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[EP 67] Dead Poets! In this episode I read a poem about one great poet to honor the passing of another. Don't let the word "poem" scare you, just listen! (transcription included below) *** Hey everybody! You'r listening to Unexpected English! This is episode 67 and I'm doing this episode for a special reason. That is that today I learned that the writer and poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti died, passed away. And that's OK! He was 101 years old! But it reminded me of his poetry, which I like, and I found a good one to read for you. And it's good because it's about another great poet: Allen Ginsberg. I'm sure you've heard of Allen Ginsberg. If you haven't heard about Lawrence Ferlinghetti, you might want to look for some of his poems. But Ferlinghetti wrote this poem for Ginsberg, who was dying at the time, and I thought it was appropriate. And it's quite a good poem, so I decided to read it for you. I hope you enjoy it. Here we go! Allen Ginsberg is dying It's in all the papers It's on the evening news A great poet is dying But his voice won't die His voice is on the land In Lower Manhattan in his own bed he is dying There is nothing to do about it He is dying the death that everyone dies He is dying the death of the poet He has a telephone in his hand and he calls everyone from his bed in Lower Manhattan All around the world late at night the telephone is ringing This is Allen the voice says Allen Ginsberg calling How many times have they heard it over the long great years He doesn't have to say Ginsberg All around the world in the world of poets there is only one Allen I wanted to tell you he says He tells them what's happening what's coming down on him Death the dark lover going down on him His voice goes by satellite over the land over the Sea of Japan where he once stood naked trident in hand like a young Neptune a young man with black beard standing on a stone beach It is hightide and the seabirds cry The waves break over him now and the seabirds cry on the San Francisco waterfront There is a high wind There are great whitecaps lashing the Embarcadero Allen is on the telephone His voice is on the waves I am reading Greek poetry The sea is in it Horses weep in it The horses of Achilles weep in it here by the sea in San Francisco where the waves weep They make a sibilant sound a sibylline sound Allen they whisper Allen *** Thanks for listening! please tell your friends -- word of mouth really helps! Follow on Spotify and Instagram, and tell your friends!