Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Allen Ginsberg's "At Apollinaire's Grave," written in 1958, offers an intellectual and emotional pilgrimage to the final resting place of Guillaume Apollinaire, the French poet renowned for his role in Surrealism. The poem, rife with historical and cultural allusions, serves as both an homage and an extension of a conversation that Ginsberg imagines he would have had with Apollinaire. The piece is set against the backdrop of political and social upheaval marked by eisenhower's visit to France, the U.S. President "winging in from his American graveyard."

Divided into three distinct sections, the poem transcends mere eulogy to become an ontological exploration. Ginsberg not only grapples with the memories and legacies of Apollinaire and other poets, artists, and intellectuals-such as Max Jacob, Picasso, and Tzara-but also reckons with his own transient existence. His admission, "Peter Orlovsky and I walked softly thru Pere Lachaise we both knew we would die," captures the transient nature of life.

Ginsberg pays homage to Apollinaire by envisioning his own poem, "Howl," lying on top of Apollinaire's "Caligramme," thus uniting the voices of poetic rebellion across generations. The line "I hope some wild kidmonk lays his pamphlet on my grave for God to read me on cold winter nights in heaven" hints at Ginsberg's longing for continuity, for becoming part of the poetic tradition that stretches into eternity.

The second part of the poem, set in a Paris that houses the spirits of great artists, becomes a theater where Ginsberg imagines dialogues with iconic figures. These conversations are not just whimsical projections; they serve to knit Ginsberg into the very fabric of a european intellectual lineage that confronts political tumult and existential dread. The lines "Tzara in the Bois de Boulogne explaining the alchemy of the machineguns of the cuckoos" portray a surreal interaction that mirrors the disorienting conflicts of the 20th century.

The final section of the poem reverberates with stark, haunting images as Ginsberg sits alone by Apollinaire's modest grave. The minute details-"an ant runs over my corduroy sleeve," "one silky spiderweb gleaming on granite"-underscore his sense of smallness and ephemerality. Yet, it is this very meditation on mortality that ennobles the human condition and artistic endeavor. even as Ginsberg acknowledges the finality of death-"mystery and ego gone"-he also recognizes that artistic legacy endures, that conversations can cross the chasm of time and space, kept alive through the written word.

Ginsberg's "At Apollinaire's Grave" is a multi-layered, evocative piece that invites readers to contemplate mortality, lineage, and the enduring power of art. It questions, commemorates, and converses, offering a potent commentary on how poets and their works can transcend temporal limitations. It also forces us to confront the complexity of legacy: who will remember us, how they will remember us, and what conversations our own lives will inspire long after we're gone.