#peter orlovsky

[lunamonchtuna]

— Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky (1958) (via lunamonchtuna)

[las-microfisuras]

Peter Orlovsky, c. 1955, NY.

Allen Ginsberg

[davidhudson]

Peter Orlovsky, July 8, 1933 – May 30, 2010.

1963 photo by Allen Ginsberg.

[joeinct]

Peter Orlovsky (with hat) and Allen Ginsberg, on a double sided bench, Place St. Germain-des-Pres, Photo by Harold Chapman, c. 1956

[colonellickburger]

Allen Ginsberg. Calcutta, self-portrait with Peter Orlovsky (poet), 1962

[bi-buddha]

Mega-gay poet and writer Allen Ginsberg was born on June 3, 1926 & died on April 5, 1997 at age 70. Pictured here with his longtime partner, fellow poet, writer, and bisexual Peter Orlovsky. They exchanged vows, but they maintained an open relationship.

[creativespark]

Peter Orlovsky (American, 1933-2010), Allen Ginsberg, Cherry Valley, NY, 1972

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

N. 37

Peter Orlovsky, Clean Asshole Poems & Smiling Vegetable Songs, 1978

[hornworts]

Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky, poets, New York, December 30, 1963. Photograph by Richard Avedon

[leemokitkat]

“tho i long for the actual sunlight contact between us i miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me”

<Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky, 1968>

Regulus Black to James Potter, 1977

[coldcoldlampin]

[senor-plume]

My Bed Is Covered Yellow

My bed is covered yellow - Oh Sun, I sit on you Oh golden field I lay on you Oh money I dream of you More, More, cried the bed - talk to me more - Oh bed that taked the weight of the world - all the lost dreams laid on you Oh bed that grows no hair, that cannot be fucked or can be fucked Oh bed crumbs of all ages spiled on you Oh yellow bed march to the sun whear yr journey will be done Oh 50 lbs. of bed that takes 400 more lbs- how strong you are Oh bed, only for man & not for animals yellow bed when will the animals have equal rights? Oh 4 legged bed off the floor forever built Oh yellow bed all the news of the world lay on you at one time or another

Peter Orlovsky

1957, Paris

[bosguy]

Vintage gay

This week's #VintageGay photo dates back some 60+ years and includes a photo of two American writers, Ginsberg & Orlovsky.

This week’s photo was taken somewhere between 1958 and 1961 when Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky were romantically linked. Previous Vintage Gay Photos

[desertarchipelago]

[evilkitten3]

SOME ONE LIKED ME WHEN I WAS TWELVE

When I was a kid in summer camp, around 13teen & and one night I lay asleep in bunglow bed with 13teen other boys, when in comes one of the camp councilors who is nice fellow that likes ya, comeing to my bed, sits down & starts to say: now you will be leaving soon back to Flushing & I may never see you again—but if theres ever aneything I

can do to help ya let me know, my farther is a lawyer & I live at such & such a place & this is my adress—I like you very much— & if yr ever alone in the world come to me. So I loked at him getting sad & tuched & then years latter like now, 28, laying on bed, my hunney-due mellon Allen sleeping next to me —I realize he was quear & wanted my flesh meat & my sweetness of that age— that we just might of given each other.

[manwalksintobar]

White Shroud (pt III) // Allen Ginsberg

My years of haunting continental city streets, apartment dreams, old rooms I used to live in, still paid rent for, homeless keys didn't work, locks changed, immigre families occupied my familiar hallway lodgings - I wandered downhill avenues lost, money gone, I'd come back home - I couldn't recognize houses in London, Paris, Bronx, by Columbia library, downtown 8th Avenue near Chelsea Subway - Those years unsettled - were over now, here I could live forever, here have a home, with Naomi, at long last, at long long last, my search was ended in this pleasant way, time to care for her before death, long way to go yet, lots of trouble her cantankerous habits, shameful blankets near the street, tooth pots, dirty pans, half paralyzed stubborn, she needed my middle aged strength and worldly money knowledge, housekeeping art. I can cook and write books for a living, she'll not have to beg her medicine food, a new set of teeth for company, won't yell at the world, I can afford a telephone, after twenty-five years we could call up aunt Edie in California, I'll have a place to stay. ''Best of all,'' I told Naomi ''Now don't get mad, you realize your old enemy Grandma's still alive! She lives a Couple blocks downhill, I just saw her, like you!'' My breast rejoiced, all my troubles over, she was content, too old to care or yell her grudge, only complaining her bad teeth. What long-sought peace! Then glad of life I woke in Boulder before dawn, my second story bedroom windows Bluff Street facing East over town rooftops, I returned from the Land of the Dead to living Poesy, and wrote this tale of mind joy, to have seen my mother again! And when the ink ran out of my pen, and rosy violet illumined city treetop skies above the Flatiron Front Range, I went downstairs to the shady living room, where Peter Orlovsky sat with long hair lit by television glow to watch the sunrise weather news, I kissed him & filled my pen and wept. 6:35 A.M. Oct. 5 '83