Βενζίνη

by Gregory Corso

Second collection of poems by the "velvet poet."

Genres: Poetry, Fiction

48 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1958

About the author

Gregory Nunzio Corso was an American poet, youngest of the inner circle of Beat Generation writers.

Reviews

[Bill Kerwin · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you like the classic City Lights edition of Ginsberg's Howl, the next book you should buy in the series—certainly before all the later Ginsbergs--is Gregory Corso's Gasoline. The youngest and most incandescent of The Beats, Corso's lyrical utterances make a congenial companion to the hipster laments and holy catalogues of the early Ginsberg.

Corso was a NYC native with a rough childhood. He was born in the second year of the Great Depression at St. Vincent's (the hospital where Dylan Thomas died). Soon abandoned by his parents, he lived in orphanages and foster homes, but at the age of eleven he was out on the streets, sleeping on rooftops and in the subways. He was a thief by thirteen and at sixteen earned himself a trip to Dannemora.

The youngest hood in Clinton Prison, he was terrified of rape, but luckily caught the eye of Richard Biello—a Lucchese family capo doing time for murder—who adopted Gregory as a Mafia mascot, errand boy and clown, the one in charge of smuggling in the steaks and the veal and cooking them too. (Since I am a Goodfellas fan, I am fond of imagining Gregory in charge of the slow tomato sauce...stirring it, stirring it all day long.) He was also lucky in that he occupied “Lucky” Luciano's former cell: Charlie had not only endowed the prison with an excellent library but had also ordered a night light installed in his cell. Encouraged by his Mafia mentors, Corso began to read seriously, continually. As he tells us in this book's dedication—“the angels of Clinton Prison ... handed me, from the cells surrounding me, books of illumination.” Soon he began to write poetry. Above all, he loved the Romantics, and began to write rhymed verse.

One day, soon after his release in 1950, Corso was sitting in a NYC lesbian bar scribbling his conventional poetry when Allen Ginsberg walked over to his table. Ginsberg hit on him, unsuccessfully, but he genuinely admired Corso's poetry. Soon Ginsberg became Corso's mentor and friend, introducing him to a new kind of experimental, modern verse.

Corso's poems often seem undisciplined, a combination of goofy anarchic surrealism with a free-flowing style full of dark humor, panegyrical apostrophes ornamented by exclamation points, and rhetorical archaisms. Yet his affectations and apparent lack of discipline are deceptions: although Corso is an unabashed devotee of Percy Shelley, he is also the wily street kid, ever conscious of the impression he is making, with his eye on the main chance. Each poem is a revised mask of Corso the Romantic Urban Poet of the Streets: sensuous, enthusiastic, and savage.

The following three poems are only partially representative. The longer pieces, often about cities, tend to be more rhetorical, steeped in Shelley, and more surrealistic too. But since these three are short and I like them a lot, I'm gonna stick with them:


ITALIAN EXTRAVAGANZA

Mrs. Lombardi's month-old son is dead.
I saw it in Rizzo's funeral parlor,
a small purplish wrinkled head.

They've just finished having high mass for it;
They're coming out now
...wow, such a small coffin.
And ten black cadillacs to haul it in.


THE LAST GANGSTER

Waiting by the window
my feet enwrapped with the dead bootleggers of Chicago
I am the last gangster, safe, at last,
waiting by a bullet-proof window.

I look down the street and know
The two torpedoes from St. Louis
I've watched them grow old
...guns rusting in their arthritic hands.


THE MAD YAK

I am watching them churn the last milk
they'll ever get from me
They are waiting for me to die;
They want to make buttons out of my bones.
Where are my sisters and brothers?
The tall monk there, loading my uncle,
he has a new cap.
And that idiot student of his--
I never saw that muffler before.
Poor uncle, he lets them load him.
How sad he is, how tired!
I wonder what they'll do with his bones!
And that beautiful tail!
How many shoelaces will me make out of that!

[Theo Logos · Rating 4 out of 5]

There are no great poems in this volume. None leaped off the page, none was memorable enough to become an individual favorite. Yet these poems are consistently good, both the straightforward and the more surrealistic of them. And while individual poems did not grab my attention, the brilliantly imaginative imagery within them continually startled me —

mad children of soda caps laying down their abundant blond
verse on the gridiron of each other’s eucharistic feet

* * *
The Sun like a blazing lollipop can be sucked.

* * *
my window-shaped head is bowed with sad draperies

* * *
ventrilequal telegram/coughing bicycles

This early Corso definitely deserved its inclusion in the City Lights Pocket Poets series. It is memorable on its own, and hints at greater work to come.

[Mia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gregory Corso was an angel. With tumbled curls & eyes that held secrets few of us would want to share with the world. But Gregory did. He poured out his pain and hope and anger and forgiveness in a way that catches his readers in their middles and refuses to let go until we understand what he wants - no needs - us to understand. And you will have to read him to understand.

[Justin Hall · Rating 5 out of 5]

Interesting

I purchased this book while looking into the style of "beat" poetry. I didn't expect an amazing ride but truly enjoyed it. Maybe it plays to my own insanity but it's an amazing hot mess. Gritty and surreal. Worth the time you'll not realize you spent reading it.

[Barry Cunningham · Rating 4 out of 5]

I first read this book in the summer of 1965. Saw it beside Howl in a bookstore on Telegraph Avenue, probably Shakespeare & Co. It was delightfully iconoclastic, with overtones of Subterranean Homesick Blues. Well over my head at the time with its dense literary allusions and references to locations I hadn’t experienced yet. 55 years later, more widely read and more widely traveled, it makes more sense now. Of course not all of it make sense to anyone now; there are numerous obscure autobiographical and personal allusions we may never understand.
Corso was nothing if not a master of mixed metaphors ... or a mister of maxed metaphors. Some poems make Subterranean Homesick Blues look like MacArthur Park.
It starts in San Francisco (“O anti-verdurous phallic ... “) and ends in Paris (“ ... Dollhouse of Mama War.”) with, in Ginsberg’s words, “a box of crazy toys” in between.

[Shaun · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fantastic collection of poems. Although some poems are hit and miss, I feel that the strength of some other poems (like the brilliant sound styling within "For Miles" or the babbling and quick style of "In The Fleeting Hand Of Time") more than makes up for the general weakness of the few poems that feel weak or empty. The Beat spirit takes on an interesting turn with Corso's own individual person behind the pen.

[Grazia Palmisano · Rating 4 out of 5]

Avevo visto circolare questa copertina circolare tempo fa su Instagram e mi aveva incuriosito il titolo. Mi è piaciuto molto. È una poesia originale, viva, intensa, così come in fondo era lo stesso poeta. Molto utile l'introduzione iniziale, per me che non conoscevo Corso.

[Victor Barbosa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Nos momentos mais experimentais da obra, acabei me perdendo, indo para outro lugar. Se poesia for sobre sentir, acabei não sentindo o que Corso tentou passar em muitos desses poemas. Mas "I miss my dear cats", "But I do not need kindness", "Hello..." e "Zizi's lament" me atingiram como socos no estômago.

[Rand]

Bomb should be required reading as part of every 20th century History course in high schools far and wide.

Not sure if that poem is even included in this collection or not (my hunch tells me so) as I have long since lost my copy of this (and the other, Elegiac Feelings American) and so cannot know which one of those contains that poem, though I do know that that poem touched a chord deep in my soul at a tender age. That and Marriage, which caused me to first begin to rethink those old fish-out-water thoughts on that particular business contract / soul melding.

At a certain point I lent both Corso books to a particular friend of my sister's, of whom I had a silly crush on. Never did get them back. Or maybe I did and traded them in for other books? Fuck if I know, that was all oh so long ago . . .

Not really sure how or why Corso popped into my head though I am thankful for the illumination of both City Lights and Mr Corso.

[Dovofthegalilee · Rating 1 out of 5]

I read recently about Corso's life and it intrigued me, I wondered what sort of poetry would come from such a life experience as his. So I read GASOLINE and I have to wonder if that's not a hint as to what to use to burn this book with?!

[Mark Folse · Rating 3 out of 5]

Can't believe I'm just getting to this.

[Sandra · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Nunca morir sino ser infinito..."

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really enjoyable. Corso's poem are melodic and dream-like, but he also has the capability of wrenching you from the lull to ask deep questions.

[chacierrr · Rating 5 out of 5]

Expression in it’s purest form. Corso is a crafty poet with the ability to create beautiful paintings out of his poetry. Highly recommend.

[Mallory Drazin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Retroactively frustrated that I read Kerouac and Ginsberg and never heard anything about Corso. He was the real one.

[Mike · Rating 2 out of 5]

The second collection from Ginsberg's favorite poet (and unrequited love) Gregory Corso.

As a whole, this one didn't really resonate with me as much as I thought it might. There's some great stuff in here, to be sure--a couple really good poems and many wonderful, memorable lines--but there's also a lot of material that feels unfinished or that I just couldn't get into. The automatic writing bits are not my thing, and other small pieces feel similarly dashed off. I'm interested in reading his next collection, The Happy Birthday of Death, which is supposed to be his best, but this one largely was a disappointment for me.

[Olive Latham · Rating 4 out of 5]

Observational, witty, and brilliantly surreal. While the influence of Ginsberg is quite discernible, Corso emerges as a distinctive voice through his rhythmic affinity and oftentimes peculiar allusions that exude unapologetic authenticity and rawness. “I miss my dear cats” and “this was my meal” were my two stand outs of this collection, definitely looking forward to doing a second read through to really dive into a better analysis of each individual poem.

[Simone Subliminalpop · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cit.

[Lysergius · Rating 3 out of 5]

The "other" and probably most original San Francisco poet.

[Joao Luis · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lì edição portuguesa da Barco bêbado. 2021.

[matt · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Cooch]

a mixed bag

Not completely successful as a volume, but there is enough good poetry to make it well worth reading. There are some brilliant lines and phrases.

[gabriella · Rating 5 out of 5]

corso is truly the velvet poet. this is one of (if not *the*) most cohesive collection i've read. forever my favorite work of the beats!