The Beat Goes On January 25, 2022
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
… who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago.”
Howl, Allen Ginsburg
Daniel and Alejandro are lifelong Chiapanecos, raised in Tuxtla-Gutierrez. Their Youtube series is dedicated to modern literature, especially poetry, as well as social reform movements, to which they are active contributors. Daniel’s personal story resonates especially, as he was born in the coffee fields while his Guatemalan father picked beans. He is convinced his love of the nightlife, which first brought him to San Cristobal, is due to an aversion to sunlight acquired in the fields as a young boy.
Daniel is young, barely in his thirties, but he possesses a passion for the literature of liberation beyond his years. Alejandro burns even more, and he seems to fully embrace the excesses of bohemian hedonism, certainly if one is to judge from his alcohol consumption. Regardless, the two form a great conversational pair. Their small but lively assembly of fans and curious wanderers fill the cluttered LibreArte bookstore of Margarito and Victor, on Calle Paniagua, for a new episode, in Spanish. Tonight’s program: The Beat Movement.
Given my acknowledged difficulty with the native language, I shall paraphrase what I imagine they are saying about the Beat Movement of the 1950’s; namely, along with the civil rights struggle of the South, the Beats represented rare dissent at the apex of the American Empire. These were the formative years of the American Dream, the upwardly mobile society and expansion of the middle class. This post-war period bred an unprecedented type of conformity, which strangely mirrored that of its arch-enemy in the Kremlin, at the dawn of the nuclear age. The “Beatneeks,” as Alejandro loves to call them, said “Pinches” (“piss off”) to all that. Instead, they went on a wild journey of bacchanalian abandon, from New York to San Francisco, from Tangier to Mexico.
I might have something to add to the raucous conversation Daniel and Alejandro are having about obscenity laws, but the two are having too much fun embracing their “Beatneek” inheritance. While Daniel reads poor Spanish translations of Lucien Carr, Alejandro sporadically whoops and bangs a piece of lead pipe with a spoon, as if to overrule an objection.
Finally, the panel turns to me for my assigned reading of “Howl: Part 1,” in English. My plan is to recite the long piece as fast as I can, breathlessly, in order to convey the cadence and frantic urgency of the author, perhaps even the madness, but also to move as swiftly as possible through the most vulgar parts, lest I draw the interest of any prudes or pederasts in the audience. My worries, however, prove unnecessary, as my anonymous source is likely the only other English speaker. To the rest, I am uttering staccato nonsense for more than 10 minutes, while Margarito turns up the Thelonious Monk for jazzy effect. At least it gives everyone something to listen to until I am finished my rant.
When the show ends, the dais and audience are invited next door to Mayahuel Pulqueria, where a six-piece Cumbia band has already started its set. In the open courtyard, under a half-moon and chilly skies, a few couples dance beautifully to the southern rhythms. The others are mostly young tourists, happy for live music but ignorant of the idiom. The dreadlocked hippies do their individualistic things on the dance floor, bouncing, swaying, slithering like snakes, waving arms like a submerged swami. Allen Ginsburg taught them how to do this.