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Book of Sketches 1952-1957 (Poets, Penguin)

              Jack Kerouac.  Book of Sketches 1952-1957.  Penguin Poets, 2006. $18

 

              Review by Tom Pynn

 

 

 

I think I speak for most men living when I say that our America is Here, is Now, and beckons on before us,

and that this glorious assurance is not only our living hope, but our dream to be accomplished.

 

                  --Thomas Wolfe, from You Can’t Go Home Again, “Credo”

. . . I greet you with open arms, I accept your frailties, I offer you my frailties, let us gather and run the gamut of rich human existence.

 

                  --Jack Kerouac, Credo”, from Atop an Underwood

                                   

While the above statements may strike some of us as naïvely romantic, they nonetheless indicate a running theme in the development of an American literary voice that begins in earnest with the work of Walt Whitman.  The search not only for an authentic American literary idiom, but also for the fulfillment of America’s promise has haunted American writers to this day. Recall Langston Hughes’ anthem-like”Let America be America Again.” This call was also an important dimension of the so-called Beat writers in general, and Jack Kerouac in particular.  While Kerouac reiterates Whitman’s ecstatic utterances of an illuminated body-mind and visions of democratic vistas, he also sets out to develop a new American poetics. Kerouac’s awareness of his vocation as a writer emerged for him at about the age of 12, but his critical self-awareness

of his compositional uniqueness is found in his early writings collected by Paul Marion and titled Atop an Underwood:Early Stories and Other Writings. What Allen Ginsberg would eventually refer to as Kerouac’s spontaneous bop prosody and by Beat critic Ann Douglas as Kerouac’s  poetics of intimacy, is described by Kerouac himself in “Credo” as writing based in sincerity, warmth, love, truth, and “living for life’s sake.” In a letter to Neal Cassady dated October 9, 1951, Kerouac links his compositional style with jazz for the first time when he writes that he has arrived at “my finally-at-last-found style & hope; since writing that [his re-writing of On the Road]  I’ve come up ith even greater complicated sentences & VISIONS!—So from now on just call me Lee Konitz.” Kerouac’s poetics of intimacy, however, did not arise in a vacuum, but was in direct response to the vicissitudes of his time.

Post-war America was for many an increasingly dehumanizing society.  The Cold War, the construction of suburbia,

and the emergence of a middle-management economic class heralded an alienation from other, neighbor, and land respectively.

Popular novelist Sloan Wilson portrayed this new American crisis in identity in The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit (1955) while Henry Bugbee gave this crisis a philosophical voice in his underground classic An Inward Morning (1958), and C. Wright Mills exposed these trends in his sociological studies White Collar (1951) and The Power Elite (1956). Some of these themes also

appeared in the melodramatic films of Douglas Sirk. For the younger generation,  Allen Ginsberg famously unmasked

“Moloch-minded” America in Howl (1956).  Ginsberg would later characterize the fifties as “the syndrome of shutdown.” It was in these dark times that Kerouac’s style also took shape.

The release of Kerouac’s Book of Sketches gives us the opportunity to glimpse a significant element in the development of Kerouac’s famous spontaneous poetics.  Sketching was for Kerouac a writerly way of getting to the things themselves.  The subtitle of Book of Sketches is (Proving that sketches ain’t verse) But Only What Is. The drive by Modernist  artists to present things phenomenologically, as they appear to consciousness without mediation by technique, was an influence on Kerouac but not as much as William Carlos Williams’ famous dictum, “No ideas but in things” and his new found interest in Buddhism. The notebooks he later put together as Book of Sketches were begun in 1952 at the same time he took up his intensive study of Buddhism, and were concluded in 1957, the year On the Road was published and when he formally ended his study of Buddhism. (He would, however, publish The Dharma Bums in 1958, a novel heavily dependent upon The Diamond Sutra for its structure and thematic impetus and Desolation Angels, the first part of which also bears heavy traces of Kerouac’s interest in Buddhism, in 1961.)

His intensive study of Buddhism led him to an interest in East Asian poetics, especially the Buddhist poetics of Han

Shan upon meeting Gary Snyder in 1955.  In the notebooks he kept documenting his Buddhist studies, published

as Some of the Dharma, Kerouac links the emphasis in Buddhism on mind as a liberating fusion of understanding

and compassion with the intimate process of sketching: “A sketch is a prose description of a scene before the eyes. Ideally for a BOOK OF SKETCHES, one small page (of notebook size) about 100 words, so as not to ramble too much, and give an arbitrary form.”  The return to things would necessarily involve, for Kerouac, the awareness that words are empty in and of themselves—a point he grasped early on in his Buddhist studies—and that the process of using words had to be co-emergent with the appearance of things themselves.

In Book of Sketches, Kerouac offers a poetic account of sketching:

 

Unbroken word sketches

of the subconscious pictures

of sections of the

memory life of an

imbecile genius resting

in the madhouse of his

mind—The word

flow must not be disturbed,

or picture forgotten for

words’sakes, nor the

pictures stretched beyond

their bookmovie strength

except parenthetically.

 

Several important elements of Kerouac’s practice of sketching are alluded to in this poem.  Sketching is “vision,” a “surveying”

of things as they appear to the body/mind’s eye(s).  Thus, sketching is of a scene before either the body’s eyes—

“Before my eyes I see”—and the inner eye of memory.  The latter is what Kerouac calls tic sketches: “tics are flashes of memory or daydream.” In another poem on the book he writes, “A ‘tic’ is a sudden thought / that inflames & immediately / disappears.”

The spontaneity of “the word flow” suggests that sketching shares a resemblance to Kerouac’s other stylistic innovations: spontaneous poetics and wild form.  In a letter to John Clellon Holmes dated June 5, 1952, Kerouac explains what he means by wild form:

Wild form, man, wild form.  Wild form’s the only form holds what I have to say –my mind is exploding to say

something about every image and every memory in.”

The anchor of the sketch is the scene.  For Kerouac, a scene is an unfolding event which is glimpsed either from the

body’s eyes or the mind’s eye in memory.

 

Tiers of mountains supra-

massing now—The Event!

 

The writer’s attentiveness to the event is not the kind of consciousness that substitutes ideas for things, but is an

operative intentionality that allows the writer to let things be as they are in the same time-space as one is apprehending things. Scene and sketch arise together. Apperception, or what a Buddhist might term co-dependent arising, is a mainstay not only of Buddhist aesthetics, but also of East Asian aesthetics generally.  A wonderful example of Kerouac’s mastery of East Asian aesthetics that recalls the childlike immediacy of Haiku:

 

The pale gold grass of

afternoon, the cakes of

alfalfa, the hairheads

of green sage in the

brown ploughed field, the

poles on the rim—

Snow on the mtns!—

 

Sketching scenes in the mode of intimacy allows Kerouac to convey his ecstatic vision of “Snow on the mtns!” Such

sketching also helps Kerouac develop a poetics that is open to the landscape of America thereby freeing poetry from the sedentary and intellectual constrictions of academic verse and opening consciousness up to the wider, inclusive democratic vistas Whitman anticipated.

While Book of Sketches adds to the repository of Kerouac’s other published poetry, a noteworthy event in itself, it also

adds to our understanding of the various themes crucial to Kerouac’s work specifically, and Beat literature generally.  Chief among these themes is America.  Book of Sketches shows us Kerouac’s ambivalence toward America.  On the one hand, America is depicted by Kerouac in Whitmanic ebullience—“Ä Whitman song / of New England in / Winter!”—as well as vehement distaste:

“God I hate / America, with a passion-- / ate intensity.” Part of Kerouac’s ambivalence can be traced to the dehumanizing tendencies in post-war America mentioned above.  In his Spenglarian gloom Kerouac sees “great, weary / America,” an America increasingly isolated and mad driven into machinedom. “Men are be- / mused by machines,” Kerouac writes, “Am- / ericans, by new, efficient/ machines.”  Kerouac sees Americans being seduced by the false promise of America, one that would substitute the illusion of security for the openness and spontaneity of life:

 

“Stay with the Machine,

Boys, don’t need to run

Away or shift to other

Cogs, you’re just as well

Off on this one—we offer

YOU SECURITY TILL THE

GRAVE.”

 

It’s important to point out that Kerouac’s characterization of America, particularly American business, as a Machine that in its impersonal tyranny threatens all existence, is several years before Ginsberg will perform HOWL at the now legendary Six Gallery Reading.  As in other works, Kerouac shows his prescience concerning American dependence on oil, “oil for horror.”

            If there is one thing that the long overdue publication of Book of Sketches offers us today, it’s the hopefulness in the possibility of freedom America promises combined with a sober critique of Americans’ collective and individual

shortcomings, what a Buddhist practices as critical self-inquiry.  As in Kerouac’s time as in ours, there are people and places in America that have still to be given their due.  George Condo, visual artist and writer of the volume’s introduction, observes that Kerouac’s sketches reveal “an America that no one wanted to admit was still there.” While some may want to quibble about Kerouac’s misappropriation of Spengler’s concept of Fellaheen, references to which are scattered through the book, his sketches are poignant reminders that America “is a place at once industrious and at the same time empty, lonely, and unanswered.”