Yesterday, I sat through an extended lecture from Hettie Jones, one of the self-labelled 'beat chicks' from the Beat Era. I had read an autobiography by Diane DiPrima called Recollections of My Life as a Woman. It was an ingriguing piece and gave me an interesting perspective on the NYC art scene of the mid-50's to mid 60's. DiPrima hadn't painted a very flattering portrait of the times but, like anyone speaking of their childhood, she still managed to give it that nostalgic, sepia lighting.

Hettie's lecture was interesting, but it had a densive tone. I have often heard that the beats were mysoginistic and it's only been in the last 10-15 years that the women have even been mentioned. As I get older, I am fascinated by how my history is twisted, repeated until it is blindly accepted as fact. I can't imagine what it must be like to be a part of such a Tiny community as The Beats and have that small window in your life scrutinized by outsiders. Worse, what happens when the insiders say things that you completely disagree with? At the end of the first hour, we took a 5 minute break and I took the opportunity to approach this diminutive woman to ask her about the DiPrima book.

Let's just say that she wasn't receptive to a discussion on DiPrima or her book. A lot of scars were handed out during that movement. There's a reason why most of them are dead.

I have never particularly liked most of the work of the beats (with the exception of Kerouac's On the Road). I have yet to manage a full reading of Howl, despite repeated attempts. The Beat Era was Incredibly important to the evolution of writing and poetry, but