This is a chorus from Mexico City Blues. There's a point in this book where Kerouac hits his stride and can do no wrong.
My father in downtown red
walked around like a shadow
of ink black, in hat, nodding,
in the immemorial lights of my dreams.
One of the lines I like the most is "straw hat, newspaper in pocket, liquor on the breath, barbershop shine." It just defines an image through four associated facts.
1 comment:
C'est beau. I am against Kerouac normally for biographical style reasons mais c'est beau.
Speaking of biography, note introductory essay here if you have not seen it, that thinks at some moments that it is criticizing biographical readings of FGL but is not, just cannot break the mold (from what my cursory glance can tell). http://www.worldcat.org/title/companion-to-federico-garcia-lorca/oclc/238828649
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