plumes and banners and yet knowing Homer with a step of grace Lo the visiting team of Present the home team of Past Lyre and tube together joined Hark the hotdog soda olive grape gala galaxy robed and uniformed commissary O the happy stands Ethereal root and cheer and boo The billioned all-time attendance The Zeusian pandemonium Hermes racing Owens The Spitball of Buddha Christ striking out Luther stealing third Planeterium Death Hosannah Bomb Gush the final rose O Spring Bomb Come with thy gown of dynamite green unmenace Nature's inviolate eye Before you the wimpled Past behind you the hallooing Future O Bomb Bound in the grassy clarion air like the fox of the tally-ho thy field the universe thy hedge the geo Leap Bomb bound Bomb frolic zig and zag The stars a swarm of bees in thy binging bag Stick angels on your jubilee feet wheels of rainlight on your bunky seat You are due and behold you are due and the heavens are with you hosanna incalescent glorious liaison BOMB O havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOM Bomb mark infinity a sudden furnace spread thy multitudinous encompassed Sweep set forth awful agenda Carrion stars charnel planets carcass elements Corpse the universe tee-hee finger-in-the-mouth hop over its long long dead Nor From thy nimbled matted spastic eye exhaust deluges of celestial ghouls From thy appellational womb spew birth-gusts of of great worms Rip open your belly Bomb from your belly outflock vulturic salutations Battle forth your spangled hyena finger stumps along the brink of Paradise O Bomb O final Pied Piper both sun and firefly behind your shock waltz God abandoned mock-nude beneath His thin false-talc's apocalypse He cannot hear thy flute's happy-the-day profanations He is spilled deaf into the Silencer's warty ear His Kingdom an eternity of crude wax Clogged clarions untrumpet Him Sealed angels unsing Him A thunderless God A dead God O Bomb thy BOOM His tomb That I lean forward on a desk of science an astrologer dabbling in dragon prose half-smart about wars bombs especially bombs That I am unable to hate what is necessary to love That I can't exist in a world that consents a child in a park a man dying in an electric-chair That I am able to laugh at all things all that I know and do not know thus to conceal my pain That I say I am a poet and therefore love all man knowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all men and my unwords no less an acquaintanceship That I am manifold a man pursuing the big lies of gold or a poet roaming in bright ashes or that which I imagine myself to be a shark-toothed sleep a man-eater of dreams I need not then be all-smart about bombs Happily so for if I felt bombs were caterpillars I'd doubt not they'd become butterflies There is a hell for bombs They're there I see them there They sit in bits and sing songs mostly German songs And two very long American songs and they wish there were more songs especially Russian and Chinese songs and some more very long American songs Poor little Bomb that'll never be an Eskimo song I love thee I want to put a lollipop in thy furcal mouth A wig of Goldilocks on thy baldy bean and have you skip with me Hansel and Gretel along the Hollywoodian screen O Bomb in which all lovely things moral and physical anxiously participate O fairylike plucked from the grandest universe tree O piece of heaven which gives both mountain and anthill a sun I am standing before your fantastic lily door I bring you Midgardian roses Arcadian musk Reputed cosmetics from the girls of heaven Welcome me fear not thy opened door nor thy cold ghost's grey memory nor the pimps of indefinite weather their cruel terrestial thaw Oppenheimer is seated in the dark pocket of Light Fermi is dry in Death's Mozambique Einstein his mythmouth a barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's head Let me in Bomb rise from that pregnant-rat corner nor fear the raised-broom nations of the world O Bomb I love you I want to kiss your clank eat your boom You are a paean an acme of scream a lyric hat of Mister Thunder O resound thy tanky knees BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM ye skies and BOOM ye suns BOOM BOOM ye moons ye stars BOOM nights ye BOOM ye days ye BOOM BOOM BOOM ye winds ye clouds ye rains go BANG ye lakes ye oceans BING Barracuda BOOM and cougar BOOM Ubangi BOOM orangutang BING BANG BONG BOOM bee bear baboon ye BANG ye BONG ye BING the tail the fin the wing Yes Yes into our midst a bomb will fall Flowers will leap in joy their roots aching Fields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the wind Pinkbombs will blossom Elkbombs will perk their ears Ah many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle look Yet not enough to say a bomb will fall or even contend celestial fire goes out Know that the earth will madonna the Bomb that in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be born magisterial bombs wrapped in ermine all beautiful and they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empires fierce with moustaches of gold Gregory Corso has gone

83. Gregory Corso Is On The Bus
    gregory corso. The 21st Century Belongs To gregory corso. Childhoodspent unloved and abandoned by his mother and father. Teenaged  
    http://www.paxacidus.com/otb/corso.html
    
    Extractions: Gregory Corso The 21st Century Belongs To Gregory Corso Childhood spent unloved and abandoned by his mother and father. Teenaged years spent jailed in New York for petty theft. 20s and 30s spent starving and writing poetry in the streets of Paris and Venice. Corso "beat" the odds and lived until the ripe old age of 71. He died January 17th, 2001. Gregory Corso was an impish poet of wide respute, a girlfriend stealer of Jack Kerouac, and so immensely devious and lovable that he had the poverty stricken Ginsberg and Bourroughs as his patrons. Young Gregory was sick. Sick on alcohol, sick on junk, sick on love, sick on words, sick on pussy juice, sick on famous surrealists like Marcel Duchamp (literally because Corso puked all over his house and then cut off his necktie with a knife at a party). Corso is a strangely unsung hero of today. Why unsung? My guess is because my generation and the generation that follows me (if I may be so bold) are a bunch of illiterate fuckheads. This doesn't count the Pax Acidus readers, of course. I believe all poetry going forward will owe a debt to him. Why? Because Gregory is the bomb ooh top shop ... contact us

84. In A Dark Time ...: Gregory Corso Archives
    The Eye Begins to See April 24, 2002 gregory corso's Sound and Fury It’s evenharder to find corso’s poems than it is to find Ferlinghetti’s poems.  
    http://www.lorenwebster.net/In_a_Dark_Time/archives/cat_gregory_corso.html

85. Gregory Corso
    American Literature on the Web Resources in Japanese gregory corsoGeneral Resources gregory corso (Literary Kicks); gregory corso.  
    http://www.nagasaki-gaigo.ac.jp/ishikawa/amlit/c/corso21.htm

86. La Repubblica/cultura_scienze: E' Morto Gregory Corso 'guru' Della Beat Generati
    http://www.repubblica.it/online/cultura_scienze/corso/corso/corso.html
    
    Extractions: A dispetto delle drammatiche circostanze, gli amici del poeta avevano seguito con un misto di ammirazione e preoccupazione il decorso delle sue pene. Di recente Griselda Ohannessian - la presidente di New Directions, che ha pubblicato le opere di Corso dagli anni Sessanta fino all'ultima raccolta 'Minefield' nel 1989 - aveva descritto l'umore del poeta come "estremanente allegro" e "su di giri". Gregorio Nunzio Corso era cresciuto in una famiglia instabile, che fin da piccolo lo aveva messo di fronte a situazioni come l'orfanotrofio dopo il ritorno della madre italiana in patria, il riformatorio e, a soli 17 anni, la prigione per una rapina. E' in carcere che Corso si avvicina alla letteratura: legge i testi sacri del grande Ottocento e comincia a scrivere poesie. Per caso negli anni Cinquanta conosce Ginsberg in un bar del Village. Va a Harvard e diventa un topo di biblioteca, sempre continuando a scrivere. "Gregory è un poeta di idee. Quali poeti moderni scrivono ancora con tanta chiarezza che i loro versi restano in mente senza sforzo?", lo elogia l'amico e mentore Ginsberg.

87. Ed Smith Books ABAA
    $125. Image 25. corso, gregory. ORIGINAL COLOR SIGNED DRAWING. $400. Image 26. corso,gregory. SAD SATURNIAN POET WITH SLEEPING KITTEN ON RUG WITH INK STAND.  
    http://www.edsbooks.com/gallery.html
    
    Extractions: Shipping : All of these items in the GALLERY will be shipped at COST, due to size and value. We have a dependable art shipper close by to facilitate even the most difficult shipping chore. Any return can be made within three days of receipt, provided the item is returned using all precautions and insured for full value. We ask that you notify us of any return. Search : Use the Find feature in your browser to search for keywords on this page. Image 3. Bragg, Charles. ETCHING by Charles Bragg, one of 100 signed, measuring 5 1/2 x 4 1/2 inches, matted and shrink wrapped on foam core. Fine. This is 97/100. $125. Image 4. Patchen, Kenneth. ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPH AND NOTE. An original photograph of Kenneth Patchen, Patchen himself submitted to his publisher New Directions, to be used on the dust jackets of his books. Probably taken by his wife. Image measures 7 1/4 x 9 1/4 inches. Along with a note in his hand, on the back of a partial white envelope, giving instructions for the use of this photograph: "Run in order. This is photograph 3. Caption: Kenneth Patchen, at the doorway of the little two-room house on West 12th Street, New York where he and his wife live. (Taken in October, 1946)." Image is in fine condition, note written in pencil and near fine. The lot: $450. Image 5. Bukowski, Charles. ORIGINAL SIGNED HANDWRITTEN APHORISM. Hand written on fine art paper, in red ink: "I WOULD RATHER HEAR ABOUT A LIVE AMERICAN BUM THAN A DEAD GREEK GOD." " Page size is approx 7 x 10 inches, and dated 1967. Double-matted and ready for framing. Fine condition. $500.

88. Gregory Corso - Die On Me | Album Review @ Music-Critic.com : The Source For Mus
    Review of gregory corso Die On Me. Buy Die On Me, gregory corso Die On Me labelKock International released 08.13.02 our score 5.0 out of 5.0 buy it here.  
    http://www.music-critic.com/classicaljazz/corso_dieonme.htm
    
    Extractions: by: matt cibula out on you, random member of the poor unsuspecting public. Trust me, though, if I was making my list today it'd be on there, probably at #6 or so. Or higher. Damn it's good. See what fear can do? But I'm not afraid anymore. Here's the deal: Gregory Corso was, right there with Allen Ginsberg, one of the great Beat Generation poets. His stuff was always bizarre and hilarious and deepI consider "Marriage" and "Poets Hitchhiking on the Highway" and "Dream of a Baseball Star" (none of which are on this disc) and "Bomb" and "Hair" and "Last Night I Drove a Car" (all of which are) to be some of the most important poems written by any American in the last 50 years.

89. Gregory Corso Literature Gavin Selerie
    gregory corso Literature Gavin Selerie. Subject Literature Title gregorycorso Author Gavin Selerie. Larissa Salmina Haskell Russi  
    http://www.poem-2buy.co.uk/Gavin-Selerie-Gregory-Corso-0907826008.html

90. Gregory Corso: Die On Me: The Final Recordings - PopMatters Music Review
    gregory corso, Die on Me The Final Recordings (Koch/Paris), reviewby Adrien Begrand. m u s i c. gregory corso Die on Me The Final  
    http://www.popmatters.com/music/reviews/c/corsogregory-die.shtml
    
    Extractions: e-mail this article We All Want Penguin Dust W Born in 1930, Gregory Corso was the youngest of the group of four writers; when a 20-year-old Corso first met Ginsberg in a Greenwich Village bar in 1950, Ginsberg was 24, Kerouac 28, and Burroughs 38. Abandoned by his Italian mother as an infant, Corso grew up in several foster homes, quit school after sixth grade, and turned to petty crime, eventually getting caught when he was 16, and sentenced to three years in prison. It was in prison where Corso turned to poetry, and found great inspiration in the likes of Marlowe and especially, Percy Bysshe Shelley. Aided by his new friend Ginsberg (ever the relentless promoter of his friends' work), Corso went on to put out several important volumes of poetry in the mid-to-late 1950s, including Gasoline in 1958. Not as prolific as his other three friends, Corso still amassed an admirable body of work by 1970, until he was beset with drug problems, which bogged down his career for years. He didn't put out very much work at all in the last decade of his life, but one poem, which he read at a tribute shortly after Ginsberg's death in 1997, perfectly encapsulated his trademark humor and heart. His poem simply stated, "Toodle-oo". The posthumous Corso spoken word CD

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