Monday, July 26, 2010

June 4, 1963

- I guess I should attempt to "cultivate" a greater restraint on my reactions toward the existent evil of things (that is these unctuous masks, designed to cocker the vagaries of the "helpless masses")

But how does one do so? Shall I hunt the hydra out? Cry out, too, among the hills? It is however true to say that I am urban and not sylvan - altho God knows I'd be where the angelic gracious people abide.

The outside would keep losing (loosing?) itself in my estimation - it fades like the scent of a rose.

Only the faint (and soon I shall cast it out, as so many briers plucked from a coat) remembrance remains which continues to "revivify" the sentient brain. But am I doing the right thing? And it is certain - or is it? - that I can once again enter the world. Dying! - longing for the seclusion, the brook, the animal gloriousness, the understanding effulgent with a light of depth and height - that is, a reaching backward and an extending forward are involved in a direction that is the same. - It is humid tonight. Was it this way last night, too? -

Saturday, July 17, 2010

June 3, 1963

More rain How I've been thinking why is it that a philosopher spends all his life trying to prove that a certain social order of things is false because at its source hidden behind "veils of deception" there reigns "un-freedom" rather than "freedom" - and yet his whole palliative theory is based on just this announcement of the necessary.

It certainly is a gloomy day - went out this morning for a pack of cigarettes - ran right back in - don't know if I'll go out to-night should like to - is it heavy rain, or light rain? Why am I writing these "seemingly" unworthy events down? Will they show me tomorrow how I was to-day? did I somehow say this last week? - Sometimes I feel as if were trying to push myself out from a mass of unknown stone.

Courtsey of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Frank to Cid 1960

Click on image of letter to enlarge. First letter to Cid Corman thanking him for consideration to Origin. Sending him selections from "Song Book". Frank lived in Brooklyn at the time. 27 years old, very young and very shy.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Frank Samperi NY Reading 1987


This is a reading that my father did in NYC in 1987 that my brother, David Samperi recorded.

I don't know of many readings that my father did but I wish he had done more of them.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

June 2, 1963

"When you feel bad, that's when you start tearing "me apart" these words come to me from the dark.

I'm fed-up - I want to leave - it seems as if I am where I was 6 years ago (come to think of it I've always been at the front of departure - but pain "holds me up") always in the mind there's a place, and yet the illusoriness of the distance and the groupings that so define it, "fashion" tremors in the anticipation of the movement. We do however, "manage to reckon the number of steps we've ascended or descended in time (in other words how the hell did we get here).
They came in droves and we sat down on a bench by the lake. Birds fluttering in grass, children running under leaves ("dark waves" under pliant strips of light). After the noise we returned home (a day spent amid "decidousness " - all "degrees of exploitation" manifesting "themselves" as a group phenomenon - an "individual confronted, just a nice guy, unaware of the "injustices" giving himself up to the salubriuosness of Central Park - when placed in his natural habitat of stinking poverty, his crestfallen tenement face is a excrescent manifestation of direful individual exploitation. The air its tremulousness - all things under the sun: thus we pass thru and we don't even weep. -

Courtsey of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University.