Introduction
In this Intermezzo 4 the famous poem Wichita Vortex Sutra by American poet Allen Ginsberg and the music of the same name by Philip Glass. Background information can be found in the following tabs, including the full text of the poem.
At this time, we directly or indirectly witness Russia’s brutal war against Ukraine. While it is true that Allen Ginsberg’s poem is about his anti-war sentiments toward the Vietnam War, however, it also connects to our own anti-war sentiments in the dramatic violence of war in the Ukraine.
Inspired by the poem and the music, I went looking for the background of both. Working with an AI artgenerator, I developed the imagery you’ll find below this publication.
Wichita Vortex Sutra
Wichita Vortex Sutra is one of the most influential poems by Allen Ginsberg, a prominent member of the beat generation – a small number of influential writers of the 1950s and 1960s and especially Jack Kerouac, who coined the term, Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs formed the hard core.
Through this poem, Ginsberg not only expresses his anti-war sentiments, but also demonstrates sharp criticism of American involvement in the Vietnam War.
Written in 1966, during the height of the Vietnam War, Wichita Vortex Sutra is part of a larger collection of poems that highlight Ginsberg’s frustration and distaste for the war. The title refers to Wichita, Kansas, and the word sutra is a Sanskrit term for a text containing a religious dialogue or teaching.
Core themes and style
The poem is a combination of personal anecdotes, historical references and sharp critiques of political leaders. Ginsberg’s distinctive free verse and spontaneous prose style are prominent. This adds to the raw emotion and urgency of his message.
A striking feature of Wichita Vortex Sutra is the blending of the sacred and the profane. While describing the tragic reality of war, Ginsberg also invokes Buddhist mantras and prayers as a form of healing and redemption.
Plea against war
The poem contains a mix of poetic verse, newspaper excerpts, and personal reflections. Through this mix, Ginsberg offers the reader a raw and unfiltered picture of the chaos and uncertainty of the time.
Wichita Vortex Sutra is also a testimony to the power of poetry to effect social and political change. It reminds us that words can be weapons – not for destruction, but for healing and transformation.
Even today, it is a timeless awareness of the destructive nature of war and the power of poetry to promote awareness and change.
Full text 'Wichita Vortex Sutra'
but not afraid
to speak my lonesomeness in a car,
because not only my lonesomeness
it’s Ours, all over America,
O tender fellows—
& spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy
in the moon 100 years ago or in
the middle of Kansas now.
It’s not the vast plains mute our mouths
that fill at midnite with ecstatic language
when our trembling bodies hold each other
breast to breast on a mattress—
Not the empty sky that hides
the feeling from our faces
nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin,
white smooth abdomen down to the hair
between our legs,
It’s not a God that bore us that forbid
our Being, like a sunny rose
all red with naked joy
between our eyes & bellies, yes
All we do is for this frightened thing
we call Love, want and lack—
fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be
beloved of all the brides of Kansas City,
kissed all over by every boy of Wichita—
O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me—
On the bridge over Republican River
almost in tears to know
how to speak the right language—
on the frosty broad road
uphill between highway embankments
I search for the language
that is also yours—
almost all our language has been taxed by war.
Radio antennae high tension
wires ranging from Junction City across the plains—
highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
lanes curving past Abilene
to Denver filled with old
heroes of love—
to Wichita where McClure’s mind
burst into animal beauty
drunk, getting laid in a car
in a neon misted street
15 years ago—
to Independence where the old man’s still alive
who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human consciousness
and made the body universe a place of fear—
Now, speeding along the empty plain,
no giant demon machine
visible on the horizon
but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s edge
I claim my birthright!
reborn forever as long as Man
in Kansas or other universe—Joy
reborn after the vast sadness of the War Gods!
A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear
imagining that throng of Selves
that make this nation one body of Prophecy
languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of
Happiness!
I call all Powers of imagination
to my side in this auto to make Prophecy,
all Lords
of human kingdoms to come
Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash
Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs
Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded
Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands
give up your desire
Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility
Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void
Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM
Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru
William Blake the invisible father of English visions
Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
half closed who only cries for his mother
Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
merciful Chango judging our bodies
Durga-Ma covered with blood
destroyer of battlefield illusions
million faced Tathagata gone past suffering
Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain
Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable
Allah the compassionate one
Jaweh Righteous One
all Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all
ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis
& holymen I chant to—
Come to my lone presence
into this Vortex named Kansas,
I lift my voice aloud,
make Mantra of American language now,
I here declare the end of the War!
Ancient days’ Illusion!—
and pronounce words beginning my own millennium.
Let the States tremble,
let the nation weep,
let Congress legislate its own delight,
let the President execute his own desire—
this Act done by my own voice,
nameless Mystery—
published to my own senses,
blissfully received by my own form
approved with pleasure by my sensations
manifestation of my very thought
accomplished in my own imagination
all realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from Wichita
near El Dorado,
The Golden One,
in chill earthly mist
houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
in every direction
one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord—
Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower
where Florence is
set on a hill,
stop for tea & gas
giant white mist on earth
and a Wichita Eagle-Beacon headlines
“Kennedy Urges Cong Get Chair in Negotiations”
The War is gone,
Language emerging on the motel news stand,
the right magic
Formula, the language known
in the back of the mind before, now in black print
daily consciousness
Eagle News Services Saigon—
Headline Surrounded Vietcong Charge Into Fire Fight
the suffering not yet ended
for others
The last spasms of the dragon of pain
shoot thru the muscles
a crackling around the eyeballs
of a sensitive yellow boy by a muddy wall
Continued from page one area
after the Marines killed 256 Vietcong captured 31
ten day operation Harvest Moon last December
Language language
U.S. Military Spokesmen
Language language
Cong death toll
has soared to 100 in First Air Cavalry
Division’s Sector of
Language language
Operation White Wing near Bong Son
Some of the
Language language
Communist
Language language soldiers
charged so desperately
they were struck with six or seven bullets before they fell
Language Language M-60 Machine Guns
Language language in La Drang Valley
the terrain is rougher infested with leeches and scorpions
The war was over several hours ago!
Oh at last again the radio opens
blue Invitations!
Angelic Dylan singing across the nation
“When all your children start to resent you
Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?”
His youthful voice making glad
the brown endless meadows
His tenderness penetrating aether,
soft prayer on the airwaves,
Language language, and sweet music too
even unto thee,
hairy flatness!
even unto thee
despairing Burns!
Future speeding on swift wheels
straight to the heart of Wichita!
Now radio voices cry population hunger world
if unhappy people
waiting for Man to be born
O man in America!
you certainly smell good
the radio says
passing mysterious families of winking towers
grouped round a Quonset-hut on a hillock—
feed storage or military fear factory here?
Sensitive City, Ooh! Hamburger & Skelley’s Gas
lights feed man and machine,
Kansas Electric Substation aluminum robot
signals thru thin antennae towers
above the empty football field
at Sunday dusk
to a solitary derrick that pumps oil from the unconscious
working night & day
& factory gas-flares edge a huge golf course
where tired businessmen can come and play—
Cloverleaf, Merging Traffic East Wichita turnoff
McConnell Airforce Base
nourishing the City—
Lights rising in the suburbs
Supermarket Texaco brilliance starred
over streetlamp vertebrae on Kellogg,
green jeweled traffic lights
confronting the windshield,
Centertown ganglion entered!
Crowds of autos moving with their lightshine,
signbulbs winking in the driver’s eyeball—
The human nest collected, neon lit,
and sunburst signed
for business as usual, except on the Lord’s Day—
Redeemer Lutheran’s three crosses lit on the lawn
reminder of our sins
and Titsworth offers insurance on Hydraulic
by De Voors Guard’s Mortuary for outmoded bodies
of the human vehicle
which no Titsworth of insurance will customize for resale—
So home, traveler, past the newspaper language factory
under Union Station railroad bridge on Douglas
to the center of the Vortex, calmly returned
to Hotel Eaton
Carry Nation began the war on Vietnam here
with an angry smashing ax
attacking Wine—
Here fifty years ago, by her violence
began a vortex of hatred that defoliated the Mekong Delta—
Proud Wichita! vain Wichita
cast the first stone!—
That murdered my mother
who died of the communist anticommunist psychosis
in the madhouse one decade long ago
complaining about wires of masscommunication in her head
and phantom political voices in the air
besmirching her girlish character.
Many another has suffered death and madness
in the Vortex from Hydraulic
to the end of 17th –enough!
The war is over now—
Except for the souls
held prisoner in Niggertown
still pining for love of your tender white bodies O children of Wichita!
Wichita Vortex Sutra by Philip Glass and Allen Ginsberg
The world of music has numerous intriguing collaborations, but few have the poetic power and musical synchronicity like that between Philip Glass and Allen Ginsberg in their interpretation of Wichita Vortex Sutra.
Backgrounds
Wichita Vortex Sutra is – as described above – a poem by Allen Ginsberg, written during his travels through the American Midwest in 1966. It was his protest against the Vietnam War, and the poem contains a mixture of personal observations, political statements and spiritual outpourings.
Philip Glass, one of the most celebrated contemporary composers, is known for his minimalist style. In the 1990s, he approached Ginsberg with the idea of collaborating and turning Wichita Vortex Sutra into a piece of music. The result is a brilliant fusion of spoken word and repetitive, meditative musical sequences.
Song No. 6 from Wichita Vortex Sutra
In this version of Wichita Vortex Sutra, Ginsberg recites the first part of his poem to Glass’ music: the song Song No. 6 from Wichita Vortex Sutra from Philip Glass’ album Hydrogen Jukebox.
Ginsberg’s deep, rhythmic voice combines seamlessly with the hypnotic piano sounds, drawing the listener into a vortex of emotion and reflection.
Glass’ composition is both subtle and powerful, doing Ginsberg’s words full justice. A suspenseful arc emerges in which the listener is taken on a journey through 1960s America – with all the turmoil and hope that characterized that era.
For those who listen to Spotify: here is the track in question:
Conclusion
Wichita Vortex Sutra is more than just a piece of music or a poem; it is a snapshot of an era, a plea for peace and a testament of two brilliant artists who came together to create something extraordinary.
Whether you are a fan of poetry, music, or both, this piece is absolutely worth listening to and contemplating. It reminds us of the power of art to effect change and touch people’s hearts.
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