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Eleven days later we attend a second evening of readings and songs, held at Lyngby Storcenter, an American-style shopping center located in the town of Lyngby, north of Copenhagen. In the interim, Peter, Allen and Steven have given a series of performances in towns and cities on the island of Funen and on the Jutland peninsula. Birgit and I arrive early and run into Allen at a snack bar. He says that he has just returned from a visit to Christiania (a self-proclaimed, self-governing “free town” within the city of Copenhagen, an abandoned military installation occupied in 1971 by slum-stormers, hippies and anarchists). The place reminded him, he says, of the slums of India. Allen looks professorial, dressed for the evening’s performance in a green tweed sports jacket, a red-striped shirt and an iridescent, multi-colored tie, gray wool trousers, black socks and scuffed black loafers. At my request, he signs and inscribes my copy of Plutonian Ode and Other Poems , expressing his thanks for our having printed the title poem in our literary journal, Pearl (No. 6, 1978). Orlovsky joins us ordering a cup of coffee. We shake hands and he raises my hand to his lips, kissing it. His eyes are a clear blue. He is dressed as before in an orange Naropa Institute t-shirt, beads, bare legs in long blue shorts, bare feet in thongs, a blue denim cap atop his head. As he drinks his coffee, he takes a pull on a small bottle of Danish schnapps he has bought. He asks me sincere questions about my job and my marriage. He tells me that he and his Spanish-speaking girlfriend will be having a child. When? I ask. In two years, he replies. He speaks to me of the farm where he lives, of the nuts and vegetables that he grows there, of the bees and goats that he tends. He says that he is not a good farmer, however, as he takes too much amphetamine. Peter signs my copy of Clean Asshole Poems and Smiling Vegetable Songs . He encourages me to meditate, a practice, he says, “invented by Lord Buddha 2,500 years ago,” and recommends to me The Jewel Ornament of Liberation by Gampopa and Chogyam Trungpa’s The Myth of Freedom and the Way of Meditation . These books are very valuable, very useful, very good, Peter says.
Orlovsky inscription, Clean Asshole Poems and Smiling Vegetable Songs.
Fortunately, the Nazi madman does not attend the performance at Lyngby Storcenter. The reading takes place in an auditorium with a proscenium stage. The stage lighting is bright, harsh and hot. “We’ll begin with music,” Allen says to the audience and sings “Guru Blues” (“Father Guru”) with Steven, while Peter sits nearby miming slyly and rubbing lotion on his feet. The next song is “Gospel Noble Truths,” with the depressing refrain “die when you die,” the rhyming text set incongruously but not incompatibly to a country and western tune. As Allen and Steven play their instruments and harmonize with their voices, Peter yodels in support. Allen announces that Peter will read first tonight. In a hoarse, whispering voice, enunciating carefully, holding a cigarette, Peter reads “America Give a Shit,” “Write it Down Allen Said,” (miming with his hands the images of “sub-machine guns” and “confusion”) “My Mother Memory Poem,” “Signature Changed,” “4-D Man,” and “Morris.” The latter is a long and moving poem inspired by Peter’s work as an orderly at Creedmoor State Mental Hospital in Queens, New York. The poem relates the story of a fleeting moment of human rapport achieved between Peter and a severely afflicted young patient. His reading ended, Peter places the palms of his hands together in prayer-like fashion and bows to the audience (the arjali mudra or namaste, more common these days but then rarely seen in the west.)
Allen tells the audience that he is going to read some of his early poems. From his copy of Howl and Other Poems , he reads “Sunflower Sutra,” followed by a forceful, fervent rendering of “Howl,” during which he shouts and sobs, sweats and gestures. There is an intermission, and when Ginsberg returns to the stage he prefaces his performance by ringing his brass finger cymbals three times. Together with Steven and Peter, he sings “Prayer Blues” and “Airplane Blues,” then reads “America” pausing after each line while his Danish translator, Erik Thygesen reads a translation of that same line. (All the while Peter clowns behind them, making faces, sticking out his tongue.) “Father Death Blues” and “The Nurse’s Song” follow, with “Tyger, Tyger” sung as an encore in response to prolonged applause from the audience. Before performing “Tyger, Tyger” Allen explains that he has composed the tune to Blake’s poem to suggest the systole-diastole rhythm of the human heart: bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. He says that if, like Blake, we ask who made the wrath of war and bombs, if we ask who made the lamb, we must answer with and from our own hearts. After the reading is over, Ginsberg, looking exhausted, hands me a piece of paper with the phone number of the Danish woman with whom they are staying in Copenhagen. He tells me to phone at about 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.
On the following morning, I phone the number Allen has given me and we arrange to meet at the Swedish Embassy on Sankt Ann? Plads, where he and Peter and Steven are applying for permission to work in Sweden. At the embassy, Allen tells me that during their visit to Christiania Peter stepped on a piece of glass, cutting his foot, and should get a tetanus shot. Peter has also lost his eyeglasses somewhere and must get a new pair today since they are leaving for Sweden tomorrow. Allen would also like to visit the National Gallery of Denmark. He asks if I can help them on these errands. Of course, I can, I reply.

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