![]() Wreck after Raniket, government jeep has gone over the side of a cliff. Bright umbrellas held over their heads, cheeks painted, beads hanging in front of their faces and tall bright colored hats, paper tinsel.Īt the train station early, the bagpipe band of well trained and uniformed bandmen playing near a large beflagged tent set with cups and saucers waiting for a wedding party to arrive from Delhi.īus from Kuldani to Almora. It’s better to be a good man, than to be a yogi.įour bridegrooms on the way. The air and hills clear, river fast moving & muddy. And on train and bus to Almora.Ĭrossing the river Ganges yesterday in morning boat with Jaipur peasants, they singing. Traveling all night by train to Bareilly. The picture seller pulls the old beggar man’s beard when he tries to help, and slaps his face. Green hills, farmer’s house and land terraced down the side. Allen makes Peter in the next room.Ĭlimbed the hill, Nealcant, behind the ashram, until noon to view Himalayas. Sleeping bag liners, shawl, Gary’s parka, and on.įruit salad when they return. Soaking the clothes for 30 minutes in the room and back to rinse and bringing back a fresh bucket for new laundry soaking. Lugging buckets from the faucets at the pumps. A grey heavy wind dries the clothes on the porch. Reading Kim all day between bouts of laundry. I could step back into Brentano’s stock room. The rest into Hardwar to see the beginning of Kumbh Mela. ‘Allen Ginsberg, Zen master politician.’ Constantly harps on the poorer physical aspects of Allen-thin, glasses, white, stooped shoulders. Probably wants to write or be spiritual in big way-and envies Burroughs, Ginsberg-who he basically hates-covering it up with gooey admiration. He says he loves the poets but from the way he writes about them he turns them into unattractive foolish asses, drops just enough phrases through the mouths of others to show how he feels-no baths, big phone bill. Pages peppered with words like: sweet loving guy, sweet new therapy, fine loving afternoon. Peter pets them.Ĭhapter II from some book by Tim Leary at Harvard University Center for Research in Personality, who turns everyone onto mushroom pills. A cat comes through the bars at night and knocks over a pail of it, comes back to lap it up.Ĭows and bulls outside the door, one pins Allen to the gate. Leaves the cup outside and a dog eats it. Gary insists I eat yogurt and spills it over my mouth and sleeping bag. Swami Sri Lingam doing yoga asanas for us. Ganges and small mountains behind us, on the Shivananda side. ![]() “When the mode of music changes, the walls of the city shake.”Īfternoon all of us on roof on hill. Reading Allen’s article from Second Coming. Bird hops through the window looking for crumbs. Made Indian style tea on spirit burner-milk, tea, sugar, boiled together for us all. Gary in front of Agra Fort Pearl Mosque.View from lodging across to other side of river from hill where we spent the first night at Rishikesh.Allen, Peter, Gary sitting on bathing steps on Shivananda’s side of river.Gary meditating in sand, Allen standing on tall rock in background.Portrait of Gary with wet hair, Allen behind in the Ganges.Gary changes last of my color film exposing by accident last pictures. Sadhus sitting in meditation, red eyes, matted hair up by the bridge. Everyone strips to undershorts, launders and bathes in the river. A few orange robes spread on rocks to dry. Afternoon walk down to sand and rock point of Ganges-white glittering sand. Below are entries from Kyger’s journal, written in India in March 1962. From there, the two traveled to India, together with Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky, where they met the Dalai Lama. In 1960, when she was in her late twenties, the poet Joanne Kyger (1934–2017) joined Gary Snyder in Japan.
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