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A Supermarket in California
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8.4
/10
(50
votes)
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What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the
streets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit
supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles
full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes! --- and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the
meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price
bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and
followed in my imagination by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting
artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does
your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel
absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to
shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in
driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you
have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and
stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
Allen Ginsberg
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Read poems about / on: shopping, america, lonely, teacher, courage, angel, father, together, moon, dream, lost, home, night, tree, husband, family, baby, water
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Comments about this poem (A Supermarket in California
by
Allen Ginsberg
) |
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Click here to write your
comments about this poem (A Supermarket in California by
Allen Ginsberg
)
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Michael Schuler
(10/16/2009 6:16:00 PM) |
James: Interesting observation. I have not read Garcia Lorca's bio, but had read about his interest in Harlem and the experience of blacks in America and interpreted the reference to Garcia Lorca as a humorous reference from one transgressive poet (Ginsberg thinks that store security is following him) to another.
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James Brusseau
(9/18/2009 3:11:00 PM) |
I too was confused by the meaning of the poem. I was thinking it was just a funny, kind of silly remembrance of Whitman, fooling around a bit with simple grocery store items. Then I read the bio of Frederico Garcia Lorca (a man mentioned in the poem) and an entirely new meaning became blindingly obvious. Lorca, was really devastated about failed homosexual relationships. His two major love interests, one interestingly enough was Salvador Dali, went on to have marriages with women. This is a poem, asking the question of, What does America hold for me the homosexual? The answer is a sad: 'we'll both be lonely.' I won't quote continued lines from the poem, but if you want to feel seem empathy for Ginsberg, Wikipedia Lorca and then reread the poem and focus and the words that are addressing a sense of disenfranchisement from the empty promises America was making, viewed in the context of post World War II feelings that were surfacing and no doubt helping to form the Beat Generation.
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Alex Maric
(3/19/2009 6:37:00 PM) |
Gregory Collins... I am actually really puzzled. Your comment is pretty... unique. Thanks for that. I have no idea what it means, but you get an A for effort I guess.
I like this poem, even if it's really odd and doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Ginsburg really seems to like putting references to other poets/ events in his work. If you really analyze it line by line, you can slowly uncover some of the more obscure things that originally made you scratch you head and wonder what exactly you just read.
Ginsburg makes references to Garcia Lorca, Walt Whitman, and Charon. Lorca was a nationalist poet that was executed during the Spanish Civil War. He also mentions Walt Whitman, a fellow gay poet. I'm not really 100% sure of the meaning, but A Supermarket in California is definitely interesting. (even if it is totally bizarre)
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Kaitlynn Lalond
(3/19/2009 6:27:00 PM) |
Umm...this poem is a little odd and I'm not really sure of the meaning! I liked the way you can visualize the baby in the tomatoes, the children in avacados and the man enjoying the frozen treats. I'm probably gonna say that this poem isn't really about a supermarket. Allen also talks about America and maybe he wishes that the freedom and excitement that people felt in the grocery store would also be felt in their everyday American lives! This poem has to have more meaning then just talking about ripe produce in a supermarket, but I just have no idea what it is! ! I think this poem was extremely well written and explains things really well.
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Gregory Collins
(12/14/2007 5:43:00 PM) |
somewhere west of Mandalay, ginsberg is the wilderness inside yellow rapeseed flowers, a cry of dust from the soul town
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Brian Dorn
(7/25/2006 9:52:00 AM) |
Lots of visual fun in this but profound at the same time, particularly the end.
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Bryan Castro
(2/20/2006 3:26:00 AM) |
The poem mainly hits absurdity. It has even included one of the great literature man of his time, sir Walt Whitman, a very wise move or an unruly one for the part of Ginsberg. Anyway, the poem touches where it is bound to coil. Enjoy.
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True Ataraxy
(1/18/2006 10:47:00 PM) |
There seems to be confusion about the correct lines of this poem.Like many beat poets, Ginsberg worked a lot with the line placement. Ginsberg plays with enjambment and endstops as a matter of humour in this poem. As I know it it should be:
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes! -and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
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