#Ray Bremser

[ozkar-krapo]

V/A

"Cold Turkey Press / Klacto presents : A Cold Turkey Press special"

(LP. Rotterdam '72. 1972) [US]

[garadinervi]

«Yugen», No. 6, Edited by LeRoi Jones (later Amiri Baraka) and Hettie Cohen, Cover art by Basil King, Yugen, New York, NY, 1960 (pdf here) [Better Read Than Dead, Brooklyn, NY. RealityStudio, New York, NY. verdant press. Unoriginal Sins, The Old Primary School, Temple, Midlothian]. Feat. Michael McClure, Charles Olson, Ron Loewinsohn, Philip Lamantia, Paul Blackburn, Robin Blaser, Hubert Selby, Jr., David Meltzer, Ray Bremser, Ed Dorn, Rochelle Owens, Paul Carroll, Robert Creeley, Tristan Tzara, Daisy Aldan, Gary Snyder, Edward Marshall, LeRoi Jones, Jack Kerouac, David Wang, Kenneth Koch, Larry Eigner, Edward Dahlberg, Frank O’Hara, Basil King

[banffcentrelibraryandarchives]

Artists’ Book Display for the week of June 24th, 2019

Encuentro con la poesia experimental published by Editorial Euskal Bidea, 1981

Drive suite by Ray Bremser- San Francisco : Nova Broadcast, 1968

George by John Hodges- Tallahassee: J. Hodges, 1993

Only Connect 2 by Ross Martin- Portland, ME: Copy Art Works, 1994

Lettres = Letters. by Mariane Bourcheix-Laporte- Montreal : MAAM, 2010

[kvetchlandia]

Burt Glinn     Beatnik and Ex-con Poet Ray Bremser on the Fire Escape of Allen Ginsberg’s Apartment, East Village, New York City     1959

I used to sit often composing the manuscript never denouncing and therefore not to be written without preparation for trial.  

I'd sit contemplating unobvious thoughts without poetry, being the poet of adequate life on broken brick steps full of contractions of piles and pimply sores from the stone and syphilis-eyed hypochondria sleep-thinking germs bringing flu and I caught my first cold fifteen histories ago in the maggoty festering garbage-can alley back of my mother's rear room.  

I used to sit dreaming the dreams of accomplishment marching in questionable cadences down to the foot of the Harborside Terminal into the emptying carrying cars of Spry and Colgate Mullers outgoing spaghetti and infinite meatballs!  

counting the black-balled parolees and broken-backed spics, Italian laborers, Polacks and sweaty old terminal boss, whose unknotted tie and left-wide-agape collar was motive enough to imagine the noose.  

When I was ten I discovered the poet and quick circulated great novels of spy and adventure and killer police, whose murderous face I didn't at first grasp until I discovered a cop humping some young indiscernable girl in the park.  

She addressed him with delicate fits from her lips which turned ghostly and blue and the dress tore away and he popped with a joy every cop in New Jersey recalls.  

Since then I have hated what passes as law and the ten-year-old grew but the poet did not and the novels fell off into idiot poems and madness and sight of my city, the city of squares and the city of Pharisees all mobbed into a mass of the lewdest advertisement, tight demin levis - buck shoes for the silent and cardigan jitterbug jackets with saddle stitched pockets of rubber ... I've never been ready for trial.  

But Carole Fugate has! Sweet youngest ever martyr City killer high accomplishment " "in her peaceful, pensive, elemental face the Virgin Mary ended indecision and elected to abide in every sinew's whore-mastered inch of Charlie's sweet and favored yards of flesh.  

How did he do it to you?  Whispering 'mother'? or 'little sister'?  What of your idiot's eyes? Now it is more than Charlie's, sweet " now it is every lecherous penis legality has - every sensuous prick of old righteousness!  Lord, how they're prodding, those moot prosecutors!  

In love with your lips and in love with your belly's white warmth, 0 human - 0 animal "heavenly screwed little girl - in love with your crying's pure succulent salt of the heart - hot heart of the murderess " heart of the victim, whispering 'love' and whispering       "please' - and the minor-thief's heart in my own hunting skin corresponds to your sexual lips of immaculate white -                I would run my cool tongue in your mouth, eat your tears, taste your difficult washmachine beauty!  

My city envisions your breast beneath which is the heart that addresses itself, and the answers? definite crazy - and love!  

No; it wasn't odd that night when I went alone - into the streets and out of my home, so long out of sorts - was I out of my mind, too, with the dread melancholy stuck edgewise into my brain and into my guts, only man-guts, not pig-iron but twisted and flanged and eroded with rust?  

So I had to walk and I walked, way outward onto the unfamiliar street where people are not always people -  

And I. took in my hand in my coat and conjoined a pistol, in case - to decide things                 best for myself!  

But the dreary, unfluctuables pinioned me stiff-columned into my shoes.  The trigger-taut sinewous spindle stood me up clotheslessly still to suffer the bearable whipping of fingers over the mutable flesh -                                                     the motherless sonofabitching flac " the criminal shots, were pinned, like medals of thievery, onto my breast;                        and my waxworkwings found Icarus's pool; and I'm here now,                            changelessly dressed!

It is sometimes the way our necessity balks at a curve, to be tried. To be taken in dubious custody, chained to a chair in the precinct called lst and allowed the due processes up to the neck of the fist and the shattering bludgeoning hard?- rubber hose of an arm's length.  

question and answer and hate for the acne-nervousness paused on the face and the please-leave-me-alone in the watery eyes that were blue turning black from the law's dark insensible glare " whose brute badges of courage and bravery stare, because Hart Crane might have had one of the heads that was cracked by the graces of nightstick and sailor Bayonne!  

How their foolish pomposity walks in the streets! At the Hoboken wharves and the West New York Hills, over Palisade plumage of rock and the Fort Lee nest of the eagle - Washington Bridge Riviera "? doubtful escape on the harlotted Hudson Expressways!  

One thing I found in the handcuffs was this: Great fear of the law!                                          and a dread of my own Jersey Cityite's farce gone beyond the impossible truss of a sentence too large to impress any boy with its complex of God!  

    I will sign the confession of monsterous crime I    will sign I    will sign I    will sign

I    WILL SIGN!  ##

--Ray Bremser, “City Madness” 1965

[ginzyblog]

“I passed out at this point and woke again amidst rowers •••/ I pretend to pure dislocation and end in the palace of a/great queen/whose bath has been drawn against logic ..•” Remembering the great obscure poet Ray Bremser, born this day in Jersey City, 1934. Allen: In Bremser’s poetry we have powerful curious Hoboken language, crank-blot phrasing, rhythmic motion that moves forward in sections to climaxes of feeling. Imagination shifts in and out of heard-about places in space & time, American primitive, jaiIhouse primitive, & dramatises key ideas–personal empathy with Egypt and a Pop Art approach to Platonic archtypes. Where is the truth in this? The truth here is the realized expression of emotional awareness. Poesie, a rhythmic articulation of feeling, emotional physiology vocalized. Now the piper’s piped, but had no human reward in his America – thus he goes wild, piping inhumanely. #raybremser #poetry #allenginsberg #poetsofinstagram (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/B839l41BmK9/?igshid=1qbvsuahquhu7

[ubu507]

Make your flesh delirious for me, but unperformed without me.

-- Ray Bremser

[therivershit]

Ray Bremser

[midnineties]

american beat poets gregory corso & ray bremser at allen ginsberg’s apartment, nyc, 1959

[garadinervi]

«Yugen», No. 4, Edited by LeRoi Jones (later Amiri Baraka) and Hettie Cohen, Cover art by Fielding Dawson, Yugen, New York, NY, 1959 (pdf here) [RealityStudio, New York, NY. verdant press]. Feat. Charles Olson, Peter Orlovsky, Frank O’Hara, Max Finstein, Fielding Dawson, Allen Ginsberg, Ray Bremser, Edward Marshall, Joel Oppenheimer, Judson Crews, Michael McClure, Ron Loewinsohn, Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac, John Wieners, Robert Creeley, Gregory Corso, LeRoi Jones, Gilbert Sorrentino, Mason Jordan Mason, Fielding Dawson

[beatdom]

A Negative Score on the Happiness List: The Economics of Hustling in Bonnie Bremser’s For Love of Ray

Bonnie Bremser’s road book For Love of Ray gives a harrowing account of the effects of poverty on travellers. Poverty seems a necessary part of the authentic road experience, since it involves exile from mundane existence and steady income. Like Jack Kerouac’s mythic progenitors Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty, the duo around which the story revolves are penniless drifters on the road in Mexico. But Ray and Bonnie Bremser were newly married with a child, and so the text allows insight into their bohemian marriage. This article focuses on how the Beat path runs for the woman in the relationship, with differences becoming apparent when Bonnie begins to work as a prostitute in order to remedy their poverty.

Read more...

[stevepotterwrites]

“..In Bremser’s poetry we have powerful curious Hoboken language, crank-blast phrasing, rhythmic motion that moves forward in sections to climaxes of feeling. Imagination shifts in and out of heard-about places in space and rime. American primitive, jailhouse primitive, and dramatizes key ideas – personal empathy with Egypt and a Pop Art approach to Platonic archetypes. Where is the truth in this. The truth here is the realized expression of emotional awareness. Poesy a rhythmic articulation of feeling, emotional physiology vocalized…..” -- Allen Ginsberg

[records-ancients-matters-blog]

READINGS ϟ LINKS ϟ JULY 2014

Mohammed al-Ajami, (Poem from a Prison Cell). Translated from the Arabic by Kareem James Abu-Zeid and Katrien Vanpee. On Pen America, June 5, 2014.

Ray Bremser, Poems of Madness. Introduction by Allen Ginsberg. At Cuneiform Press (June 2014—PDF).

Aloïse Corbaz, excerpts of texts embedded in a 1941 sketchbook. Transcribed by Jacqueline Porret-Forel. On UBUWEB.

Debbie Hu, The Hate Nipple. On Everyday Genius, July 13, 2012.

Joyce Mansour, Four Poems. Translated from the French by Gaelle Raphael. On Jadaliyya.

Wong May, Postscript. In Chicago Review, Issue 58:01 (Summer 2013).

Luna Miguel, Mermaid's Reef. Translated from the Spanish by Luis Silva. In Adult (Bedtime Stories), June 20, 2014.

Christopher Rey Pérez, from "the mexican". on smoking glue gun, June 4, 2014.

Kit Schluter, Notebooks (January 17-22). At Inpatient Press, February 6, 2014.

Jackie Wang, Alien Daughters Walk Into The Sun (including I Found My Soul At The Bottom of the Pool). In The Brooklyn Rail, November 2013.

[photo: Aloïse Corbaz à l’asile de La Rosière, Gimel, 1963]

[themaninthegreenshirt]

Poet Ray Bremser on the fire escape of Allen Ginsberg's apartment in the East Village, NYC 1959.

[fuckyeahthebeatgeneration]

From The Rumpus:

Yesterday, avant-garde cinema legend Jonas Mekas posted remarkable archival footage of Allen Ginsberg, Frank O’hara, Amiri Baraka (who still went by Leroi Jones), and Ray Bremser reading together in 1959. The reading, which took place at the Living Theater in New York City, was a benefit for Yugen magazine. No audio was recorded at the event, but Mekas added audio (recorded in 1960) of Ginsberg reading “Sunflower Sutra.”

Being able to watch these masters goof around, smoke cigarettes, and share their work with each other is a treasure. It is especially astonishing to see O’Hara, as very few known videos of the definitive New York School poet exist today.

[garadinervi]

Emma Silverman (artwork), Jail Poets, reading by Ray Bremser (in absentia), Carl Einhorn, Taylor Mead, Jackson Mac Low, and John Wieners, among others, at the Living Theatre, September 9, 1963 [From a Secret Location, Granary Books, New York, NY]