poet Ted Berrigan

Ted Berrigan

Ted Berrigan
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Berrigan was born in Providence, Rhode Island, on November 15, 1934. After high school, he spent a year at Providence College before joining the U.S. Army in 1954 to serve in the Korean War. After three years in the Army, he finished his college studies at the University of Tulsa in Oklahoma, where he received a B.A. in English in 1959 and falling just short of the requirements for a M.A. in 1962. Berrigan was married to Sandy Berrigan, also a poet, and they had two children, David Berrigan and Kate Berrigan. He and his second wife the poet Alice Notley were active in the poetry scene in Chicago for several years, then moved to New York City, where he edited various magazines and ... more »

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Comments about Ted Berrigan

  • laurence burris (11/14/2020 4:32:00 PM)

    this is a poem inspired by ted berrigan an electric saw is being used to cut poem as i read about ted berrigan in the year of the covid-19 virus i am listening to jazz in the year of the covid-19 virus i am reading the tibetan book of the dead ted I need to drink the electric kool-aid ted, there is no place like home

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  • Terry Jacobus (7/10/2020 8:13:00 AM)

    I was a friend of Ted and Alice here in Chicago/ We went on some amazing adventures together.
    From driving range golf, to Female Gay bars, the Kerouac Fest of 82/ where he told the ticket master I was his lover landing me a first row Swami seat, next to Timothy Leary, Gregory Corso,
    His time spent in Chicago was precious. A street mentor with a Scorpio wit. Blessings TJ-20

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  • yurdddd (4/5/2019 11:18:00 AM)

    this poem kinda nice

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Best Poem of Ted Berrigan

Frank O'Hara

Winter in the country, Southampton, pale horse
as the soot rises, then settles, over the pictures
The birds that were singing this morning have shut up
I thought I saw a couple kissing, but Larry said no
It’s a strange bird. He should know. & I think now
“Grandmother divided by monkey equals outer space.” Ron
put me in that picture. In another picture, a good-
looking poet is thinking it over, nevertheless, he will
never speak of that it. But, his face is open, his eyes
are clear, and, leaning lightly on an elbow, fist below
his ear, he will never be less than ...

Read the full of Frank O'Hara