Tattered Bodhisattva: “ Death ! Truth ! Meaning of Life ! / Love ! Romanticism ! Loss ! Reality ! Consciousness ! ”

by Anne Waldman
Anselm Hollo Memorial, Naropa University, July 7, 2013

Ted Berrigan with whom Anselm continued to have a long conversations (in his head and in his poetry) long after Ted’s death, used the phrase to me once: “tattered bodhisattva” (and also in a talk he gave at Naropa in describing in a sense what many of us were all doing circa mid-60–70s).  And he said “like Anselm Hollo.”  This was before the more secure teaching jobs, grants and the like raised the stature of poet survival.  The itinerant poet was singing for supper.  Have ticket will travel.

And this notion — bodhisattva — infuses a commitment to the role and ethos of poet, as one benefitting other interested and curious ones, on a kind of language trajectory, not exactly a do-good mission.  Buddhism speaks of how you are riding “in the vehicle of the bodhisattva.”  It’s not some solid identity of you as Bodhisattva.  This is what we do.  Ride in the vehicle.  Not about

la gloire or the money.  This particular ethos has been a key component to the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s as well as Colorado poetics community here on the Front Range, and in and around and building on the continuing trajectory of The Jack Kerouac School.  Action poetics.  Action language.  Showing up.  I can hear Anselm’s laugh as he entered any room.

“Tattered” has a distinctively poete maudit ring to it.  Anselm said to me once that the top goal of a poet — what would make you a superstar — would be to have 2,000 loyal readers.  Quite an ambition for poetry, he said.  Meanwhile you slog on.

Speaking of traveling in the vehicle I remember traveling with Anselm, late seventies around D.C. and Virginia when he was doing a stint at Sweet Briar, which had a lot of wealthy students with thoroughbred horses and fancy cars and yachts.  (Some interesting commentary from Anselm there; he preferred life on the other side of the road).  We tore around that area to meet and honor reading gigs often fueled by a few “drinkies” in a questionable car Anselm owned that broke down frequently.  And while heading for an event at the Corcoran gallery in D.C.  running a light, Anselm exclaimed, “Did I ever tell you I love
you! ?  And this whole ride!  Why not ?”  This was our risky tattered bodhisattva moment.

Bah obstacle!

take wing
fly toward enigma’s
red light

never stop ?
a jagged ride

poets with a vow
up their sleeves
scarecrow poetics

wake up! caw caw

Anne Waldman, Anselm Hollo Memorial, Naropa University, July 7, 2013