About The Book

Rainy night on Union Square, full moon. Want more poems? Wait till I’m dead.
—Allen Ginsberg, August 8, 1990, 3:30 a.m.

The first new Ginsberg collection in over fifteen years, Wait Till I’m Dead is a landmark publication, edited by renowned Ginsberg scholar Bill Morgan. Ginsberg wrote incessantly for more than fifty years, often composing poetry on demand, and many of the poems collected in this volume were scribbled in letters or sent off to obscure publications and unjustly forgotten. Wait Till I’m Dead, which spans the whole of Ginsberg’s long writing career, from the 1940s to the 1990s, is a testament to Ginsberg’s astonishing writing and singular aesthetics.

Following the chronology of his life, Wait Till I’m Dead reproduces the poems together with Ginsberg’s extensive notes. Containing 103 previously uncollected poems and accompanied by original photographs, Wait Till I’m Dead is the final major contribution to Ginsberg’s sprawling oeuvre, a must have for Ginsberg neophytes and longtime fans alike.

Praise

“Ginsberg has been one of the most influential poets in America in our time . . .  A spectacular career.” —New York Times Book Review

“An intimate new collection from the ‘shy but outspoken Jewish bard,’ as Rachel Zucker dubs him in her artful foreword . . . Wait Till I’m Dead expands our vision, takes us on a wild road trip with the poet and his friends through the second half of the 20th century . . . He reveals his inner life with magnificent range, from traveling epics to lucid haiku . . . Ginsberg’s singular voice, speaking out from the past.” —Diana Whitney, San Francisco Chronicle

“Delights include the opening set of quatrains slamming student Allen’s congressman, a long ramble on America written during a cross-country flight in 1965, a final conversation with old friend Carl Solomon, and enough jokey or philosophical or contemplative or observational short poems to make those who’ve sworn off Ginsberg reconsider.” —Booklist

“Ginsberg is both tragic and dynamic, a lyrical genius, con man extraordinaire, and probably the single greatest influence on American poetical voice since Whitman.” —Bob Dylan

Excerpt

Amnesiac Thirst For Fame

An “autograph hound” armed
with a golden platter and a
gun
kneeled before John and
killed the Beatles.

A stringy-haired artist
tiptoed thru St. Peter’s
and unsculpted
Michelangelo’s
polished marble elbow with a
hammer,

Christ defenseless lying in his
stone Mama’s arms.

Staring out of the canvas
under their Feathered Hats

Rembrandt’s Night Watchers
were blind to the Slasher
that tore thru their coats with
a razor.

Did someone steal Mona
Lisa’s smile forever from
the Louvre?

ca. Dec. 8, 1980

Published in Rolling Stone, no. 335, Jan. 22, 1981, p. 70.