Jack Kerouac
😿 Death of a Cat 😽
😿 Death of a Cat 😽
≧ ◔ ◡ ◔ ≦
“Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother - I loved Tyke with all my heart, he was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand and with his little head hanging down, or just purring for hours, just as long as I held him that way, walking or sitting.
- He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold that big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he’d just purr, he had complete confidence in me -- and when I’d left New York to come to my retreat in the woods I’d carefully kissed him and instructed him to wait for me ‘Attends pour mue kitigingoo’
- But my mother said in the letter he had died the NIGHT AFTER I LEFT.” - Jack Kerouac, Big Sur
😽
Jean-Louis Lebris de Kérouac (March 12, 1922 – October 21, 1969), known as Jack Kerouac, was an American novelist and poet who, alongside William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg, was a pioneer of the Beat Generation.
Of French-Canadian ancestry, Kerouac was raised in a French-speaking home in Lowell, Massachusetts. He "learned English at age six and spoke with a marked accent into his late teens." During World War II, he served in the United States Merchant Marine; he completed his first novel at the time, which was published more than 40 years after his death. His first published book was The Town and the City (1950), and he achieved widespread fame and notoriety with his second, On the Road, in 1957. It made him a beat icon, and he went on to publish 12 more novels and numerous poetry volumes.
Kerouac is recognized for his style of stream of consciousness spontaneous prose. Thematically, his work covers topics such as his Catholic spirituality, jazz, travel, promiscuity, life in New York City, Buddhism, drugs, and poverty. He became an underground celebrity and, with other Beats, a progenitor of the hippie movement, although he remained antagonistic toward some of its politically radical elements. He has a lasting legacy, greatly influencing many of the cultural icons of the 1960s, including Bob Dylan, the Beatles, Jerry Garcia and the Doors.
In 1969, at the age of 47, Kerouac died from an abdominal
hemorrhage caused by a lifetime of heavy drinking. Since then, his
literary prestige has grown, and several previously unseen works have
been published.
“I am my mother’s son. All other identities are artificial and recent. Naked, basic, actually, I am my mother’s son. I emerged from her womb and set out on this earth. The earth gave me another identity, that of name, personality, appearance, character, and spirit. The earth is my grandmother; I am the earth’s grandson. The way I comb my hair today has nothing to do with myself, who am my mother’s son and the earth’s grandson. I am put on this earth to prove that I am my mother’s son. I am also on this earth, my grandmother, to be her spokesman, in my chosen and natural way. The earth owns the least to myself; she shall take me back, and my mother too. We have proven the earth’s truth and meaning, which is, simply life and death.”
― Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems
― Jack Kerouac: Collected Poems
"As for my mother, there’s no other like her in the world, really. Did she bear me just to have a little child to bless her heart? She got her wish."
- Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels
- Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels
Of Cats and Men
By Marc DionTwo friends, husband and wife, owned five cats. One of the cats died this week. His name was Fezzik, named after a character in "The Princess Bride," and he was a particular favorite of the man.
And the man, who is big and bearded, and likes flannel shirts, is bereft. The man is expert in the use of power tools, and can make things out of wood.
If his dog died, people would understand, but they do not understand because Fezzik was a cat, a small thing who could not be reliably trained to retrieve dead ducks, or guard the home, or shake hands on command.
But the cat napped with the man sometimes, and purred, and rubbed against his hand.
My wife and I have two cats, Maggie and Jack. Jack is named after American author Jack Kerouac. Jack is a gray striped cat, not too big, and not too bright. I speak French to Jack because Kerouac and I both spoke the language as children.
Jack sleeps next to my ankles on cold New England nights, and meets me at the door when I come home.
My friend Geoff, co-owner of the late Fezzik, has discovered that people take the death of a cat much less seriously than they do the death of a dog. It bothers him, and I dug out the Kerouac quote at the top of this column to make him feel better.
Say, "My dog died last night," to your co-workers," and they will melt in sympathy. Co-workers of both sexes may even hug you.
Say, "My cat died last night," and the needle on the sympathy gauge will plummet toward "E." This is particularly true if you're a man.
If you're a man, loving a cat is truly the love that dare not speak its name.
https://www.creators.com/read/marc-dion/06/21/of-cats-and-men?fbclid=IwAR2mzNePF2GHsYUuKOW7E_O3woxwKc3Ut7xfiCkuWkzH8f09rnP1C7MIX54
And the man, who is big and bearded, and likes flannel shirts, is bereft. The man is expert in the use of power tools, and can make things out of wood.
If his dog died, people would understand, but they do not understand because Fezzik was a cat, a small thing who could not be reliably trained to retrieve dead ducks, or guard the home, or shake hands on command.
But the cat napped with the man sometimes, and purred, and rubbed against his hand.
My wife and I have two cats, Maggie and Jack. Jack is named after American author Jack Kerouac. Jack is a gray striped cat, not too big, and not too bright. I speak French to Jack because Kerouac and I both spoke the language as children.
Jack sleeps next to my ankles on cold New England nights, and meets me at the door when I come home.
My friend Geoff, co-owner of the late Fezzik, has discovered that people take the death of a cat much less seriously than they do the death of a dog. It bothers him, and I dug out the Kerouac quote at the top of this column to make him feel better.
Say, "My dog died last night," to your co-workers," and they will melt in sympathy. Co-workers of both sexes may even hug you.
Say, "My cat died last night," and the needle on the sympathy gauge will plummet toward "E." This is particularly true if you're a man.
If you're a man, loving a cat is truly the love that dare not speak its name.
https://www.creators.com/read/marc-dion/06/21/of-cats-and-men?fbclid=IwAR2mzNePF2GHsYUuKOW7E_O3woxwKc3Ut7xfiCkuWkzH8f09rnP1C7MIX54
Cool Cats:
Beat Poets & their Feline Friends
Oct 28, 2017For some reason, if you look back through literary history, it seems most great authors had a fondness for cats. Purrrhaps * that’s because being a writer often requires a rather cat-like existence… but more likely it’s just a case of confirmation bias. The internet loves cats, therefore there will be enough photos of authors and cats circulating online to convince us that cats are somehow muses to the greats of literature. But whichever of those options is true, certainly enough of our great writers have had close relationships with felines to make it seem as though cat-ownership is somehow a pre-requisite for literary brilliance.
The writers of the Beat Generation were no strangers to this odd phenomenon, as I shall explore below:
The writers of the Beat Generation were no strangers to this odd phenomenon, as I shall explore below:
😽
Jack Kerouac
"Ordinarily, the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother."
Jack Kerouac included the above quote in his novel, Big Sur, about the death of Tyke, his beloved cat. The passage in which he mourns the loss of his cat his heart-wrenching and shows the genuine love he had for the animal.
…He was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand and with his little head hanging down, or just purring for hours… He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold that big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he’d just purr, he had complete confidence in me…
When Kerouac traveled Europe, evidently the cats he saw left a significant impression upon him:
What amazed me as much as anything were the fat calm tabby cats of London some of whom slept peacefully right in the doorway of butcher shops as people stepped over them carefully, right there in the sawdust sun but a nose away from the roaring traffic of trams and buses and cars.
"Ordinarily, the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother."
Jack Kerouac included the above quote in his novel, Big Sur, about the death of Tyke, his beloved cat. The passage in which he mourns the loss of his cat his heart-wrenching and shows the genuine love he had for the animal.
…He was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand and with his little head hanging down, or just purring for hours… He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold that big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he’d just purr, he had complete confidence in me…
When Kerouac traveled Europe, evidently the cats he saw left a significant impression upon him:
What amazed me as much as anything were the fat calm tabby cats of London some of whom slept peacefully right in the doorway of butcher shops as people stepped over them carefully, right there in the sawdust sun but a nose away from the roaring traffic of trams and buses and cars.
England must be the land of cats, they abide peacefully all over the back fences of St John’s Wood. Elderly ladies feed them lovingly just like Ma feeds my cats. In Tangiers or Mexico City you hardly ever see a cat, if so late at night, because the poor often catch them and eat them. I felt London was blessed by its kind regard for cats.
😽
William S. Burroughs
Burroughs oddly became quite well-known among cat-loving types for his book, The Cat Inside, , in which he tells bizarrely adorable stories about his precious kitties. For readers familiar with the author’s earlier works like Naked Lunch, this might have been a rather big surprise. Indeed, as a young man, Burroughs was more interested in torturing cats than cuddling them. Something changed in him late in life, and he became a convert to cats, claiming “My relationship with cats has saved me from a deadly, pervasive ignorance.”
Yet aside from passages decrying dogs and musing on the nature of cuteness, Burroughs’ thoughts on cats aren’t entirely alien to his earlier writings. He argues that a cat’s role in the human world is, and always has been, as a “psychic companion” and that above all else they are “practical.”
Elsewhere, Burroughs spoke of the importance of cats in his life. When Allen Ginsberg asked him about love, he claimed that he only wanted to be loved by his cats. In his very last journal entry, he claimed love to be the most important thing in the world… and cited his love for his cats as an example of that sort of love.
😽
William S. Burroughs
Burroughs oddly became quite well-known among cat-loving types for his book, The Cat Inside, , in which he tells bizarrely adorable stories about his precious kitties. For readers familiar with the author’s earlier works like Naked Lunch, this might have been a rather big surprise. Indeed, as a young man, Burroughs was more interested in torturing cats than cuddling them. Something changed in him late in life, and he became a convert to cats, claiming “My relationship with cats has saved me from a deadly, pervasive ignorance.”
Yet aside from passages decrying dogs and musing on the nature of cuteness, Burroughs’ thoughts on cats aren’t entirely alien to his earlier writings. He argues that a cat’s role in the human world is, and always has been, as a “psychic companion” and that above all else they are “practical.”
Elsewhere, Burroughs spoke of the importance of cats in his life. When Allen Ginsberg asked him about love, he claimed that he only wanted to be loved by his cats. In his very last journal entry, he claimed love to be the most important thing in the world… and cited his love for his cats as an example of that sort of love.
😽
Allen Ginsberg
Allen Ginsberg was more inclined to use the word “cat” to refer to people than actual felines, and didn’t leave much of a written record of his relationship with the cats in his life. However, he owned a cat during his stay at the Beat Hotel in Paris, and upon returning to the U.S. after that trip he adopted another cat. Later in life, while living at East Hill Farm, he also owned cats.
That isn’t to say cats were entirely absent from his poetry. They pop up in little poems he noted down in his journals, with one of the better lines being:
Truth climbs upon the bed like a black cat purring
😽
https://www.beatdom.com/cool-cats-beat-poets-feline-friends/
Allen Ginsberg
Allen Ginsberg was more inclined to use the word “cat” to refer to people than actual felines, and didn’t leave much of a written record of his relationship with the cats in his life. However, he owned a cat during his stay at the Beat Hotel in Paris, and upon returning to the U.S. after that trip he adopted another cat. Later in life, while living at East Hill Farm, he also owned cats.
That isn’t to say cats were entirely absent from his poetry. They pop up in little poems he noted down in his journals, with one of the better lines being:
Truth climbs upon the bed like a black cat purring
😽
https://www.beatdom.com/cool-cats-beat-poets-feline-friends/
😽
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