The News Herald (Willoughby, OH)

Beat poet, publisher Ferlinghet­ti dies at 101

- By Janie Har and Hillel Italie

Poet, publisher, bookseller and activist Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti died in San Francisco at age 101.

SAN FRANCISCO » Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti, the poet, publisher, bookseller and activist who helped launch the Beat movement in the 1950s and embodied its curious and rebellious spirit well into the 21st century, died at age 101.

Ferlinghet­ti, a San Francisco institutio­n, died Monday at his home, his son Lorenzo Ferlinghet­ti said. A month shy of his 102nd birthday, Ferlinghet­ti died “in his own room,” holding the hands of his son and his son’s girlfriend, “as he took his last breath.” The cause of death was lung disease. Ferlinghet­ti had received the first dose of the COVID vaccine last week, his son said Tuesday.

Few poets of the past 60 years were so well known, or so influentia­l. His books sold more than 1 million copies worldwide, a fantasy for virtually any of his peers, and he ran one of the world’s most famous bookstores, City Lights. Although he never considered himself one of the Beats, he was a patron and soul mate and, for many, a lasting symbol — preaching a nobler, more ecstatic American dream.

“Am I the consciousn­ess of a generation or just some old fool sounding off and trying to escape the dominant materialis­t avaricious consciousn­ess of America?” he asked in “Little Boy,” a stream of consciousn­ess novel published around the time of his 100th birthday

He made history. Through

the City Lights publishing arm, books by Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs and many others came out and the release of Allen Ginsberg’s landmark poem “Howl” led to a 1957 obscenity case that broke new ground for freedom of expression.

He also defied history. The Internet, superstore chains and high rents shut down numerous bookseller­s in the Bay Area and beyond, but City Lights remained a thriving political and cultural outlet, where one section was devoted to books enabling “revolution­ary competence,” where employees could get the day off to attend an anti-war protest.

“Generally, people seem to get more conservati­ve as they age, but in my case, I seem to have gotten more radical,” Ferlinghet­ti told Interview magazine in 2013. “Poetry must be capable of answering the challenge of apocalypti­c times, even if this means sounding apocalypti­c.”

The store even endured during the coronaviru­s outbreak, when it was forced to close and required $300,000 to stay in business. A GoFundMe campaign quickly raised $400,000.

Ferlinghet­ti, tall and bearded, with sharp blue eyes, could be soft-spoken, even introverte­d and reticent in unfamiliar situations. But he was the most public of poets and his work wasn’t intended for solitary contemplat­ion. It was meant to be recited or chanted out loud, whether in coffee houses, bookstores or at campus gatherings.

His 1958 compilatio­n, “A Coney Island of the Mind,” sold hundreds of thousands of copies in the U.S. alone. Long an outsider from the poetry community, Ferlinghet­ti once joked that he had “committed the sin of too much clarity.” He called his style “wide open” and his work, influenced in part by E.E. Cummings, was often lyrical and childlike: “Peacocks walked/under the night trees/in the lost moon/ light/when I went out/looking for love,” he wrote in “Coney Island.”

Ferlinghet­ti also was a playwright, novelist, translator and painter and had many admirers among musicians. In 1976, he recited “The Lord’s Prayer” at the Band’s farewell concert, immortaliz­ed in Martin Scorsese’s “The Last Waltz.” The folk-rock band Aztec TwoStep lifted its name from a line in the title poem of Ferlinghet­ti’s “Coney Island” book: “A couple of Papish cats/is doing an Aztec twostep.”

Ferlinghet­ti also published some of the earliest film reviews by Pauline Kael, who with The New Yorker became one of the country’s most influentia­l critics.

He lived long and well despite a traumatic childhood. His father died five months before Lawrence was born in Yonkers, New York, in 1919, leaving behind a sense of loss that haunted him, yet provided much of the creative tension that drove his art. His mother, unable to cope, had a nervous breakdown two years after his father’s death. She eventually disappeare­d and died in a state hospital.

Ferlinghet­ti spent years moving among relatives, boarding homes and an orphanage before he was taken in by a wealthy New York family, the Bislands, for whom his mother had worked as a governess. He studied journalism at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, received a master’s in literature

from Columbia University, and a doctorate degree from the Sorbonne in Paris. His early influences included Ernest Hemingway, Thomas Wolfe and Ezra Pound.

Ferlinghet­ti hated war, because he was in one. In 1945, he was a Navy commander stationed in Japan and remembered visiting Nagasaki a few weeks after the U.S. had dropped an atom bomb. The carnage, he would recall, made him an “instant pacifist.”

In the early 1950s, he settled in San Francisco and married Selden Kirby-Smith, whom he divorced in 1976. (They had two children). Ferlinghet­ti also became a member of the city’s rising literary movement, the socalled San Francisco Renaissanc­e, and soon helped establish a gathering place. Peter D, Martin, a sociologis­t, had opened a paperback store in the city’s North Beach section and named it after a recent

Charlie Chaplin film, “City Lights.” When Ferlinghet­ti saw the storefront, in 1953, he suggested he and Martin become partners. Each contribute­d $500.

Ferlinghet­ti later told The New York Times: “City Lights became about the only place around where you could go in, sit down, and read books without being pestered to buy something.”

The Beats, who had met in New York in the 1940s, now had a new base. One project was City Lights’ Pocket Poets series, which offered low-cost editions of verse, notably Ginsberg’s “Howl.” Ferlinghet­ti had heard Ginsberg read a version in 1955 and wrote him: “I greet you at the beginning of a great career. When do I get the manuscript?” a humorous take on the message sent from Ralph Waldo Emerson to Walt Whitman upon reading “Leaves of Grass.”

Ferlinghet­ti published “Howl and Other Poems” in 1956, but customs officials seized copies of the book that were being shipped from London, and Ferlinghet­ti was arrested on obscenity charges. After a highly publicized court battle, a judge in 1957 ruled that “Howl” was not obscene, despite its sexual themes, citing the poem’s relevance as a criticism of modern society. A 2010 film about the case, “Howl,” starred James Franco as Ginsberg and Andrew Rogers as Ferlinghet­ti.

Ferlinghet­ti would also release Kerouac’s “Book of Dreams,” prison writings by Timothy Leary and Frank O’Hara’s “Lunch Poems.”

 ?? HENNY RAY ABRAMS — THE ASSOCIATED PRESS FILE ?? Author Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti recites a poem Nov. 16, 2005 after he was awarded the Literarian Award for Outstandin­g Service to the American Literary Community at the National Book Awards in New York.
HENNY RAY ABRAMS — THE ASSOCIATED PRESS FILE Author Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti recites a poem Nov. 16, 2005 after he was awarded the Literarian Award for Outstandin­g Service to the American Literary Community at the National Book Awards in New York.
 ?? FRANKIE ZITHS — THE ASSOCIATED PRESS FILE ?? Author Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti appears in Oct. 8, 1988. Ferlinghet­ti, a poet, publisher and bookseller has died in San Francisco at age 101.
FRANKIE ZITHS — THE ASSOCIATED PRESS FILE Author Lawrence Ferlinghet­ti appears in Oct. 8, 1988. Ferlinghet­ti, a poet, publisher and bookseller has died in San Francisco at age 101.

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