Showing posts with label Broadsides. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Broadsides. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Leonard Cohen: You Do Not Have To Love Me At Auction (Or Anywhere Else)

by Stephen J. Gertz


A copy of Canadian poet and songwriter-singer Leonard Cohen's poem, You Do Not Have To Love Me is being offered by PBA Galleries in its Beats, Counterculture & the Avant Garde, Richard Synchef Collection Part II sale tomorrow, January 30, 2014. It is estimated to sell for $400 - $600.


In letterpress designed and printed by Bill Roberts (of Bottle of Smoke Press) and tipped-in to black paper card, it is copy "N" of 26 lettered copies signed by Cohen of a total edition of 126. Originally published in 1968, it is here issued as Sore Dove Press Broadside Series Number 33, published in 2008. It has already become quite collectible.


Facing the poem is an original oil painting by artist-poet Soheyl Dahl.


Included in the lot are seven Sore Dove Press postcards celebrating Cohen, two duplicated with black lettering.


As part of the lot, a copy of singer-songwriter (and Leonard Cohen collaborator) Anjani Thomas' poem, Holy Ground, is being offered. No. 31 of 100 signed copies, it, too, is in letterpress designed and printed by Bill Roberts. It was published by Sore Dove Press in 2009.

"Sore Dove Press is edited and published by Soheyl Dahi, an artist and poet living in San Francisco. It is a progressive press that publishes poetry chapbooks and broadsides by established poets ranging from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Diane di Prima, and Jack Hirschman to newcomers like the talented actress and poet Amber Tamblyn. The press also actively looks for and publishes poets to make their debut in print. The chapbooks and broadsides are printed in small editions. A limited number are signed by the poets and when possible a lettered edition with an original painting by the poets is included" (website).
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Images courtesy of PBA Galleries, with our thanks.
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Friday, June 1, 2012

The 1773 Committee For Tarring and Feathering Invites You To A Tea Party

By Stephen J. Gertz


On November 27, 1773, Philadelphia's Committee For Tarring and Feathering issued a playful yet very stern warning to a British mercantile ship captain that his arrival in the city's harbor might precipitate action by Colonists who harbor ill-will. 

A scarce copy of this extraordinary broadside is being offered by Sotheby's - New York in their Fine Books and Manuscripts sale June 15, 2012. It is expected to sell for $18,000 - $25,000.

The text reads: 

To the Delaware Pilots.

We took the Pleasure, some days since, of kindly admonishing you to do your duty; if perchance you should meet with the (Tea) Ship Polly, CAPTAIN AYRES, a Three Decker which is hourly expected.

We have now to add, that Matters ripen fast here; and that much is expected from those lads who meet with the Tea Ship ---There is some Talk of A Handsome Reward For The Pilot Who Gives The First Good Account Of Her --- How that may be, we cannot for certain determine; But all agree, that Tar and Feathers will be his Portioo, who pilots her into this Harbor. And we will answer for ourselves, that, whoever is committed to us, as an Offender against the Rights of America, will experience the utmost Exertion of our Abilities, as THE COMMITTEE FOR TARRING AND FEATHERING.

P.S. We expect you will furnish yourselves with Copies of the foregoing and following Letter, which are printed for this Purpose, that the Pilot who meets with Captain Ayres may favor him with a Sight of them.

To Captain Ayres,
Of the Ship POLLY, on a voyage from London to Philadelphia.

Sir,

We are informed that you have, imprudently, taken Charge of a Quantity of Tea, which has been sent out by the India Company, under the Auspices of the Ministry, as a Trial of American Virtue and Resolution.

Now, as your Cargo, on your arrival here, will most assuredly bring you into hot water; and as  you are perhaps a Stranger to these parts, we have concluded to advise you that of the present Situation of Affairs in Philadelphia --- that, taking Time by the Forelock, you may stop short in your dangerous Errand --- secure your ship against the Rafts of combustible Matter which may be set on Fire, and turned loose against her; and, more than all this, that you may preserve your own Person, from the Pitch and Feathers that are prepared for you.

In the first Place, we must tell you, that the Pennsylvanians are, to a Man, passionately fond of Freedom, the Birthright of Americans; and that at all events are determined to enjoy it.

That they sincerely believe, no Power on the Face of the Earth has a Right to tax them without their Consent.

That in their Opinion, the Tea in your Custody is designed by the Ministry to enforce such a Tax, which they will undoubtedly oppose; and in so doing give you every possible Obstruction.

We are nominated to a very disagreeable, but necessary Service --- To our Care are committed all Offenders against the Rights of America, and hapless is he, whose evil Destiny has doomed him to suffer at our Hands.

You are sent out out on a diabolical Service, and if you are so foolish and obstinate as to complete your Voyage, by bringing your Ship to Anchor in this Port,  you may run such a gauntlet, as will induce you to, in your last Moments, most heartily to curse those who have made you the Dupe of their Avarice and Ambition.

What think you, Captain, of a Halter around your neck --- ten Gallons off liquid Tar decanted on your Pate --- with the Feathers of a dozen wild Geese laid over that to enliven your Appearance?

Only think seriously of this --- and fly to the Place from whence you came ---fly without Hesitation --- without the Formality of a Protest --- and above all, Captain Ayres, let us advise you to fly without the wild Geese Feathers.

Your Friends to serve,

THE COMMITTEE

The Tea Act of May 10, 1773 was not well-received in the American colonies. In September and October 1773, seven ships carrying a total of 600,000 pounds of East India Company tea were sent to America. Four were bound for Boston, and one each for New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston. In every colony except Massachusetts protesters were able to force the tea ships to return to Britain. In Boston, the tea hit the fan.
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Image courtesy of Sotheby's, with our thanks.
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Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Meet General Jackoo, Rope-Dancing Monkey, Rage of Europe, 1785

by Stephen J. Gertz


Forget Napoleon and Sally, the Famous Trained Monkeys who slayed 'em in Singapore May 2 - 5, 1920 at the Alhambra before moving to the Gaiety Theater as The World Famous Monkey Actors; Vaudevillian simian Charles the First, who abdicated the crown with his death in 1910 but his replacement, Consul, though equally well-known, is not to be confused with the other monkey  named Consul that toured the William Morris Circuit; Dick and Alice, Mlle. Louise's famous trained monkeys, who wowed 'em at Washington Park in Bayonne, N.J. the week of June 19, 1909, are poseurs; Solomon the Man Monkey, who traipsed around Glasgow c. 1908 in a tuxedo and went to church on Sundays, was hoity-toity and holier than thou; and J. Fred Muggs, the  chimp mascot of the Today Show with Dave Garroway 1953-57, was simply ham on wry.

None can hold a candle to - or ride an unicycle beside - General Jackoo, who could smoke a cigar and juggle while dancing on a tightrope, and whose first mention in print reportedly occurred in 1768. This multitasking monkey's long-term engagement at Astley's Amhitheater in London, and on tour with Astley's in Paris during 1785, was a sensation and earned him accolades across the Continent.

And groupies. Horace Walpole reports:

"A young Madame de Choiseul is inloved with by Monsieur de Coigny and Prince Joseph of Monaco…but as she had two passions as well as two lovers, she was also enamored of General Jackoo at Astley's. The unsuccessful candidate offered Astley ingots for his monkey, but Astley demanding a terre for life, the paladin was forced to desist, but fortunately heard of another miracle of parts of the Monomatapan race, who was not in so exalted a sphere of life, being only a marmiton in a kitchen where he had learned to pluck fowls with inimitable dexterity" (Walpole to the Countess of Ossory, Feb 10, 1786. The Letters of Horace Walpole. Volume 9. London, 1891).

Poor Madame de Choiseul had to settle for second best, content with a chicken pluckin' lower primate rather than General Jackoo, who enjoyed an elevated station in life as a beloved celebrity and was more likely to have a chicken-pluckin' chimp in his employ rather than pluck himself (chickens, not his person).


In The Downfall of Taste & Genius, or the World as it Goes, an etched print satirizing the taste and amusements of the day, made by Samuel Collings and published by William Humphrey, 1784, we see our hero riding a large dog and holding a flag inscribed 'Genl Jacko.' General Jackoo  'the astonishing monkey from the fair of St Germain's Paris,' performed at Astley's during the summer season of 1784.

Of animal performers in human drag and the General in particular, Rudy Koshar in Histories of Leisure (pp. 55-56) noted, "The rope-dancing monkey General Jackoo, miming his own little interlude, needed only 'the gift of speech' to make his appearance complete and, 'while he is so laughably brandishing his sword, cry - 'Who's afraid?' In a genteel precedent to the chimp's tea party, Jackoo took an elaborate public breakfast with a canine Mme de Pompadour, which included a glimpse of a world turned upside down when they were waited on by humans…In 1785, Astley travestied the horse with a 'large' and 'richly caparisoned dog, ridden by General Jackoo in a 'Triumphal Entry of 1785." General Jackoo, jocose dog  jockey.

Solomon, c. 1908, "a well-accomplished pick-pocket,"
purportedly haunts the Panopticon Zoo in Glasgow
where he lived for many years, dressed to the nines.

"A bill for Astley's Amphitheatre, hand-dated 28 May 1785, at the Huntington Library, stated that 'General Jackoo, the celebrated Monkey from Paris, will, for the first time this season, change the whole of his dress in a surprising manner, and perform his war maneuvers, dance on the Tight Rope with fetters on his feet, &c.' In 'The Manager's Notebook' is a letter from Philip Astley in Paris to Mr. and Mrs Pownall, dated 4 December 1786. He said, 'Genl Jackoo did not arrive before the 18th and we opened the 19th…' That entry would appear to be a reference to the performing monkey" (A Biographical Dictionary of Actors, Volume 8).

The 1780s were General Jackoo's heyday, the years of his greatest popularity, the height of his career arc. A slow descent followed.

Once, while on tour in the British countryside in 1795, General Jackoo and his buddy, Sir Bruin, a dancing bear, became involved in a little contretemps.

"Amongst the number of unfortunates who have taken up and obliged themselves, whether they could or no, was a party, consisting of an old man and woman, a young man, a dancing bear, and a monkey, attended by a caravan drawn by one horse, and which, it is presumed, was intended for the accommodation of any in the party who may happen to tire on the road

"The constables, observing this group entering the town, and preparing to treat the inhabitants with a saraband from Sir Bruin, walked up to them, and mixed with others in laughing at his exploits, and those of his merry companion, General Jackoo; but oh! direful to relate! no sooner has the shaggy-coated dancing master finished his manoevres, than they arrested the whole party, and conducted them to a neighboring Justice of the Peace, who, after due investigation, committed the old man and woman and the young man to prison.

"The constables, who had no idea but that the bear and monkey were committed as well, sat off immediately with them in the caravan (the man and woman walking by the side), and made haste toward Bridewell, the keeper of which received the bipeds, but refused to entertain the quadrupeds, because they were not included in the mistimes. The constables were therefore obliged to return with the refuse: they made the best of their way home, and on their arrival procured lodgings for Sir Bruin and his mimical attendant, in what they thought was a place of safety…

"…Sir Bruin had no other encumbrance than a muzzle, which was thought a sufficient security; but poor General Jackoo was confined to the wall by a small chain, with which he had usually been led. They had not been long in durance vile, before Jackoo projected means for escaping; Sir Briun, too, had a desire to depart. The monkey easily unbuckled the bear's muzzle but found it impossible to extricate himself. Sir Bruin, on finding his jaws at liberty, immediately effected his escape…"  (The Sporting Magazine Vol 6, August 1795, p. 256).

Then, a next-door neighbor, "actuated by a sudden impulse of nature, leaped from his shop-board in order to make a pilgrimage to a certain little tenement at the bottom of his garden: he had scarce proceeded half-way, when lo! the figure of the bear struck him from the necessity of offering incense to Cloacina, at her temple, for it operated on him both as diuretic and purgative" (ibid.).

We gloss over the delightfully gentle British understatement regarding the neighbor's loss  of control when confronted by Sir Bruin to note that, by 1795, General Jackoo, alas, was getting second billing in the newspapers, upstaged by a dancing bear with the power to loosen the bladder and bowels of passersby on the street. That's entertainment! But it doesn't take much talent.

Astley's Amphitheater in London by Thomas Rowlandson & Augustus Pugin.
From Ackermann's Microcosm of London, 1808-1811.

By 1824, General Jackoo was receiving third billing as the Clown, one of the natives behind Ourang Outans, Sovereign of Monkey Island; Mr. J. Cooper as Puckercheeks Prime Minister, afterwards Pantaloon, in The Monkey Island or Harlequin and the Lodestone Rock, a grand pantomime at the Theater Royal July 1824 (The Theatrical Observer and Daily Bills of the Play, #808 Saturday July 3, 1824). In 1824, he was at least fifty-six years old. The life span of a chimpanzee in the wild is up to forty-five years; in captivity, sixty. General Jackoo, now too old and arthritic to perform acrobatics, was now washed-up as a headliner, a has-been, the last stop in his career an ancient clown. We don't know how the General met his demise but it was likely of old age. He was a trouper, performing to the end, perhaps hoping for a comeback.

Philip Astley was an acrobat on horseback who was the first to perform in a circular arena of his own contrivance;  the centrifugal force aided balance during acrobatics, and with the addition of a clown and novelty acts to amuse the audience between trained horse tricks, his amphitheater was the prototype for the modern circus, and became extremely popular. He opened a venue in Paris, and had  open-air or tent shows on tour through the countrysides of Europe. Astley's Amphitheater in London, originally established in 1768, survived many fires and rebuilding before finally closing in the early 1890s.

There is not, alas, have a formal portrait of General Jackoo, the simian superstar of the late 18th century. Nor, considering his passionate base of groupies, is there evidence that Cynthia Plaster Caster, who gained fame by capturing the sacred regenerative organs of the gods of '60s rock as votive ceramic ware, traveled back through time to cast the General's jewels for posterity.
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ASTLEY, Philip and John. Details des exercices du fameux singe, nommé Géneral Jackoo. Amphitheatre du Sieur Astey, rue du Fauxbourgh du Temple. [Paris]: de l'Imprimerie de L'Ormel, No. 22, 1785.

Double-sided broadside (350 x 135 mm), giving details of various Astley performances at the Amphitheatre at Paris on one side, and on the other providing the exploits of Astley's trained monkey, illustrated with ten woodcuts demonstrating the spectacular stunts of one of the foremost simians of his time.
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Image courtesy of Bernard Quaritch Ltd, with our thanks.
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Friday, October 7, 2011

Two Little Ladies, One Body: Meet the Biddenden Maids of the 12th Century

by Stephen J. Gertz

A Short But Concise Account of Elizabeth and Mary Chulkhurst
…Commonly Called the Biddenden Maids.
Tenterden, Kent: James Weston, 1811.

Born to parents of means in the year 1100, Mary and Eliza Chulkhurst - the Biddenden Maids - were joined at the hips and shoulders. They are considered to be one of the earliest genuine cases of conjoined twins on record.

"They were naturally very close friends, although they sometimes disagreed in minor matters, and had 'frequent quarrels, which sometimes terminated in blows'" (Anon. Antiquarian Repertory, vol. I. London: F Blyth,1775:17, as cited in Bondeson, J., The Biddenden Twins: A Curious Chapter in the History of Conjoined Twins, in Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine Volume 85 April 1992, p. 217).

Detail from above broadside.

In 1134, Mary died after a sudden illness. When it was proposed that Eliza be surgically separated from her dead sister, Eliza refused. "As we came together we will also go together." She died six hours later.

Upon their death, they left parcels of land in Biddenden to the church wardens of that parish, the annual rent for which was annually doled to the local poor. For many years, every Easter Sunday the Maid's charity distributed bread, cheese, and beer to the less fortunate. Ongoing for centuries,  by the early nineteenth century the Biddenden Twin's charity was distributing near 1000 Biddenden cakes and 300 quartern loaves of bread and cheese in proportion.

Plaster cast of an early biscuit stamp.

As reported in 1895, "the income now amounts to about £40, and, as may be supposed, such a sum is sufficient to put Biddenden into a state of festivity for one day in the year. Visitors from neighboring places flocked to the village, which was turned into a kind of fair after the services in the church had been celebrated…There are two distributions under the will of the united sisters. In the first place, 1,000 hard-baked rolls, each stamped with a representation of the foundresses of the feast, were distributed among the visitors who might be in want of refreshment. They are very durable, as they are hard as wood, and may be kept as curiosities for twenty years. It would take the same time to digest them if eaten….The ceremony finished, many of the visitors attempted to soften their cakes in Kentish ale, and passed the rest of the day in Old World conviviality. Biddenden then resumed the quietude which it will retain until the memory of its twin sisters is celebrated next Easter Day" (New York Times, June 6, 1895).

From the Antiquarian Repertory, Volume One.
London: F. Blyth, 1775:17.

There has been some question about whether the traditional story of the twins is apocryphal or authentic. The incidence of twins conjoined in two places, at hips and shoulders, is extremely rare and most teratologists dismiss the possibility. Later historians were of the opinion that if the Biddenden Maids lived at all it was during the 16th or 17th century.

Yet what was reported as conjoinment at the  hips and shoulders was, in all likelihood, simply  due to the custom of twins conjoined at the hips to walk with their  arms around each others' shoulders; they only appeared to be joined at that place, too.

The Biddenden Maids, Gentleman's Magazine, 1869.

As far as Mary and Eliza Chulkhurst living much later than the 12th century, "the Maids [are] not mentioned in any of the major teratological works of the 16th and 17th centuries, such as those by Aldrovandi, Liceti, Pare,Schenckius and others. Nor [are] they noticed in the Philosophical Transactions or any other British collection of teratological descriptions. This is an argument against the opinion that they lived in the 16th or 17th century, since most other remarkable monsters that reached maturity occasioned much publicity in the popular and scientific works of this period"  (Op cit Bondeson, p. 220).

Date unknown.

Further, "a medieval historical chronicle, the Chronicon Scotorum, tells us that in AD 1099, a woman gave birth to 'two children together, in this year, and they had but one body from the breast to the navel, and they were two girls'. In the Irish chronicle Annals of the Four Masters is an almost identical description, although the conjoined twin girls are stated to have been born in 1103; in the Annals of Clonmacnoise their year of birth is given as AD 1100. These ancient descriptions are unreliable in details and probably dependent on each other, but in spite of this, they add some credibility to the old tradition that the Biddenden Maids were really born in 1100" (Op cit Bondeson, p. 221).

Biddenden Maids' Biscuit, c. 1902.

We refer and defer to newspaperman, Dutton Peabody, who, when he learned the truth, responded to Ransom Stoddard, the putative Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend."

And when the legendary biscuit becomes a real jawbreaker, eat the legend.
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Broadside image courtesy of James Eaton of  Alastor Rare Books, currently offering this extreme rarity, with our thanks.

Image of 1902 biscuit courtesy of England: The Other Within. Analysing the English Collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum, with our thanks.
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Monday, February 21, 2011

A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player (and Everyone Else): The Visual Poetry of Kenneth Patchen

by Stephen J. Gertz

Cover to A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.

Dadaist, Surrealist, Jazz poet, Beat poet, visual poet - Kenneth Patchen (1911-1972) - hellraiser and "naturalist of the public nightmare" - was all of those things, and none of them. He was, resolutely, Kenneth Patchen, that's all; that was that, and that was plenty: forty books of poetry, prose and drama  published during a career that began in Greenwich Village and ended in Palo Alto, California.

"The poet should resist all efforts to categorize him as a painted monkey on a stick, not for personal reasons alone, but because it does damage to poetry itself" (Patchen, letter to a friend).

An early example of Patchen's experiments with visual poetry - his charming and eloquent painted and silkscreened poems - A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player (1955) is a distinctive, joyful melange of text, drawings and decorations that furthered the explorations of Apollonaire with his  calligrams, and the Dadaists and Lettrists from earlier in the twentieth century.


The great fly fleet
From A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.

Silkscreened from Patchen's original painted manuscript on handmade Japanese paper by fine printer Frank Bacher, many hand-colored by Patchen, A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player is rarely found complete with all eighteen broadsides. Copies, have, alas (but with grudging understanding) been broken up to sell the broadsides individually, each a stunning work of art.

Eureka! A complete copy has now come to market. ABPC records only three copies at auction in the last thirty-five years, one of which was, unsurprisingly, incomplete. This is likely the only complete copy we'll be seeing for quite some time.

Patchen influenced  Beat poets Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Dick McBride. In 1942 he collaborated with modernist composer John Cage on a radio play, The City Wears a Slouch Hat. During the 1950s Patchen collaborated with Jazz bassist and composer, Charles Mingus, reading his poetry to the Mingus group's accompaniment.

"...I worked with a poet named Patchen. He was wearing his scarlet jacket and sitting on a stool on a little stage in a theatre you walk upstairs to down on fourteenth street.

"We improvised behind him while he read his poems, which I read ahead of time. 'It's dark out, Jack' - this was one of his poems - 'It's dark out, Jack, the stations out there don't identify themselves, we're in it raw-blind like burned rats, it's running out all around us, the footprints of the beast, one nobody has any notion of. The white and vacant eyes of something above there, something that doesn't know we exist. I smell heartbreak up there, Jack, a heartbreak at the center of things, and in which we don't figure at all.' Patchen's a real artist, you'd dig him, doctor. 'I believe in truth' he said, 'I believe that every good thought I have, all men shall have. I believe that the perfect shape of everything has been prepared'" (Mingus, Charles. Beneath the Underdog, p. 330).

Tiger contemplating a cake
From A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.

Let us have madness openly.
0 men Of my generation.
Let us follow
The footsteps of this slaughtered age:
See it trail across Time's dim land
Into the closed house of eternity
With the noise that dying has,
With the face that dead things wear –
nor ever say
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door, an utter deed of love,
Transforming day's evil darkness;
but We found extended hell & fog Upon the earth,
& within the head
A rotting bog of lean huge graves.
      – Kenneth Patchen, "Let Us Have Madness"

That was written in 1936, nineteen years before Ginsberg's Howl (1955).

Binding the quiet into chalky sheaves
From A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.
 
"His voice is the voice of a conscience which is forgotten. He speaks from the moral viewpoint of the new century, the century of assured hope, before the dawn of the world-in-concentration-camp. But he speaks of the world as it is.

"Imagine if suddenly the men of 1900 — H.G. Wells, Bernard Shaw, Peter Kropotkin, Romain Rolland, Martin Nexo, Maxim Gorky, Jack London — had been caught up, unprepared & uncompromised, fifty years into the terrible future.

"Patchen speaks as they would have spoken, in terms of unqualified horror & rejection. He speaks as Émile Zola spoke once — “A moment in the conscience of mankind.” (Kenneth Rexroth, Kenneth Patchen, Naturalist of the Public Nightmare. From Bird in the Bush (New Directions, 1959).

In Back Of
From A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.

 I am the world crier, 
& this is my dangerous career.
I am the one to call your bluff,
& this is my climate.
- Kenneth Patchen

I am the joy of the desiring
flesh
The days of my living
are summer days
The nights of my glory
outshine the blazing
wavecaps of the heavens
at their floodtide
Mine is the confident hand shaping this
world.

- Kenneth Patchen

What Indeed!
From A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player.

PATCHEN, Kenneth. A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player. [Palo Alto]: [Printed for the Author by Frank Bacher], 1955. First edition, limited to 200 copies. Folio. Eighteen poems as eighteen silkscreened broadsides, 39 x 30 cm each, printed on handmade Japanese paper, loose, as issued, in screen-printed card portfolio. The copy of acclaimed painter and graphic artist, Ben Shahn, with his bookplate.
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Images from A Surprise for the Bagpipe Player courtesy of Lorne Bair Rare Books, which is jointly offering this splendid copy with Between the Covers, with our thanks. Please contact for details.
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