mark elliott driver

what is it about this particular group of dissidents from 1950s america that has always drawn my attention? when i was about 21 working as a shop assistant, i challenged myself to learn to recite by heart the 112 phrases of the poem ‘Howl’ by allen ginsberg – i did pretty well at the time.

‘what sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and eat up their brains and imagination.. Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness!’

the best thing about allen ginsberg is that a lot of what he taught in the naropa institute in denver was recorded. full lectures on the poetics of shakespeare and william blake – poetry readings and discussion with other renowned writers such as burroughs and corso – it was magical hearing my favourite writer speak about and decode his favourite writers.

there was something aspirational about allen and the beat writers – kerouac, burroughs, kesey, corso, snyder – looking for the profound in the everyday, in nature. in their writing there was a celebration of eastern thought and expansive consciousness – a precursor to the hippy movement which came 10/15 years later. kerouac was especially interested in buddhist thought – the idea of emptiness and impermanence – so different from the western christian ideals of judgement and heaven and hell. his travel diaries of pinballing from coast to coast on a rollercoaster ride from the bowery to the bronx to denver seeking angels and girls etc.

they informed my choice to dedicate myself to the art of writing, the discipline of travel and the practise of an open mind. they explored using psychoactive compounds, rejected conventional lifestyles and seemed interested in just about everything. they were bisexual or gay and loved the illuminated poetry of Blake and Whitman, they created a world unto themselves.

i chased down allen and jack on the road in mexico and the united states, living on the road and throwing up my fortunes to chance – on the next ride, the next horizon. i jumped in cars and trucks with many a stranger, arrived in many a place without knowing where i would sleep that night, explored the mind, read and wrote poetry, had beautiful and meaningful connections with people on a daily basis.

the stories of the merry pranksters, ken kesey, neil cassidy were another inspiration to get onto the great american road. i found enormous gatherings in mexico, guatemala montana and british columbia where money would not be exchanged, but exchange of work, skills and handicrafts. i camped out at these gatherings for months on end and lived that dream while i could. and it was surely a dream and it ended like everything eventually does.

i am more settled now with a stable abode and a more focussed pursuit of something more tangible than ‘the road’, but still allen and the beat writers come calling once in a while to remind me of who i am – nudge me towards a more illuminated and broad perspective on reality, or just sing me a silly song.

without them life would be dull, with them life is joyful.