Feed on

FRI. 28— Yesterday and today went to school; sat in on interesting lectures by Wm. Troy, Shapiro, et al; had talks with Holmes, Allen, and Geo. Bouwman at his home in Brooklyn; a few beers on the antique Brooklyn waterfront, Spanish whores, etc; saw Ruth Sloane; get Muriel and battled around two days with her, a sweet girl; party at Neal’s and Dianne’s; met Joe Killian there; Neal and I got high, dug our girls; souls; next day I traded in new G.I. books for several delightful used books (Confidence Man, 17th Century Lyrics, On Love by Stendhal, The Possesed, some Proust, Chekhov, Arabian Nights, Turgenieff, Oxford English Prose, and I kept my Hopkins and Yeats.) My library will always be small and distinctive and useful.
— from Windblown World (2004)

Kenny Wisdom asks: What year is this, 1947? 1948? Do you even have to ask? Tell it like is and see who blinks; bet it’s Schapiro with a ‘c,’ as in Brooklyn-native— Boys High even, just like Max Roach— and Columbia University art history professor, Meyer Schapiro. Kerouac misremembers and misspells names all the time. In his journals too Uncle Kenny? In his journals too. Although I traded all my Meyer Schapiro books years ago for new pair of boots and and a used Mathews Chinese-English Dictionary, there is at Columbia University (whose Press has an excellent East Asian Languages list: Burton Watson! Ivan Morris’ translation of The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon!) someone who has the remarkable task of archiving the Meyer Schapiro Collection. Does Meyer remember Kerouac in class that day? I don’t know. Did he loan books to Leon Trotsky? Did he get letters from Allen Ginsberg?  Yes, yes.

Photograph “Meyer Schapiro’s Last Ride” by Amber Tides, April 2010. On interlibrary loan from the Gulf Coast of Florida, she vastly prefers Herman Melville to William Butler Yeats.

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