Poet, publisher and bookseller Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who helped launch and perpetuate the Beat movement, has died. He was 101.
Ferlinghetti died at his San Francisco home on Monday, his son Lorenzo Ferlinghetti told The Associated Press on Tuesday. The cause was lung disease.
His father died “in his own room,” holding the hands of his son and his son’s girlfriend, “as he took his last breath,” his son said.
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Lorenzo Ferlinghetti said his father loved Italian food and the restaurants in the North Beach neighbourhood where he made his home and founded his famous bookstore. He had received the first dose of the COVID vaccine last week and was a month shy of turning 102.
Ferlinghetti was known for his City Lights bookstore in San Francisco, an essential meeting place for the Beats and other bohemians in the 1950s and beyond.
Its publishing arm released books by Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs and many others. The most famous release was Ginsberg’s anthemic poem, Howl . It led to a 1957 obscenity trial that broke new ground for freedom of expression.
Few poets of the past 60 years were so well known or so influential. His books sold more than 1 million copies worldwide, a fantasy for virtually any of his peers, and he ran one of the world's most famous and distinctive bookstores, City Lights.
Although he never considered himself one of the Beats, he was a patron and soul mate and, for many, a lasting symbol — preaching a nobler and more ecstatic American dream.
“Am I the consciousness of a generation or just some old fool sounding off and trying to escape the dominant materialist avaricious consciousness of America?” he asked in Little Boy , a stream of consciousness novel published around his 100th birthday.
Ferlinghetti defied history. The internet, superstore chains and high rents shut down numerous booksellers in the Bay Area and beyond, but City Lights remained a thriving political and cultural outlet, where one section was devoted to books enabling “revolutionary competence,” where employees could get the day off to attend an anti-war protest.
“Generally, people seem to get more conservative as they age, but in my case, I seem to have gotten more radical,” Ferlinghetti told Interview magazine in 2013. “Poetry must be capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this means sounding apocalyptic.”
The store even endured during the coronavirus outbreak, when it was forced to close and required $300,000 to stay in business. A GoFundMe campaign quickly raised $400,000.
Ferlinghetti, tall and bearded, with sharp blue eyes, could be soft-spoken, even introverted and reticent in unfamiliar situations. But he was the most public of poets and his work wasn’t intended for solitary contemplation.
It was meant to be recited or chanted out loud, whether in coffee houses, bookstores or at campus gatherings. His 1958 compilation, A Coney Island of the Mind , sold hundreds of thousands of copies in the U.S. alone.
Long an outsider from the poetry community, Ferlinghetti once joked that he had “committed the sin of too much clarity”.
He called his style “wide open” and his work, influenced in part by e.e. cummings, was often lyrical and childlike: “Peacocks walked/under the night trees/in the lost moon/light/when I went out/looking for love,” he wrote in Coney Island .
Ferlinghetti also was a playwright, novelist, translator and painter and had many admirers among musicians. In 1976, he recited The Lord’s Prayer at the Band’s farewell concert, immortalised in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Waltz . The folk-rock band Aztec Two-Step lifted its name from a line in the title poem of Ferlinghetti’s Coney Island book: “A couple of Papish cats/is doing an Aztec two-step.”
