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Indian Journals
Allan Ginsberg was the leading poet and conscience of the Beat generation. Indian Journals collects Ginsberg’s writings from his trip to India in 1962–63.
298 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1970
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About the author
Allen Ginsberg
501 books4,127 followersAllen Ginsberg was a groundbreaking American poet and activist best known for his central role in the Beat Generation and for writing the landmark poem Howl. Born in 1926 in Newark, New Jersey, to Jewish parents, Ginsberg grew up in a household shaped by both intellectualism and psychological struggle. His father, Louis Ginsberg, was a published poet and a schoolteacher, while his mother, Naomi, suffered from severe mental illness, which deeply affected Ginsberg and later influenced his writing—most notably in his poem Kaddish.
As a young man, Ginsberg attended Columbia University, where he befriended other future Beat luminaries such as Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Neal Cassady. These relationships formed the core of what became known as the Beat Generation—a loose-knit group of writers and artists who rejected mainstream American values in favor of personal liberation, spontaneity, spiritual exploration, and radical politics.
Ginsberg rose to national prominence in 1956 with the publication of Howl and Other Poems, released by City Lights Books in San Francisco. Howl, an emotionally charged and stylistically experimental poem, offered an unfiltered vision of America’s underbelly. It included candid references to homosexuality, drug use, and mental illness—subjects considered taboo at the time. The poem led to an obscenity trial, which ultimately concluded in Ginsberg’s favor, setting a precedent for freedom of speech in literature.
His work consistently challenged social norms and addressed themes of personal freedom, sexual identity, spirituality, and political dissent. Ginsberg was openly gay at a time when homosexuality was still criminalized in much of the United States, and he became a vocal advocate for LGBTQ+ rights throughout his life. His poetry often intertwined the personal with the political, blending confessional intimacy with a broader critique of American society.
Beyond his literary achievements, Ginsberg was also a dedicated activist. He protested against the Vietnam War, nuclear proliferation, and later, U.S. foreign policy in Latin America. He was present at many pivotal cultural and political moments of the 1960s and 1970s, including the 1968 Democratic National Convention and various countercultural gatherings. His spiritual journey led him to Buddhism, which deeply influenced his writing and worldview. He studied under Tibetan teacher Chögyam Trungpa and helped establish the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado.
Ginsberg’s later years were marked by continued literary output and collaborations with musicians such as Bob Dylan and The Clash. His poetry collections, including Reality Sandwiches, Planet News, and The Fall of America, were widely read and respected. He received numerous honors for his work, including the National Book Award for Poetry in 1974.
He died of liver cancer in 1997 at the age of 70. Today, Allen Ginsberg is remembered not only as a pioneering poet, but also as a courageous voice for free expression, social justice, and spiritual inquiry. His influence on American literature and culture remains profound and enduring.
As a young man, Ginsberg attended Columbia University, where he befriended other future Beat luminaries such as Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Neal Cassady. These relationships formed the core of what became known as the Beat Generation—a loose-knit group of writers and artists who rejected mainstream American values in favor of personal liberation, spontaneity, spiritual exploration, and radical politics.
Ginsberg rose to national prominence in 1956 with the publication of Howl and Other Poems, released by City Lights Books in San Francisco. Howl, an emotionally charged and stylistically experimental poem, offered an unfiltered vision of America’s underbelly. It included candid references to homosexuality, drug use, and mental illness—subjects considered taboo at the time. The poem led to an obscenity trial, which ultimately concluded in Ginsberg’s favor, setting a precedent for freedom of speech in literature.
His work consistently challenged social norms and addressed themes of personal freedom, sexual identity, spirituality, and political dissent. Ginsberg was openly gay at a time when homosexuality was still criminalized in much of the United States, and he became a vocal advocate for LGBTQ+ rights throughout his life. His poetry often intertwined the personal with the political, blending confessional intimacy with a broader critique of American society.
Beyond his literary achievements, Ginsberg was also a dedicated activist. He protested against the Vietnam War, nuclear proliferation, and later, U.S. foreign policy in Latin America. He was present at many pivotal cultural and political moments of the 1960s and 1970s, including the 1968 Democratic National Convention and various countercultural gatherings. His spiritual journey led him to Buddhism, which deeply influenced his writing and worldview. He studied under Tibetan teacher Chögyam Trungpa and helped establish the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado.
Ginsberg’s later years were marked by continued literary output and collaborations with musicians such as Bob Dylan and The Clash. His poetry collections, including Reality Sandwiches, Planet News, and The Fall of America, were widely read and respected. He received numerous honors for his work, including the National Book Award for Poetry in 1974.
He died of liver cancer in 1997 at the age of 70. Today, Allen Ginsberg is remembered not only as a pioneering poet, but also as a courageous voice for free expression, social justice, and spiritual inquiry. His influence on American literature and culture remains profound and enduring.
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January 9, 2025
For those unfamiliar with him, Allen Ginsberg was an icon of the counter-culture in America, particularly in the 1950s as an original member of the Beat Generation. His oppositional activities continued into the 1960s, for instance in his vocal opposition to the war in Vietnam (he was among those who marched on the Pentagon in 1967 in protest of the war) and in his associations with other youth movement personalities such as Ken Kesey and Bob Dylan. This book is Ginsberg’s journal from 1961-2, when he was in India with his lover, Peter Orlovsky, and looking for a guru (Ginsberg had been learning about Buddhism from other writers like Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac; the latter's book Some of the Dharma is Kerouac’s notes on Buddhism written specifically for Ginsberg).
In this journal, Ginsberg describes his surroundings—the Taj Mahal, for instance, and the cities of Calcutta and Benares, with their beggars, opium smokers and holy men. Mortality is a significant theme in the journal, as Ginsberg seems always to be passing one funeral pyre or another (it is frequently in these passages that Ginsberg’s commentary works best, in terms of description and vividness); in addition, in a number of passages, Ginsberg, now 37 and beginning to show signs of grey, comments on his own personal mortality.
As a poet, Ginsberg belongs to the bardic tradition that includes William Blake and Walt Whitman (his long lines are particularly reminiscent of Whitman), and the modernist tradition, particularly imagism, that includes poets like Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams. This book includes drawings, photographs, descriptions of dreams and many poems. In the poems, Ginsberg comments on war, on love, on America, on politics, on Buddhism, and on death.
For me, the journal is limited in a number of ways, most of them having to do with Ginsberg’s approach to Eastern religion on one hand, and his approach to poetry on the other. While Ginsberg describes the ways in which the Hindu deities, such as Kali, Shiva and Ganesh, are represented in pictures, he does not comment on the central ideas of the religion. Nor does he comment on yoga or meditation or other practices associated with Eastern religion. It would have been interesting to read what Ginsberg says about these subjects, especially with regard to his work as a poet, or simply with regard to his interests in altered states of consciousness. There is a good passage in which Ginsberg discusses the kind of dreams he experiences while under the influence of opium, but more frequently he smokes “ganja” while in India and, again, there is little comment on what this does for his consciousness or for his poems. There are a few interesting pages, however, in which Ginsberg discusses how his writing and that of his contemporaries is different from earlier artists. In addition, one can see Ginsberg working on his poetic style; although here he is writing prose, the language he employs is poetic, and sometimes his approach to syntax and grammar, which includes omitting punctuation, results in sentences that require more than one reading. The book is readable, but for someone who has never read Ginsberg before, I’d recommend starting with the work for which he is best known, "Howl."
Acquired Apr 1, 2010
P.T. Campbell Bookseller, London, Ontario
In this journal, Ginsberg describes his surroundings—the Taj Mahal, for instance, and the cities of Calcutta and Benares, with their beggars, opium smokers and holy men. Mortality is a significant theme in the journal, as Ginsberg seems always to be passing one funeral pyre or another (it is frequently in these passages that Ginsberg’s commentary works best, in terms of description and vividness); in addition, in a number of passages, Ginsberg, now 37 and beginning to show signs of grey, comments on his own personal mortality.
As a poet, Ginsberg belongs to the bardic tradition that includes William Blake and Walt Whitman (his long lines are particularly reminiscent of Whitman), and the modernist tradition, particularly imagism, that includes poets like Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams. This book includes drawings, photographs, descriptions of dreams and many poems. In the poems, Ginsberg comments on war, on love, on America, on politics, on Buddhism, and on death.
For me, the journal is limited in a number of ways, most of them having to do with Ginsberg’s approach to Eastern religion on one hand, and his approach to poetry on the other. While Ginsberg describes the ways in which the Hindu deities, such as Kali, Shiva and Ganesh, are represented in pictures, he does not comment on the central ideas of the religion. Nor does he comment on yoga or meditation or other practices associated with Eastern religion. It would have been interesting to read what Ginsberg says about these subjects, especially with regard to his work as a poet, or simply with regard to his interests in altered states of consciousness. There is a good passage in which Ginsberg discusses the kind of dreams he experiences while under the influence of opium, but more frequently he smokes “ganja” while in India and, again, there is little comment on what this does for his consciousness or for his poems. There are a few interesting pages, however, in which Ginsberg discusses how his writing and that of his contemporaries is different from earlier artists. In addition, one can see Ginsberg working on his poetic style; although here he is writing prose, the language he employs is poetic, and sometimes his approach to syntax and grammar, which includes omitting punctuation, results in sentences that require more than one reading. The book is readable, but for someone who has never read Ginsberg before, I’d recommend starting with the work for which he is best known, "Howl."
Acquired Apr 1, 2010
P.T. Campbell Bookseller, London, Ontario
February 7, 2014
The quality of the material in this book is very uneven. It consists of journal entries of daily events and travels, accounts of dreams, a few scribbled drawings, and initial drafts of poems.
I recognized a few of the poems.
The drawings are crude to the point of being barely intelligible.
I speak from personal experience when I say it's next to impossible for a person to adequately convey the look, scope, breadth, depth, grandeur, oddness, and meaning of a dream to another person, so I'm not surprised that Ginsberg falls somewhat short in making his dreams clear to his readers.
The journal entries are a mixed lot. At his best, Ginsberg is a master of observation and description. At his worst, he can be a purveyor of gibberish and incomprehensible--albeit poetic-sounding--word salad.
His activities fall into a few set patterns: He smokes, reads, writes, has sex with his partner Peter Orlovsky, sleeps a lot, nurses various illnesses and ailments, does some sight-seeing throughout India, explores the streets of his home bases (Calcutta and Benares), observes the people, and does lots and lots of drugs. But the main thing he does, with the predictability of a 9-to-5 clock-puncher, is go down to the cremation ghats, smoke ganja with the ash-covered sadhus, and watch the dead bodies as they burn.
It feels like seventy-five percent of the book takes place at the ghats. The cremations are described in repulsive, stomach-churning detail, and I never really understood why Ginsberg spends so much time at the ghats. Is he a gore junkie, or is he trying to come to some great philosophical conclusions about the meaning of life and death by watching these horrific scenes, and if it is the latter, why does he spend over a year engaged in it?
When "Slumdog Millionaire" was playing in the theatres some Indians criticized the film, describing it as "poverty porn," and expressing their fears that it would inspire Westerners to come to India to seek out the scenes of poverty, suffering, filth, and disease, and cluck their tongues in impotent and pointless pity, then go home feeling self-righteous.
I'm not really sure why Ginsberg went to India. From all indications, he enjoyed living there. He seemed to enjoy the various religions and the history of Eastern wisdom. But his search for a guru sounded half-hearted at best. I think at the time he craved the exotic experiences he could have in India more than any shot at enlightenment.
But he seemed to have a craving for debasement. He stayed in hotels so filthy that Indian friends would not call on him there. He wallowed in the dirt and disease and chaos of it all. As a germaphobe, I was horrified and disgusted by every other paragraph in the book. (There is a passage where Orlovsky pulls two live white worms out of Ginsberg's rectum.) Ginsberg made the whole country sound like an unending nightmare.
While I do not doubt that Ginsberg was a big-hearted, sympathetic man of great charity and open spirit, the journals offer no chest-thumping outrage at what he sees. Did he entertain notions of being what is popularly called now a "white saviour"? That's hard to say. The book is filled with photos of grotesquely contorted, crippled, suffering Indians who seem just another part of the exotic landscape, as much as the cows and temples
On the other hand, Ginsberg and Orlovsky tried to help a few dying beggars, only to find their efforts hopeless.
Deborah Baker, author of "A Blue Hand: The Beats in India," writes:
..."As the weeks wore on, however, Allen began to resent the thought that whether any of them lived or died depended on the pittance he provided. In letters, he treated the matter as a nuisance, trivialized it as a 'soap opera,' and tarted up the gruesome details, as if to elude his own unease. He harassed officials at the Beggar's Home to take in the worst cases, to relieve him of the responsibility....[B]enares seemed intent on showing him there was no heaven, no place at all beyond shit and desire...."
I don't know of any book I've recently read that is so much in need of footnotes. Though Ginsberg wrote the journal for his own uses, he did agree to have it published in two different editions in his lifetime, so I think he should've made some effort to make the book intelligible to readers.
There are many names of persons, places, Hindu gods, myths, and religious concepts that are left unexplained. Like many creative people, Ginsberg made up his own words or came up with new definitions to existing words, but he makes no attempt to explain any of this in the text.
Now I thoroughly understand the Beat concept of "first thought, best thought" and "spontaneous prose." I am a fan of the Beats. I realize they did experimental work and were concerned with freeing the language. When they wrote fiction or poetry that's hard to understand I chalk it down to experimental lyricism and surrender myself to the wave, as with jazz, enjoying it without having to try to understand it.
But I have a problem when someone like Ginsberg is supposed to be writing straight reportage and can't be bothered to compose it in an intelligible manner. Most of the journal entries read like scribbled notes, rough drafts, the choppy pidgin of telegrams.
It is amazing to me that Ginsberg was admitted to and graduated from Columbia University when he seemed to possess the spelling, punctuation, and grammar skills of a fourth-grader. (And educational standards were much higher in the 1940s than they are now.) I don't know whether these faults were due to ignorance or willful, childish affectation, but they get in the way of a smooth reading experience. There are at least two people mentioned in the text who, because of Ginsberg's inconsistent spelling, may be as many as three to five other people, but the reader will never know.
Because of these frustrating compositional flaws, and the monotonous repetition of gruesome ghat scene after gruesome ghat scene, I became very bored with this book by about page 150.
My recent readings of work by and about Ginsberg have convinced me that his partner Peter Orlovsky was an utterly useless moron and a waste of space. Ginsberg had ridiculously exalted ideas of who Orlovsky was, and he hung these ideas of the dream Orlovsky onto the real one, and the real one almost always failed to meet the mark. Any "creative achievements" that can be attributed to Orlovsky were, as far as I can see, the results of either Ginsberg pushing Orlovsky to do certain things (poetry, photography), or Orlovsky, like a trained monkey, doing things to try to please Ginsberg.
Indeed, Orlovsky felt put upon by Ginsberg for most of their long relationship, starting at an early stage. Orlovsky saw himself as predominantly heterosexual, pushed into homosexuality by Ginsberg. And though Ginsberg publicly referred to Orlovsky as his "dear wife," and frequently posed for iconic photos, nude and clothed, with Orlovsky, there was almost no time in their relationship when Orlovsky didn't maintain a girlfriend on the side, and he always insisted that he thought about women whenever he and Ginsberg had sex.
Orlovsky and his entire family had severe mental problems, and he himself had substance abuse issues. He and his family were financially dependent on Ginsberg, and he was angry and depressed that he had no life or identity apart from the poet.
At the time of the India trip, Ginsberg and Orlovsky had been together less than a decade, but had already had some serious quarrels and separations. Deborah Baker writes that Orlovsky was largely on his own wavelength and pursuing his own interests during the India trip. Even though Orlovsky sometimes figures in Ginsberg's journal entries, he's barely there even when he's physically present, rather like a very one-dimensional, near-catatonic, unresponsive pet.
Despite all this, Ginsberg somehow manages to make his temporary separation from Orlovsky, when the former prepares to continue traveling and the latter moves to another apartment, a heart-breaking and poignant ending to the book.
I recognized a few of the poems.
The drawings are crude to the point of being barely intelligible.
I speak from personal experience when I say it's next to impossible for a person to adequately convey the look, scope, breadth, depth, grandeur, oddness, and meaning of a dream to another person, so I'm not surprised that Ginsberg falls somewhat short in making his dreams clear to his readers.
The journal entries are a mixed lot. At his best, Ginsberg is a master of observation and description. At his worst, he can be a purveyor of gibberish and incomprehensible--albeit poetic-sounding--word salad.
His activities fall into a few set patterns: He smokes, reads, writes, has sex with his partner Peter Orlovsky, sleeps a lot, nurses various illnesses and ailments, does some sight-seeing throughout India, explores the streets of his home bases (Calcutta and Benares), observes the people, and does lots and lots of drugs. But the main thing he does, with the predictability of a 9-to-5 clock-puncher, is go down to the cremation ghats, smoke ganja with the ash-covered sadhus, and watch the dead bodies as they burn.
It feels like seventy-five percent of the book takes place at the ghats. The cremations are described in repulsive, stomach-churning detail, and I never really understood why Ginsberg spends so much time at the ghats. Is he a gore junkie, or is he trying to come to some great philosophical conclusions about the meaning of life and death by watching these horrific scenes, and if it is the latter, why does he spend over a year engaged in it?
When "Slumdog Millionaire" was playing in the theatres some Indians criticized the film, describing it as "poverty porn," and expressing their fears that it would inspire Westerners to come to India to seek out the scenes of poverty, suffering, filth, and disease, and cluck their tongues in impotent and pointless pity, then go home feeling self-righteous.
I'm not really sure why Ginsberg went to India. From all indications, he enjoyed living there. He seemed to enjoy the various religions and the history of Eastern wisdom. But his search for a guru sounded half-hearted at best. I think at the time he craved the exotic experiences he could have in India more than any shot at enlightenment.
But he seemed to have a craving for debasement. He stayed in hotels so filthy that Indian friends would not call on him there. He wallowed in the dirt and disease and chaos of it all. As a germaphobe, I was horrified and disgusted by every other paragraph in the book. (There is a passage where Orlovsky pulls two live white worms out of Ginsberg's rectum.) Ginsberg made the whole country sound like an unending nightmare.
While I do not doubt that Ginsberg was a big-hearted, sympathetic man of great charity and open spirit, the journals offer no chest-thumping outrage at what he sees. Did he entertain notions of being what is popularly called now a "white saviour"? That's hard to say. The book is filled with photos of grotesquely contorted, crippled, suffering Indians who seem just another part of the exotic landscape, as much as the cows and temples
On the other hand, Ginsberg and Orlovsky tried to help a few dying beggars, only to find their efforts hopeless.
Deborah Baker, author of "A Blue Hand: The Beats in India," writes:
..."As the weeks wore on, however, Allen began to resent the thought that whether any of them lived or died depended on the pittance he provided. In letters, he treated the matter as a nuisance, trivialized it as a 'soap opera,' and tarted up the gruesome details, as if to elude his own unease. He harassed officials at the Beggar's Home to take in the worst cases, to relieve him of the responsibility....[B]enares seemed intent on showing him there was no heaven, no place at all beyond shit and desire...."
I don't know of any book I've recently read that is so much in need of footnotes. Though Ginsberg wrote the journal for his own uses, he did agree to have it published in two different editions in his lifetime, so I think he should've made some effort to make the book intelligible to readers.
There are many names of persons, places, Hindu gods, myths, and religious concepts that are left unexplained. Like many creative people, Ginsberg made up his own words or came up with new definitions to existing words, but he makes no attempt to explain any of this in the text.
Now I thoroughly understand the Beat concept of "first thought, best thought" and "spontaneous prose." I am a fan of the Beats. I realize they did experimental work and were concerned with freeing the language. When they wrote fiction or poetry that's hard to understand I chalk it down to experimental lyricism and surrender myself to the wave, as with jazz, enjoying it without having to try to understand it.
But I have a problem when someone like Ginsberg is supposed to be writing straight reportage and can't be bothered to compose it in an intelligible manner. Most of the journal entries read like scribbled notes, rough drafts, the choppy pidgin of telegrams.
It is amazing to me that Ginsberg was admitted to and graduated from Columbia University when he seemed to possess the spelling, punctuation, and grammar skills of a fourth-grader. (And educational standards were much higher in the 1940s than they are now.) I don't know whether these faults were due to ignorance or willful, childish affectation, but they get in the way of a smooth reading experience. There are at least two people mentioned in the text who, because of Ginsberg's inconsistent spelling, may be as many as three to five other people, but the reader will never know.
Because of these frustrating compositional flaws, and the monotonous repetition of gruesome ghat scene after gruesome ghat scene, I became very bored with this book by about page 150.
My recent readings of work by and about Ginsberg have convinced me that his partner Peter Orlovsky was an utterly useless moron and a waste of space. Ginsberg had ridiculously exalted ideas of who Orlovsky was, and he hung these ideas of the dream Orlovsky onto the real one, and the real one almost always failed to meet the mark. Any "creative achievements" that can be attributed to Orlovsky were, as far as I can see, the results of either Ginsberg pushing Orlovsky to do certain things (poetry, photography), or Orlovsky, like a trained monkey, doing things to try to please Ginsberg.
Indeed, Orlovsky felt put upon by Ginsberg for most of their long relationship, starting at an early stage. Orlovsky saw himself as predominantly heterosexual, pushed into homosexuality by Ginsberg. And though Ginsberg publicly referred to Orlovsky as his "dear wife," and frequently posed for iconic photos, nude and clothed, with Orlovsky, there was almost no time in their relationship when Orlovsky didn't maintain a girlfriend on the side, and he always insisted that he thought about women whenever he and Ginsberg had sex.
Orlovsky and his entire family had severe mental problems, and he himself had substance abuse issues. He and his family were financially dependent on Ginsberg, and he was angry and depressed that he had no life or identity apart from the poet.
At the time of the India trip, Ginsberg and Orlovsky had been together less than a decade, but had already had some serious quarrels and separations. Deborah Baker writes that Orlovsky was largely on his own wavelength and pursuing his own interests during the India trip. Even though Orlovsky sometimes figures in Ginsberg's journal entries, he's barely there even when he's physically present, rather like a very one-dimensional, near-catatonic, unresponsive pet.
Despite all this, Ginsberg somehow manages to make his temporary separation from Orlovsky, when the former prepares to continue traveling and the latter moves to another apartment, a heart-breaking and poignant ending to the book.
September 8, 2014
These journals weren't the super inspiring, self-revelatory diaries you would expect. It’s more of a place that Allen uses to write down all his poetry and thoughts and because he’s super famous that = published book. Lucky dude.
But seriously, I know Allen’s voice so well that I love any of his poetry. His voice and his ability to create images in the readers mind made me get totally lost in this book. Like, have you ever been reading a book on the bus and looked up and had to fully re-orientate yourself about where you are in reality? That’s this book.
He loves and seems obsessed with India’s openness with death. He lives near the burning ghats, where every day sadhus (holy men) come to attend funerals and burn the bodies next to the sacred Ganges. It reminded me a little of Shantaram but much more focused on the death and on the melting bodies, etc. I was surprised that there wasn't more spirituality explored in the books. He keeps up the essential-beat drug taking (morphine and ganga) which is interesting where he writes under the influence.
I wouldn't recommend this to someone who doesn't already like Allen Ginsberg. It’s more for adding to your understanding of his life and influences as a whole than just how India influenced him. Best read with large available chunks of time. Also includes cute pictures of Peter (his boyfriend) and Allen with long beards and lush jesus hair, as well as not so cute pictures of deformed beggars and street people.
But seriously, I know Allen’s voice so well that I love any of his poetry. His voice and his ability to create images in the readers mind made me get totally lost in this book. Like, have you ever been reading a book on the bus and looked up and had to fully re-orientate yourself about where you are in reality? That’s this book.
He loves and seems obsessed with India’s openness with death. He lives near the burning ghats, where every day sadhus (holy men) come to attend funerals and burn the bodies next to the sacred Ganges. It reminded me a little of Shantaram but much more focused on the death and on the melting bodies, etc. I was surprised that there wasn't more spirituality explored in the books. He keeps up the essential-beat drug taking (morphine and ganga) which is interesting where he writes under the influence.
I wouldn't recommend this to someone who doesn't already like Allen Ginsberg. It’s more for adding to your understanding of his life and influences as a whole than just how India influenced him. Best read with large available chunks of time. Also includes cute pictures of Peter (his boyfriend) and Allen with long beards and lush jesus hair, as well as not so cute pictures of deformed beggars and street people.
October 25, 2012
very interesting read. this was the first time i had read any of Ginsberg's prose and i was not disappointed. like others have already mentioned or pointed out, Ginsberg was not only an outstanding poet but also played a vital role in late twentieth century america as activist and unofficial spokesman for the dispossessed.
in this volume, what struck me about him in particular was his incredible bravery to lead the life he wanted to lead and be true to himself, knowing full well that there would be a backlash from the conservative camp in America.
come to think of it, being true to yourself, or being 'whoever you want to be' as Jack Micheline put it, captures the essence of the beat creed in my opinion and Ginsberg is perhaps one of its finest examples.
i especially loved the poem 'H*Y*M*N* T*O* U*S*' in Indian Journals and there are a few other poems in this collection which are right up there, almost on par with HOWL.
the reason i docked two stars is because i found some of the prose sections a bit repetitive and tedious. too many entries on watching bodies being cremated at the various ghats in Calcutta, Benares and other locations.
his (temporary) separation from Peter Orlovsky at the end of the book was heart-breaking.
i will definitely take this book with me to read again if i ever get the chance to visit India .
special thanks to David for lending me a copy of this. namaste.
in this volume, what struck me about him in particular was his incredible bravery to lead the life he wanted to lead and be true to himself, knowing full well that there would be a backlash from the conservative camp in America.
come to think of it, being true to yourself, or being 'whoever you want to be' as Jack Micheline put it, captures the essence of the beat creed in my opinion and Ginsberg is perhaps one of its finest examples.
i especially loved the poem 'H*Y*M*N* T*O* U*S*' in Indian Journals and there are a few other poems in this collection which are right up there, almost on par with HOWL.
the reason i docked two stars is because i found some of the prose sections a bit repetitive and tedious. too many entries on watching bodies being cremated at the various ghats in Calcutta, Benares and other locations.
his (temporary) separation from Peter Orlovsky at the end of the book was heart-breaking.
i will definitely take this book with me to read again if i ever get the chance to visit India .
special thanks to David for lending me a copy of this. namaste.
June 19, 2016
Even by Ginsberg's standards the 15 months he spent in India (62-63) were on the slightly incoherent side. He went looking for a guru, didn't find one, but, like many western seekers, discovered that if he had a guru it was a westerner (provided you consider William Blake "western," which would have horrified both Blake and the West). The notebooks contain fragments and drafts of material some of which would show up in finished poems; there's a brilliant bit on Kali as the Statue of Liberty. The sections that drew me farthest in are those involving Ginsberg's fascination with the ghats, the funeral pyres alongside the Ganges. Memento moro with a mystic twist.
Not sorry I read it, but definitely for Ginsberg aficionados. If you're not part of that subculture but want a taste of Ginsberg's process, start with the Fifties journals instead.
Not sorry I read it, but definitely for Ginsberg aficionados. If you're not part of that subculture but want a taste of Ginsberg's process, start with the Fifties journals instead.
March 8, 2012
His writing is abstract and at times it's hard to follow what he is talking about. It was really refreshing to read something which is so forthright - which could be seen as shocking, I admire this man's honesty.
I was disturbed by some of his dream sequences though, couldn't believe that something like that could be published.
I was disturbed by some of his dream sequences though, couldn't believe that something like that could be published.
January 27, 2008
this is a curious book, part meditation and part poem, taking place during an extended trip to india by ginsburg and orlovsky. Rambling, unfocussed, but often beautiful and touching, subtextually about the disintegration of their relationship as much as an inquiry into being.
December 22, 2009
Nothing like a little Ginsberg to bring together the lyric snapshots of the sublime... and the worms in his butt. Talk about non-duality. But reading it now, after so much time in India, I still - or especially - fall for his juxtapositions, his fixation on peter, his need.
September 30, 2007
I was extremely struck by this book, the prose, the mindset, and the picture of the severed foot - who knows why I haven't made it to India yet. sigh.
November 7, 2007
An odd view of his experiences in India. Fun in that way that Ginsberg can only provide.
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March 5, 2009Read in Miami.
April 5, 2011
Ginsberg goes to India and breathes ganja for several months, and drools over naked sadhus. Recommended
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February 28, 2012Corpse smoke
June 15, 2014
"La poesía es también Sadhana (práctica espiritual)..."
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