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Read 10 Short Stories by Gabriel García Márquez Free Online (Plus More Essays & Interviews)

Image by Fes­ti­val Inter­na­cional de Cine en Guadala­jara via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“Our inde­pen­dence from Span­ish dom­i­na­tion did not put us beyond the reach of mad­ness,” said Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez in his 1982 Nobel Prize accep­tance speech. Gar­cía Márquez, who died yes­ter­day at the age of 87, refers of course to all of Spain’s for­mer colonies in Latin Amer­i­ca and the Caribbean, from his own Colom­bia to Cuba, the island nation whose artis­tic strug­gle to come to terms with its his­to­ry con­tributed so much to that art form gen­er­al­ly known as “mag­i­cal real­ism,” a syn­cretism of Euro­pean mod­ernism and indige­nous art and folk­lore, Catholi­cism and the rem­nants of Amerindi­an and African reli­gions.

While the term has per­haps been overused to the point of banal­i­ty in crit­i­cal and pop­u­lar appraisals of Latin-Amer­i­can writ­ers (some pre­fer Cuban nov­el­ist Ale­jo Carpentier’s lo real mar­avil­loso, “the mar­velous real”), in Marquez’s case, it’s hard to think of a bet­ter way to describe the dense inter­weav­ing of fact and fic­tion in his life’s work as a writer of both fan­tas­tic sto­ries and unflinch­ing jour­nal­is­tic accounts, both of which grap­pled with the gross hor­rors of colo­nial plun­der and exploita­tion and the sub­se­quent rule of blood­thirsty dic­ta­tors, incom­pe­tent patri­archs, venal oli­garchs, and cor­po­rate gang­sters in much of the South­ern Hemi­sphere.

Nev­er­the­less, it’s a descrip­tion that some­times seems to obscure Gar­cía Mar­quez’s great pur­pose, mar­gin­al­iz­ing his lit­er­ary vision as trendy exot­i­ca or a “post­colo­nial hang­over.” Once asked in a Paris Review inter­view the year before his Nobel win about the dif­fer­ence between the nov­el and jour­nal­ism, Gar­cía Márquez replied, “Noth­ing. I don’t think there is any dif­fer­ence. The sources are the same, the mate­r­i­al is the same, the resources and the lan­guage are the same.”

In jour­nal­ism just one fact that is false prej­u­dices the entire work. In con­trast, in fic­tion one sin­gle fact that is true gives legit­i­ma­cy to the entire work. That’s the only dif­fer­ence, and it lies in the com­mit­ment of the writer. A nov­el­ist can do any­thing he wants so long as he makes peo­ple believe in it.

Gar­cía Márquez made us believe. One would be hard-pressed to find a 20th cen­tu­ry writer more com­mit­ted to the truth, whether expressed in dense mythol­o­gy and baroque metaphor or in the dry ratio­nal­ist dis­course of the West­ern epis­teme. For its mul­ti­tude of incred­i­ble ele­ments, the 1967 nov­el for which Gar­cía Márquez is best known—One Hun­dred Years of Soli­tude—cap­tures the almost unbe­liev­able human his­to­ry of the region with more emo­tion­al and moral fideli­ty than any strict­ly fac­tu­al account: “How­ev­er bizarre or grotesque some par­tic­u­lars may be,” wrote a New York Times review­er in 1970, “Macon­do is no nev­er-nev­er land.” In fact, Gar­cía Márquez’s nov­el helped dis­man­tle the very real and bru­tal South Amer­i­can empire of banana com­pa­ny Unit­ed Fruit, a “great irony,” writes Rich Cohen, of one mythol­o­gy lay­ing bare anoth­er: “In col­lege, they call it ‘mag­i­cal real­ism,’ but, if you know his­to­ry, you under­stand it’s less mag­i­cal than just plain real, the stuff of news­pa­pers returned as lived expe­ri­ence.”

Edith Gross­man, trans­la­tor of sev­er­al of Gar­cía Márquez’s works—including Love in the Time of Cholera and his 2004 auto­bi­og­ra­phy Liv­ing to Tell the Tale (Vivir para Cotar­la)—agrees. “He doesn’t use that term at all, as far as I know,” she said in a 2005 inter­view with Guer­ni­ca’s Joel Whit­ney: “It’s always struck me as an easy, emp­ty kind of remark.” Instead, Gar­cía Márquez’s style, says Gross­man, “seemed like a way of writ­ing about the excep­tion­al­ness of so much of Latin Amer­i­ca.”

Today, in hon­or and with tremen­dous grat­i­tude for that inde­fati­ga­ble chron­i­cler of excep­tion­al lived expe­ri­ence, we offer sev­er­al online texts of Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez’s short works at the links below.

Harper­Collins’ online pre­view of Gar­cía Mar­quez’s Col­lect­ed Sto­ries includes the full text of “The Third Res­ig­na­tion,” “The Oth­er Side of Death,” “Eva Is Inside Her Cat,” “Bit­ter­ness for Three Sleep­walk­ers,” and “Dia­logue with the Mir­ror,” all from the author’s 1972 col­lec­tion Eyes of a Blue Dog (Ojos de per­ro azul).

At The New York­er, you can read Gar­cía Mar­quez’s sto­ry “The Autumn of the Patri­arch” (1976) and his 2003 auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal essay “The Chal­lenge.”

Fol­low the links below for more of Gar­cía Mar­quez’s short fic­tion from var­i­ous uni­ver­si­ty web­sites:

“Death Con­stant Beyond Love” (1970)

“The Hand­somest Drowned Man in the World” (1968)

“A Very Old Man with Enor­mous Wings” (1955)

Vis­it The Mod­ern Word for an excel­lent bio­graph­i­cal sketch of the author.

See The New York Times for “A Talk with Gabriel Gar­cia Mar­quez” in the year of his Nobel win, an essay in which he recounts his 1957 meet­ing with Ernest Hem­ing­way, and many more reviews and essays.

Final­ly, we should also men­tion that you can down­load Love in the Time of Cholera or Hun­dred Years of Soli­tude for free (as audio books) if you join Audible.com’s 30-day pro­gram. We have details on it here.

As we say farewell to one of the world’s great­est writ­ers, we can remem­ber him not only as a writer of “mag­i­cal real­ism,” what­ev­er that phrase may mean, but as a teller of com­pli­cat­ed, won­drous, and some­times painful truths, in what­ev­er form he hap­pened to find them.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 18 Short Sto­ries From Nobel Prize-Win­ning Writer Alice Munro Free Online

Read 12 Mas­ter­ful Essays by Joan Did­ion for Free Online, Span­ning Her Career From 1965 to 2013

10 Free Sto­ries by George Saun­ders, Author of Tenth of Decem­ber, “The Best Book You’ll Read This Year”

600 Free eBooks: Down­load Great Books for Free

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Before The Simpsons, Matt Groening Illustrated a “Student’s Guide” for Apple Computers (1989)

A friend once told me of his old­er cousin who, for the freak­ish act of installing a com­put­er in his col­lege dorm room, found him­self imme­di­ate­ly and irrev­o­ca­bly dubbed “com­put­er Jon.” This hap­pened in the ear­ly 1980s, and boy, have times changed. They’d even changed by the late 1980s, by which time Apple’s col­lege mar­ket­ing efforts had become suf­fi­cient­ly advanced to require the tal­ents of Matt Groen­ing, best known as the man who cre­at­ed The Simp­sons. But that prime-time ani­mat­ed sit­com would­n’t begin its record-break­ing run (still with­out an end in sight) until Christ­mas 1989, while the Groen­ing-illus­trat­ed Who Needs a Com­put­er Any­way? (which you can flip through above) appeared ear­li­er that year. Back then, read­ers might well have known him first and fore­most as the cre­ator of the satir­i­cal alter­na­tive-week­ly com­ic strip Life in Hell, which had debuted in 1977. One of its stars, the hap­less but good-heart­ed young one-eared rab­bit Bon­go, even made his way to Apple brochure’s cov­er. Though com­put­ers them­selves had long since come to dom­i­nate Amer­i­ca’s cam­pus­es by the time I entered col­lege, he and Groen­ing’s oth­er now-less­er-known char­ac­ters did do their part to pre­pare me for acad­e­mia.

I refer, of course, to School is Hell, his 1987 Life in Hell book offer­ing sar­don­ic primers on each and every phase of mod­ern edu­ca­tion from kinder­garten to grad school (“when you haven’t had enough pun­ish­ment”). Groen­ing’s pages in Who Needs a Com­put­er Any­way? read like a less sharp-edged ver­sion of those car­toons, fol­low­ing Life in Hel­l’s sig­na­ture “The 9 Types of…” for­mat to present the read­er with their nine types of future col­lege class­mates, from “the stressed” to “the tech­noid” to “the unem­ployed.” Between these, you can read Apple’s pitch for why you’ll find a piece of equip­ment still some­what out­landish and expen­sive so essen­tial to every aspect of your col­lege career. Though dat­ed tech­ni­cal­ly — the text men­tions noth­ing of the inter­net, for instance, which this gen­er­a­tion of col­lege stu­dents would soon­er drop out than do with­out — it nev­er­the­less under­scores the design virtues of Apple com­put­ers — an intu­itive inter­face, appli­ca­tion inter­op­er­abil­i­ty, “every­thing you need in one small, trans­portable case” — that remain design virtues today. It also dis­plays an impres­sive pre­science of the per­son­al com­put­er’s com­ing indis­pens­abil­i­ty, a con­fi­dent pre­dic­tion that, if not for the slack­er’s lev­i­ty lent by Groen­ing’s hand, might, at the time, actu­al­ly have sound­ed implau­si­ble.

via Retro­naut/Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thompson’s Edgy 1990s Com­mer­cial for Apple’s Mac­in­tosh Com­put­er

Every Apple Ad Ever Aired on TV

Rid­ley Scott Talks About Mak­ing Apple’s Land­mark “1984″ Com­mer­cial, Aired 30 Years Ago on Super Bowl Sun­day

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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How to Survive the Coming Zombie Apocalypse: An Online Course by Michigan State

These days, the naysay­ers like to ask: “What is a col­lege edu­ca­tion good for? What does it pre­pare you to do in the world?”

Here’s one com­pelling answer for you: Sur­vive an Apoc­a­lypse.

Start­ing on May 12, Michi­gan State stu­dents can take an award-win­ning online course called Sur­viv­ing the Com­ing Zom­bie Apoc­a­lypse — Dis­as­ters, Cat­a­stro­phes, and Human Behav­ior. The course “brings togeth­er the lat­est think­ing on how and why humans behave dur­ing dis­as­ters and cat­a­stro­phes. Why do some sur­vive and oth­ers don’t? What are the impli­ca­tions for plan­ning, pre­pared­ness, and dis­as­ter man­age­ment?” Along the way, stu­dents will form sur­vival groups whose goal is to escape death, endure cat­a­stroph­ic events, and pre­serve the future of civ­i­liza­tion. Togeth­er, they will learn a valu­able les­son:  sur­vival depends not on the indi­vid­ual, but on the group. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the course is only open to MSU stu­dents and guest stu­dents for a fee. But you can watch the trail­er above for free. Be warned, the film, and espe­cial­ly the Charles Man­son-like char­ac­ter, is a lit­tle intense.

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Sur­vival Guide to the Post Apoc­a­lypse

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

53 Years of Nuclear Test­ing in 14 Min­utes: A Time Lapse Film by Japan­ese Artist Isao Hashimo­to

Duck and Cov­er, or: How I Learned to Elude the Bomb

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Free Online Shakespeare Courses: Primers on the Bard from Oxford, Harvard, Berkeley & More

free shakespeare courses

I had the great good for­tune of hav­ing grown up just out­side Wash­ing­ton, DC, where on a fifth grade class trip to the Fol­ger Library and The­ater, I fell in love with Shake­speare. This expe­ri­ence, along with a few vis­its to see his plays per­formed at near­by Wolf­trap, made me think I might go into the­ater. Instead I became a stu­dent of lit­er­a­ture, but some­how, my love of Shake­speare on the stage didn’t trans­late to the page until col­lege.  While study­ing for a sopho­more-lev­el “His­to­ries & Tragedies” class, I sat, my Nor­ton Shake­speare open, in front of the TV—reading along while watch­ing Ken­neth Branagh’s styl­ish film adap­ta­tion of Ham­let, which draws on the entire text of the play.

Only then came the epiphany: this lan­guage is music and mag­ic. The rhyth­mic beau­ty, depths of feel­ing, humor broad and inci­sive, extra­or­di­nary range of human types.… If we are to believe pre-emi­nent Shake­speare schol­ar Harold Bloom, Shake­speare invent­ed mod­ern human­i­ty. If this seems to go too far, he at least cap­tured human com­plex­i­ty with greater inven­tive skill than any Eng­lish writer before him, and pos­si­bly after. Is there any shame in final­ly “get­ting” Shakespeare’s lan­guage from the movies? None at all. One of the most excel­lent qual­i­ties of the Bard’s work—among so many rea­sons it endures—is its seem­ing­ly end­less adapt­abil­i­ty to every pos­si­ble peri­od, cul­tur­al con­text, and medi­um.

While engage­ment with any of the innu­mer­able Shake­speare adap­ta­tions and per­for­mances promis­es reward, there’s lit­tle that enhances appre­ci­a­tion of the Bard’s work more than read­ing it under the tute­lage of a trained schol­ar in the playwright’s Eliz­a­bethan lan­guage and his­to­ry. Uni­ver­sal though he may be, Shake­speare wrote his plays in a par­tic­u­lar time and place, under spe­cif­ic influ­ences and work­ing con­di­tions. If you have not had the plea­sure of study­ing the plays in a col­lege setting—or if your mem­o­ries of those long-ago Eng­lish class­es have faded—we offer a num­ber of excel­lent free online cours­es from some of the finest uni­ver­si­ties. See a list below, all of which appear in our list of Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es, part of our larg­er list of 875 Free Online Cours­es.

Also, speak­ing of the Fol­ger, that ven­er­a­ble insti­tu­tion has just released all of Shakespeare’s plays in free, search­able online texts based on their high­ly-regard­ed schol­ar­ly print edi­tions. And though some beg to dif­fer, I still say you can’t go wrong with Branagh.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read All of Shakespeare’s Plays Free Online, Cour­tesy of the Fol­ger Shake­speare Library

What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like to Shake­speare: Recon­struct­ing the Bard’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Read an Excerpt of J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1926 Translation of Beowulf Before It’s Finally Published Next Month

TolkienBeowulf

For the first time, J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1926 trans­la­tion of the 11th cen­tu­ry epic poem Beowulf will be pub­lished this May by Harper­Collins, edit­ed and with com­men­tary by his son Christo­pher. The elder Tolkien, says his son, “seems nev­er to have con­sid­ered its pub­li­ca­tion.” He left it along with sev­er­al oth­er unpub­lished man­u­scripts at the time of his death in 1973. The edi­tion will also include a sto­ry called Sel­l­ic Spell and excerpts from a series of lec­tures on Beowulf Tolkien deliv­ered at Oxford in the 1930s. Tolkien did pub­lish one of those lec­tures, “The Mon­ster and the Crit­ic,” in 1936. In this “epoch-mak­ing paper,” writes Sea­mus Heaney in the intro­duc­tion to his huge­ly pop­u­lar 1999 dual lan­guage verse edi­tion, Tolkien treat­ed the Beowulf poet as “an imag­i­na­tive writer,” not a his­tor­i­cal recon­struc­tion. His “bril­liant lit­er­ary treat­ment changed the way the poem was val­ued and ini­ti­at­ed a new era—and new terms—of appre­ci­a­tion.” This very same thing could be said of Heaney’s trans­la­tion which, true to his stat­ed goals, brought the poem out of aca­d­e­m­ic con­fer­ences and class­rooms and into liv­ing rooms and cof­fee shops every­where. (You can hear Heaney read from that trans­la­tion here.)

Nowhere in Heaney’s intro­duc­tion to his ver­sion does he men­tion Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of the poem, so we must pre­sume he did not know of it. Long before Tolkien’s lec­tures and trans­la­tion, Beowulf had been per­haps the most revered poem in the Eng­lish lan­guage, at least since the 18th cen­tu­ry, when the sole man­u­script was res­cued from fire and and trans­lat­ed and dis­sem­i­nat­ed wide­ly. Despite that sta­tus, Beowulf was not actu­al­ly writ­ten in English—not an Eng­lish we would recognize—but in Old Eng­lish, or Anglo-Sax­on. As read­ers of Heaney’s dual trans­la­tion will know, that dis­tant provin­cial ances­tor of the mod­ern glob­al lan­guage, named for the mix­ture of Ger­man­ic peo­ples who inhab­it­ed Eng­land 1000 years ago, appears most­ly alien to us now. (To add to the strange­ness, its unfa­mil­iar alpha­bet once con­sist­ed entire­ly of runes).

The poem, more­over, is not set in Eng­land, but where Shake­speare set his Ham­let, Den­mark. Its tit­u­lar hero, a prince from Geat (ancient Swe­den), stalks a mon­ster named Gren­del on behalf of Dan­ish king Hroð­gar, killing the monster’s moth­er along the way. Tolkien’s almost uni­ver­sal­ly beloved body of fic­tion was deeply influ­enced by Beowulf. Nev­er­the­less, his trans­la­tion may be less acces­si­ble than Heaney’s, though no less beau­ti­ful, per­haps, for dif­fer­ent rea­sons. In Heaney’s verse, one hears Ted Hugh­es, some echoes of Mil­ton, Heaney’s own voice. If we are to cred­it the red­di­tor who post­ed a now-defunct 2003 arti­cle from Cana­di­an news­pa­per Nation­al Post that quotes from Tolkien’s trans­la­tion, the Hob­bit author’s verse hews to a more direct cor­re­spon­dence with the Anglo Sax­on, a lan­guage made of giant rocks and tim­ber and crash­ing waves, not ele­gant, elab­o­rat­ed claus­es. The Nation­al Post arti­cle announces the dis­cov­ery at Oxford of the Tolkien trans­la­tion by Eng­lish Pro­fes­sor Michael Drout (a sto­ry he’s since debunked), and quotes from both Heaney and Tolkien. See the com­par­i­son below:

Heaney’s trans­la­tion:

Time went by, the boat was
on water,
in close under the cliffs.
Men climbed eager­ly up the
gang­plank,
sand churned in surf, war­riors
loaded
a car­go of weapons, shin­ing
war-gear
in the ves­sel’s hold, then
heaved out,
away with a will in their
wood-wreathed ship.

Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of Beowulf and his men set­ting sail:

On went the hours:
on
ocean afloat
under cliff was their craft.
Now climb blithe­ly
brave man aboard;
break­ers pound­ing
ground the shin­gle.
Gleam­ing har­ness
they hove to the bosom of the
bark, armour
with cun­ning forged then cast
her forth
to voy­age tri­umphant,
valiant-tim­bered
fleet foam twist­ed.

One won­ders what the recent­ly depart­ed Irish poet would have said had he lived to read this Tolkien edi­tion. Might it, as Heaney said of his lec­tures, change the way the poem is val­ued? Or might he see it resem­bling oth­er dif­fi­cult attempts to make mod­ern Eng­lish repli­cate the strong­ly inflect­ed built-in rhythms of Anglo-Saxon—a lan­guage, Tolkien once said, from “the dark hea­then ages beyond the mem­o­ry of song.”

You can pre-order a copy of Tolkien’s trans­la­tion of Beowulf here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sea­mus Heaney Reads His Exquis­ite Trans­la­tion of Beowulf and His Mem­o­rable 1995 Nobel Lec­ture

Dis­cov­er J.R.R. Tolkien’s Per­son­al Book Cov­er Designs for The Lord of the Rings Tril­o­gy

“The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor” Presents Three Free Cours­es on The Lord of the Rings

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Hear Allen Ginsberg’s Short Free Course on Shakespeare’s Play, The Tempest (1980)

Image by Michiel Hendryckx, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Gins­berg Class One

Gins­berg Class Two

Like so many great poets, Allen Gins­berg com­posed extem­po­ra­ne­ous­ly as he spoke, in eru­dite para­graphs, recit­ing lines and whole poems from memory—in his case, usu­al­ly the poems of William Blake. In a 1966 Paris Review inter­view, for exam­ple, he dis­cuss­es and quotes Blake at length, con­clud­ing “The thing I under­stood from Blake was that it was pos­si­ble to trans­mit a mes­sage through time that could reach the enlight­ened.” Eight years lat­er, Gins­berg would begin to mid­wife this con­cept as a teacher at the new­ly-found­ed Jack Ker­ouac School of Dis­em­bod­ied Poet­ics at the Naropa Insti­tute in Boul­der, Col­orado. Gins­berg taught sum­mer work­shops at the school from 1974 until the end of his life, even­tu­al­ly spend­ing the remain­der of the year in a full-time posi­tion at Brook­lyn Col­lege. The Inter­net Archive hosts record­ings of many of these work­shops, such as his lec­tures on 19th Cen­tu­ry Poet­ry, Jack Ker­ouac, Spir­i­tu­al Poet­ics, and Basic Poet­ics. In the audio lec­tures here, from August 1980, Gins­berg teach­es a four-part course on Shakespeare’s The Tem­pest (parts one and two above, three and four below), a play he often returned to for ref­er­ence in his own work.

Gins­berg Class Three

Gins­berg Class Four

Ginsberg’s method of teach­ing Shake­speare is unlike any­one else’s. He’s not inter­est­ed in exe­ge­sis so much as an open conversation—with the text, with his stu­dents, and with any ephemera that strikes his inter­est. It’s almost a kind of div­ina­tion by which Gins­berg teas­es out the “mes­sages” Shakespeare’s play sends through the ages, work­ing with the rhyth­mic and syn­tac­ti­cal odd­i­ties of indi­vid­ual lines instead of grand, abstract inter­pre­ta­tive frame­works. Ginsberg’s ped­a­gogy requires patience on the part of his stu­dents. He doesn’t dri­ve toward a point as much as arrive at it cir­cuitous­ly as by the chance oper­a­tions of his med­i­ta­tive mind. His first of four lec­tures above, for exam­ple, begins with a great deal of futz­ing around about dif­fer­ent edi­tions, which can seem a lit­tle tedious to an impa­tient lis­ten­er. Give in to the urge to fast-for­ward, though, and you’ll miss the dia­mond-like bits of wis­dom that emerge from Gins­berg’s dis­cur­sive explo­ration of minu­ti­ae.

Gins­berg explains to his class why he thinks the Pen­guin G.B. Har­ri­son edi­tion was the best avail­able at the time because it draws from the orig­i­nal folio and has “more respect than the actu­al arrange­ment of the lines for speak­ing as deter­mined by the edi­tions print­ed in Shakespeare’s day.” Harrison’s text, he says, recov­ers the idio­syn­crasies of Shakespeare’s lines: “Since [Alexan­der] Pope and [John] Dry­den and oth­ers messed with Shakespeare’s texts—straightened them out and mod­ern­ized them and improved them—they’ve always been repro­duced too smooth­ly.” Such was the hubris of Pope and Dry­den. Gins­berg spends a few min­utes “cor­rect­ing” the punc­tu­a­tion of a line for stu­dents with more mod­ern­ized edi­tions. One can see the appeal of the first folio for Gins­berg as he insists that its text is “not all exact­ly prop­er­ly lined up pen­ta­met­ric blank verse but is more bro­ken, more irreg­u­lar lines, more like free verse actu­al­ly, because it fit­ted exact­ly to speech.” Much like his own work in fact, and that of his fel­low Beats, whom he reads and draws into the dis­cus­sion of The Tem­pest’s poet­ics through­out the course of his lec­tures. The Allen Gins­berg Project has more on the poet­’s teach­ing of Shake­speare dur­ing his Naropa days.

When Gins­berg found­ed the Jack Ker­ouac School with Anne Wald­man in 1974, he and his fel­low Beats had not taught before. They sim­ply invent­ed their own ways of pass­ing on their poet­ic enlight­en­ment. Invit­ed to cre­ate the school at Naropa Uni­ver­si­ty in Boul­der by his spir­i­tu­al teacher and Naropa founder Chogyam Trung­pa Rin­poche, Gins­berg seemed to com­bine in equal parts the Bud­dhist tra­di­tion of spir­i­tu­al lin­eage with that of West­ern lit­er­ary fil­i­a­tion. He dis­tilled this syn­the­sis in his ellip­ti­cal 1992 text “Mind Writ­ing Slo­gans,”: “two decades’ expe­ri­ence teach­ing poet­ics at Naropa Insti­tute” and a “half decade at Brook­lyn Col­lege,” Gins­berg writes, “boiled down to brief mot­toes from many sources found use­ful to guide myself and oth­ers in the expe­ri­ence of ‘writ­ing the mind.’” This doc­u­ment is an excel­lent source of Ginsberg’s eclec­tic wis­dom, as is his “Celes­tial Home­work” read­ing list for his class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats.”

Gins­berg and company’s rela­tion­ship to Trungpa’s Shamb­ha­la Bud­dhist school, and to the artis­tic com­mu­ni­ty of Boul­der, was not with­out its detrac­tors. Poet Ken­neth Rexroth and oth­ers accused Gins­berg and his teacher of a kind of cul­tic exploita­tion of Bud­dhist teach­ings, of “Bud­dhist fas­cism.” The con­flict between Ginsberg’s guru and poets like W.S. Merwin—who appar­ent­ly had a humil­i­at­ing expe­ri­ence at Naropa—is doc­u­ment­ed in Tom Clark’s polem­i­cal The Great Naropa Poet­ry Wars. Oth­ers remem­ber the Naropa founder much more fond­ly. Two doc­u­men­taries offer dif­fer­ent por­traits of life at Naropa. The first, Fried Shoes, Cooked Dia­monds (above)—filmed in 1978 and nar­rat­ed by Gins­berg himself—presents a raw, in-the-moment pic­ture of the anar­chic Ker­ouac School’s ear­ly days. For­mer Naropa stu­dent Kate Lindhardt’s “micro-bud­get” Crazy Wis­dom, below, offers a more detached look at the school and asks ques­tions about what she calls the “insti­tu­tion­al­iza­tion” of cre­ativ­i­ty from a more fem­i­nist per­spec­tive.

Gins­berg’s Tem­pest course will be added to our col­lec­tion of 875 Free Online Cours­es; the films men­tioned above can be found in our col­lec­tion of 640 Free Movies Online. The Tem­pest and poems by Gins­berg can be found in our col­lec­tion of Free eBooks.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Allen Ginsberg’s “Celes­tial Home­work”: A Read­ing List for His Class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”

Allen Ginsberg’s Last Three Days on Earth as a Spir­it: The Poet’s Final Days Cap­tured in a 1997 Film

Allen Gins­berg Record­ings Brought to the Dig­i­tal Age. Lis­ten to Eight Full Tracks for Free

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Bruce Springsteen and Pink Floyd Get Their First Scholarly Journals and Academic Conferences

TheBoss2008

When I first entered col­lege in the mid-‘90s, the phe­nom­e­non of pop cul­ture stud­ies in acad­e­mia seemed like an excit­ing nov­el­ty, bound to the ethos of the Clin­ton years. Often inci­sive, occa­sion­al­ly friv­o­lous, pop cul­ture stud­ies made acad­e­mia fun again, and rein­vig­o­rat­ed the world of schol­ar­ly pub­lish­ing and col­lege life in gen­er­al. All man­ner of fan­dom ruled the day: we took class­es in hip hop videos and Buffy the Vam­pire Slay­er, Ala­nis Mor­ris­sette rede­fined irony, and near­ly every­one got hired right after grad­u­a­tion (see for ref­er­ence the cult clas­sic 1994 film PCU). These days I don’t need to tell you that the prospects for new grads are con­sid­er­ably reduced, but I’m very hap­py to find aca­d­e­m­ic soci­eties and jour­nals still orga­nized around TV shows, fan­ta­sy nov­els, and pop music. Today we bring you two exam­ples from the world of Clas­sic Rock & Roll Stud­ies (to coin a term). First up we have BOSS, or “The Bian­nu­al Online-Jour­nal of Spring­steen Stud­ies.”

Spring­steen Stud­ies is not new. In fact, a mas­sive Spring­steen sym­po­sium called “Glo­ry Days”—joint­ly spon­sored by Vir­ginia Tech, Penn State, and Mon­mouth Uni­ver­si­ty—has tak­en place twice in West Long Branch, New Jer­sey since 2005 and is cur­rent­ly prepar­ing for its next event. BOSS, how­ev­er, only just emerged, the first schol­ar­ly Spring­steen jour­nal ever pub­lished. The first issue will appear in June of this year, and the edi­tors are now solic­it­ing 15 to 25 page aca­d­e­m­ic arti­cles for their Jan­u­ary, 2015 issue. Describ­ing them­selves as a “schol­ar­ly space for Spring­steen Stud­ies in the con­tem­po­rary acad­e­my,” BOSS seeks “broad inter­dis­ci­pli­nary and cross-dis­ci­pli­nary approach­es to Springsteen’s song­writ­ing, per­for­mance, and fan com­mu­ni­ty.” Spring­steen schol­ars: check the BOSS site for dead­lines and con­tact info.

Unlike most schol­ar­ly jour­nals, BOSS is open-access, so fans and admir­ers of all kinds can read the sure-to-be fas­ci­nat­ing dis­cus­sions it fos­ters as it works toward secur­ing “a place for Spring­steen Stud­ies in the con­tem­po­rary acad­e­my.” Spring­steen Stud­ies’ advo­ca­cy appears to be working—Rutgers Uni­ver­si­ty plans to add a Spring­steen the­ol­o­gy class, cov­er­ing Springsteen’s entire discog­ra­phy, and oth­er insti­tu­tions like Prince­ton and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Rochester have offered Spring­steen cours­es in the past.

In anoth­er first for a spe­cial­ized pop cul­ture field, the first-ever aca­d­e­m­ic con­fer­ence on the work of Pink Floyd will be held this com­ing April 13 at Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty. Called “Pink Floyd: Sound, Sight, and Struc­ture,” the event promis­es to be a mul­ti-media extrav­a­gan­za, fea­tur­ing as its keynote speak­er Gram­my-award win­ning Pink Floyd pro­duc­er and engi­neer James Guthrie. (See Guthrie and oth­ers dis­cuss the pro­duc­tion of the sur­round-sound Super Audio CD of Wish You Were Here in the video above). In addi­tion to Guthrie’s talk, and his sur­round sound mix of the band’s music, the con­fer­ence will offer “live com­po­si­tions and arrange­ments inspired by Pink Floyd’s music,” an “exhi­bi­tion of Pink Floyd cov­ers and art,” and a screen­ing of The Wall. Papers include “The Visu­al Music of Pink Floyd,” “Space and Rep­e­ti­tion in David Gilmour’s Gui­tar Solos,” and “Sev­er­al Species of Small Fur­ry Ani­mals: The Genius of Ear­ly Floyd.” Admis­sion is free, but you’ll need to RSVP to get in. The town of Prince­ton will join in the fes­tiv­i­ties with “Out­side the Wall,” a series of events and spe­cials on drinks, din­ing, art, and music.

While these events and pub­li­ca­tions may seem to locate pop cul­ture stud­ies square­ly in New Jer­sey, those inter­est­ed can find con­fer­ences all over the world, in fact. A good place to start is the site of the PCA (“Pop Cul­ture Asso­ci­a­tion”), which hosts its annu­al con­fer­ence next month in Chica­go, and the Inter­na­tion­al Con­fer­ence on Media and Pop­u­lar Cul­ture will be held this May in Vien­na. Pop cul­ture and media stud­ies still seem to me to be par­tic­u­lar prod­ucts of the opti­mistic ‘90s (due to my own vin­tage, no doubt), but it appears these aca­d­e­m­ic fields are thriv­ing, despite the vast­ly dif­fer­ent eco­nom­ic cli­mate we now live in, with its no-fun, belt-tight­en­ing effects on high­er ed across the board.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bruce Spring­steen Exhi­bi­tion Held in Philadel­phia; It’s Now Offi­cial, The Boss is an Amer­i­can Icon

Heat Map­ping the Rise of Bruce Spring­steen: How the Boss Went Viral in a Pre-Inter­net Era

Watch Doc­u­men­taries on the Mak­ing of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Michel Foucault and Alain Badiou Discuss “Philosophy and Psychology” on French TV (1965)

If sub­ti­tles don’t play auto­mat­i­cal­ly, please click the “CC” but­ton at the bot­tom of each video.

When Sig­mund Freud died in 1939, the year Hitler invad­ed Poland, W.H. Auden wrote a eulo­gy in verse and remarked “We are all Freudi­ans now.” One might have said some­thing sim­i­lar of Michel Fou­cault after his death in 1984. Fou­cault became a fierce­ly polit­i­cal philoso­pher after the May 1968 Paris stu­dent upris­ing and in a year that saw the Tet Offen­sive in Viet­nam and the assas­si­na­tions of Mar­tin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy. In the fol­low­ing year—after the Man­son mur­ders and the grim events at Altamont—the six­ties effec­tive­ly came to an end as its utopi­an projects flared up and fiz­zled.

In the next repres­sive decade, Fou­cault pub­lished Dis­ci­pline and Pun­ish (1974) and his His­to­ry of Sex­u­al­i­ty (1976). Even as he used Freudi­an con­cepts, he declared Freudi­an psy­cho­analy­sis com­plic­it in what he called “dis­ci­pli­nary soci­ety,” anoth­er method, like pris­ons, schools, and hos­pi­tals, of keep­ing mass­es of peo­ple under con­stant sur­veil­lance and in states of sub­mis­sion. It is this post-‘68 Fou­cault many of us came to know—an anti-philoso­pher whose deep dis­trust of all insti­tu­tion­al forms of pow­er seemed the per­fect ally for post-ado­les­cent col­lege stu­dents in com­fort­able rebel­lion. This is why it is a lit­tle sur­pris­ing to see the Fou­cault above, in a 1965 con­ver­sa­tion with philoso­pher Alain Badiou, ensconced in the bour­geois world of a French philo­soph­i­cal cul­ture, with its lin­eages and ordi­nary cit­i­zens brows­ing paper­back copies of Marx and Hegel, instead of stag­ing Sit­u­a­tion­ist actions to dis­rupt the social order.

But of course, it’s only log­i­cal to infer that the one cul­ture led direct­ly to the oth­er. For all his rhetor­i­cal the­atrics, Fou­cault nev­er gave up on the human­ist insti­tu­tion of the uni­ver­si­ty, but always made his home in class­rooms, lec­ture halls, and yes, even TV inter­views. His top­ic in con­ver­sa­tion with Badiou is “Phi­los­o­phy and Psy­chol­o­gy” and they came togeth­er on the edu­ca­tion­al tele­vi­sion pro­gram L’enseignement de la philoso­phie—anoth­er tes­ta­ment, like the well-stocked book­stores and cul­tur­al land­marks, to a six­ties French cul­ture steeped in philo­soph­i­cal atti­tudes. Unfor­tu­nate­ly we have only the first two parts of the inter­view, above, with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles (the third and final part is still wait­ing to be trans­lat­ed). You can, how­ev­er, see the full inter­view in French below.

The inter­view opens with the ques­tion “What is psy­chol­o­gy?” Foucault’s answer, which he would revise many times in the com­ing decades, along with his ter­mi­nol­o­gy, begins by ask­ing that we “inter­ro­gate” the dis­ci­pline of Psy­chol­o­gy “like any oth­er type of cul­ture.” Prod­ded by Badiou, he elab­o­rates: Psy­chol­o­gy is yet anoth­er insti­tu­tion­al­ized “form of know­ing” that makes up a dis­ci­pli­nary soci­ety, the core con­cept of his phi­los­o­phy. Foucault’s inter­view­er Badiou is now an elder states­man of French phi­los­o­phy, its “great­est liv­ing expo­nent,” writes his pub­lish­er. His most recent book doc­u­ments forty years of what he calls the “’French moment’ in con­tem­po­rary thought”—one great­ly inspired by Michel Fou­cault.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Michel Fou­cault Deliv­er His Lec­ture on “Truth and Sub­jec­tiv­i­ty” at UC Berke­ley, In Eng­lish (1980)

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

Michel Foucault’s Con­tro­ver­sial Life and Phi­los­o­phy Explored in a Reveal­ing 1993 Doc­u­men­tary

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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William S. Burroughs Teaches a Free Course on Creative Reading and Writing (1979)

Accord­ing to Ted Mor­gan, author of William S. Bur­roughs biog­ra­phy Lit­er­ary Out­law (which Bur­roughs hat­ed), the hard-liv­ing Beat writer added “teacher” to the list of jobs he did not like after an unhap­py semes­ter teach­ing cre­ative writ­ing at the City Col­lege of New York. He com­plained about dimwit­ted stu­dents, and dis­liked the job—arranged for him by Allen Ginsberg—so much that he lat­er turned down a posi­tion at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Buf­fa­lo that paid $15,000 a semes­ter, even though he des­per­ate­ly need­ed the mon­ey. That Bur­roughs had recent­ly kicked hero­in may have con­tributed to his unease with the pro­sa­ic reg­u­lar­i­ties of col­lege life. What­ev­er the sto­ry, he lat­er remarked that the “teach­ing gig was a les­son in nev­er again.”

What then could have lured Bur­roughs out to Boul­der Col­orado five years lat­er to deliv­er a series of lec­tures on cre­ative writ­ing at Naropa Uni­ver­si­ty? He’d picked up his hero­in habit again, and his friend­ship with Ginsberg—who co-found­ed Naropa’s writ­ing program—must have played a part. What­ev­er the rea­sons, this assign­ment dif­fered great­ly from his City Col­lege stint: no stu­dent writ­ing, no office hours or admin. Just Bur­roughs doing what came naturally—holding court, on lit­er­a­ture, para­psy­chol­o­gy, occult eso­ter­i­ca, vio­lence, aliens, neu­ro­science, and his own nov­els Naked Lunch and The Soft Machine.

Bur­roughs’ lec­tures are heav­i­ly philo­soph­i­cal, which might have turned off his New York stu­dents, but sure­ly turned on his Naropa audi­ence. And if you stopped to lis­ten, it will prob­a­bly turn you on too, in ways cre­ative and intel­lec­tu­al. Osten­si­bly on the sub­ject of cre­ative read­ing, Bur­roughs also offers cre­ative writ­ing instruc­tion in each talk. His dis­cus­sions of writ­ers he admires—from Car­son McCullers to Aleis­ter Crow­ley to Stephen King—are fas­ci­nat­ing, and he uses no short­age of exam­ples to illus­trate var­i­ous writ­ing tech­niques. For­tu­nate­ly for us, the lec­tures were record­ed. Says Dan­ger­ous Minds, who pro­vide help­ful descrip­tions of each lec­ture: “now you can have your very own cre­ative writ­ing class from William S. Bur­roughs, all thanks to the won­ders of YouTube.” Hear all three lec­tures above, and be by turns inspired, instruct­ed, enlight­ened, and warped.

You can find Bur­rough’s lec­tures on Cre­ative Read­ing list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His Con­tro­ver­sial 1959 Nov­el Naked Lunch

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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R.E.M Plays “Radio Free Europe” on Their National Television Debut on The David Letterman Show (1983)

It’s hard for me to believe that we now live in a post‑R.E.M. world. Also a post-Son­ic Youth world, post-Pix­ies world (as far as I’m con­cerned), etc. The bands of my errant youth are no more; some­times it feels like all I can do is toss out the occa­sion­al, half-heart­ed “get off my lawn” or mum­ble bemus­ed­ly, “what’s a Lorde?” when con­tem­plat­ing the cur­rent state of music.

Yet all is not lost for “aging hipsters”—in the par­lance of the blog Rock Turtle­neck!. Though our pop cul­ture may seem to slip into an irrel­e­vant ice age, we can at least warm our­selves at the flick­er­ing screen, where Youtube caches troves of footage of our bygone heroes—like the video above of R.E.M. play­ing “Radio Free Europe” for their first appear­ance on TV in 1983.

Now, this was before the time of my fan­dom, which dates from the lat­er 80s. Still, it’s always a joy to see one of my all time favorites roar­ing in their lion­heart­ed youth.

The band appeared on Let­ter­man, pro­mot­ing their debut, Mur­mur. The venue is no sur­prise, giv­en Dave’s con­sis­tent cham­pi­oning of instant-clas­sic Amer­i­can artists. But after this appear­ance, they would not return to his show for anoth­er 12 years, this time to play “Crush With Eye­lin­er” in the midst of their 1995 Mon­ster tour (above). I loved R.E.M. no less then, but they were pros by that time, not the scrap­py, jan­g­ly South­ern alt-rock­ers bold­ly chal­leng­ing the ortho­doxy of bloat­ed sta­di­um rock.

I think Rock Turtle­neck! does not over­state its case in claim­ing that the band’s nation­al tele­vi­sion debut “was the col­lege rock equiv­a­lent of The Bea­t­les play­ing the Ed Sul­li­van Show in 1964.” Well, maybe just a lit­tle, but it’s still a piv­otal moment in the his­to­ry of alt-rock. Mur­mur appears as num­ber 1 on this list of the “best albums of 1983”—calculated from “over­all rank­ings in over 13,000 great­est album charts”—followed by oth­er new wave and alter­na­tive clas­sics like the Vio­lent Femmes’s epony­mous debut, The Police’s Syn­chronic­i­ty, U2’s War, Tom Wait’s Sword­fishtrom­bones, and New Order’s Pow­er, Cor­rup­tion and Lies. Sim­pler times, sim­pler times….

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Very Ear­ly Con­cert Films of R.E.M., Live in ‘81 and ‘82

R.E.M.’s Final Encore (and an Ear­ly Con­cert from Ger­many)

R.E.M.’s “Los­ing My Reli­gion” Reworked from Minor to Major Scale

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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