Spontaneous Prose by Jack Kerouac

by JENNIFER ROVA

picture by Palumbo 1965

Jack Kerouac, 1922-1969,  developed a personalized style of writing called spontaneous prose. It is also called free writing, automatic writing and unstructured writing. It is about sitting down and writing without regard to subject, grammar, punctuation or rewrite. Put down your thoughts without planning is a good definition.

It ended up making him famous through books like On The Road (1957). This is a barely fictionalized story of road trips with friends and about drinking, drugs and sex. He had copious notes but spontaneously wrote the actual book in a three-week session of writing. He composed it on one 120-foot long scroll of paper. He compared this writing technique to improvisational music of jazz musicians coupled with the teaching of Buddhism. Kerouac, Alan Ginsburg and others defined the Beat Generation, a term coined by him. Kerouac died at age 47 from abdominal bleeding due to alcoholism.

 Proponents of this type of writing advertize it as a way to break writer’s block. They also expound on its ability to make us better writers if we sit down every day and write spontaneously for 15 minutes . Maybe we should try it…minus the alcohol.

 ESSENTIALS OF SPONTANEOUS PROSE Jack Kerouac

SET-UP The object is set before the mind, either in reality. as in sketching (before a landscape or teacup or old face) or is set in the memory wherein it becomes the sketching from memory of a definite image-object.

PROCEDURE Time being of the essence in the purity of speech, sketching language is undisturbed flow from the mind of personal secret idea-words, blowing (as per jazz musician) on subject of image.

METHOD No periods separating sentence-structures already arbitrarily riddled by false colons and timid usually needless commas-but the vigorous space dash separating rhetorical breathing (as jazz musician drawing breath between outblown phrases)--"measured pauses which are the essentials of our speech"--"divisions of the sounds we hear"-"time and how to note it

down." (William Carlos Williams)

SCOPING Not "selectivity' Iof expression but following free deviation (association) of mind into limitless blow-on-subject seas of thought, swimming in sea of English with no discipline other than rhythms of rhetorical exhalation and expostulated statement, like a fist coming down on a table with each complete utterance, bang! (the space dash)-Blow as deep as you want-write as deeply, fish as far down as you want, satisfy yourself first, then reader cannot fail to receive telepathic shock and meaning- excitement by same laws operating in his own human mind.

LAG IN PROCEDURE No pause to think of proper word but the infantile pileup of scatological buildup words till satisfaction is gained, which will turn out to be a great appending rhythm to a thought and be in accordance with Great Law of timing.

TIMING Nothing is muddy that runs in time and to laws of time-Shakespearian stress of dramatic need to speak now in own unalterable way or forever hold tongue-no revisions (except obvious rational mistakes, such as names or calculated insertions in act of not writing but inserting).

CENTER OF INTEREST Begin not from preconceived idea of what to say about image but from jewel center of interest in subject of image at moment of writing, and write outwards swimming in sea of language to peripheral release and exhaustion-Do not afterthink except for poetic or P. S. reasons. Never afterthink to "improve" or defray impressions, as, the best writing is always the most painful personal wrung-out tossed from cradle warm protective mind-tap from yourself the song of yourself, blow!-now!-your way is your only way-"good"-or "bad"-always honest ("ludi- crous"), spontaneous, "confessionals' interesting, because not "crafted." Craft is craft.

STRUCTURE OF WORK Modern bizarre structures (science fiction, etc.) arise from language being dead, "different" themes give illusion of "new" life. Follow roughly outlines in outfanning movement over subject, as river rock, so mindflow over jewel-center need (run your mind over it, once) arriving at pivot, where what was dim-formed "beginning" becomes sharp-necessitating "ending" and language shortens in race to wire of time-race of work, following laws of Deep Form, to conclusion, last words, last trickle-Night is The End.

MENTAL STATE If possible write "without consciousness" in semi-trance (as Yeats' later "trance writing") allowing subconscious to admit in own uninhibited interesting necessary and so "modern" language what conscious art would censor, and write excitedly, swiftly, with writing-or-typing- cramps, in accordance (as from center to periphery) with laws of orgasm, Reich's "beclouding of consciousness." Come from within, out-to relaxed and said.

http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/kerouac-spontaneous.html

The Artistic Temperament

At a recent lunch with the fabulous blogettes, conversation turned to the nature of artistic temperament. We have all read articles about the connection between genius and mental illness. We have also read and heard accounts of profoundly nasty moves made by some who are regarded as innovative, brilliant, immortal and gifted. What is the connection?

The nature of mania can be what is often called a brainstorm. With all circuits firing at breakneck speed, some have harnessed this heightened awareness and let their paint brush, their type writers, or quill pens, take record some of these rapid fire thoughts.

Any state or mood of increased consciousness would never yield great work in and of itself. The initial flow may be prolific and intense, but it could also be a great mess, yielding nothing of use to anyone. The ride on the back of a bucking bronco may be thrilling, but it is altogether too short. So a second talent is needed; one that allows for the discipline of picking oneself up once the inevitable crash follows in its wake. During those days of low energy, slow, painstaking effort and focus is needed to add layers and at the same time, discard all that is superfluous. With great luck, a beautifully crafted work of art may ensue.

What is the artistic temperament? Lord Byron wrote: “We of the craft are all crazy.... all are more or less touched.” Is it a medical condition, a fine madness, or is it something brought on by the nature of the creative process? While most would feel the former is the most likely, I am tending more towards the latter. The forces of the world around us, seem to conspire in every shape and form to pull us away from the solitary work and into what what Virginia Woolf described as the “tramp and trudge of life.”

Who lives on a street where the neighbors would discourage attendance at a pot luck party in favor solitary confinement in a studio? Is the excessive sensitivity and irritability, as one definition stated, a result of what is required to keep the galloping herd at bay? This is what I wonder.

The romantic myth of the suffering artist and its link to creativity as a kind of requirement for genius is, to some extent, a bit overblown. Plenty of successful working artists and writers live a steady and rather quiet life, where family duties are wedded to productivity and acclaim. It is not necessary to have a train wreck of personal relationships followed by an early death in a sad hotel room in order to be declared a genius. Yet, it is often the perception.

Part of the conflict and tension one reads about and is attributed to the artistic temperament, could also be tied to the anxiety inherent in wanting recognition, acclaim and financial security. If it constantly eludes a person who is truly original, sticks their neck out in a dramatic fashion, takes huge risks and displays a lack of restraint in order to do so, and goes completely unrecognized in their lifetime, would not that fear and uncertainty contribute to a less compliant nature?

Lord Byron used the word "touched" do describe his fellow poets. Touched by angels would be my description.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

SOLITUDE, SALVATOR AND ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

The saying, Laugh and the world laughs with you , weep and you weep alone  may be familiar to some,   but I  bet most  don’t know  it’s the opening line from the poem, Solitude or   its author, Ella Wheeler Wilcox was a 19th century American author and poet.

Solitude  was first published  in 1883 ,  in an issue of The New York Sun, and  earned Wilcox  a whopping five dollars .  Now recognized as one of her most famous poems it was included in several anthologies:  Best Loved Poems of the American People , edited by Hazel Felleman , Best Remembered Poems,  edited by Martin Gardner, and One Hundred and One Famous Poems along with Longfellow, Frost and Markham.

 Equally, her poems have been cited in anthologies of bad poetry. The author Sinclair Lewis  even mocks her writing when he indicates Babbitt’s lack of literary sophistication by having him refer to a piece of verse as  “one of the classic poems, like If by Kipling, or Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s The Man Worth While. “ Although Lewis was the first American author to win the Nobel prize for literature,   my grandmother Cooney  would disagree with him  in mocking Wilcox and Kipling, via Babbitt’s character,   as having a lack  of literary sophistication.  A framed print of If  hung in my dad’s  boyhood bedroom, eventually finding its way to my brother, Walt’s boyhood bedroom; it was one of grandma’s favorite poems  to recite:

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings— nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it

And  - which is more—you’ll be a Man , my son!

I  can assure you, my grandmother  did not lack in literary sophistication, but she was plain spoken ,  full of optimism  and good cheer.   It  wouldn’t surprise me to learn grandma read some of Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poems  - maybe even from a  copy of the  book I have now , Kingdom of Love And How Salvator Won  copyright 1902,  and  liked her plainly written, rhyming verse from The Winds of Fate :

One ship drives east and another drives west

With the selfsame winds that blow,

‘Tis the set of the sails,

 And not the gales,

That tell us the way to go.

Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate:

As we voyage along through life,

‘Tis the set of a soul

That decides its goal,

And not the calm or the strife.

Writing an article for Women’s History Guide, Jane Johnson Lewis in her titled piece, A Major Poet 1901 says Wilcox was  wildly published in her life time . Sometimes compared to Walt Whitman because of the feeling she poured into her poems, at the same time Wilcox  maintained a very traditional form, unlike Whitman or Emily Dickinson. Wilcox's poems and essays appeared in both women's magazines and literary magazines, and by 1919  began appearing in Bartlett's Famous Quotations. 

I have read several of Wilcox’s poems, and honestly speaking, I do  like some better than others, among them—The Kingdom of Love and Memory’s River.  My favorite ,  How Salvator Won  is about real life  Salvator,  an American thoroughbred race horse,  maybe the best racehorse during the latter half of the 19th century.  After Salvator beat Tenny, another racehorse of great speed and beauty, at the Suburban Handicap, Tenny’s owner  had a hard time accepting it, and challenged   Salvator’s owner to a match race.  It took place  on June 25, 1890.  By all accounts it was the race of a lifetime.    The horses ran  side by side for three furloughs.  Then Salvador led by two lengths.  Tenny came very fast and was overhauling Salvator, but the latter lasted to win by a nose.   Ella Wheeler Wilcox was so overcome  by the excitement of the race ,  she was inspired to write a poem about it .  To long to copy in its entirety here is a sample verse:

There’s a roar  from the crowd like the ocean in storm,

As close to my saddle leaps Tenny’s great form,

One more mighty plunge, and with knee, limb and

hand,

I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand.

We are under the string now—the great race is done,

And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won !

Not only was Wheeler  a poet, but a bit of a historian, too .

Postscript:  Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s  quote, “ Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes” is  inscribed on a paving slab in Jack Kerouac Alley in San Francisco  *  The first stanza of her poem  “The Man Worth While” can be found in Disney’s Hollywood Studios, in the boiler room portion  of the queue for the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror.   


* The complete poem How Salvator Won  can be
read at  http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/22240/

* To read my blog A Love For Poetry link to  http://2lanehighway.blogspot.com/2011/04/love-for-poetry.html

* April is National Poetry month. Read a poem ! Write a poem !  Hug a poet !