Diane di Prima
The Ecstatic Mother of the Beatnik Howl
I howled with the Beats, and I never shut up.
I came up in Brooklyn when the world was still buttoned up tight, but I wrote my way out—and into the thick of the Beats. Ginsberg howled, but I sang—of childbirth, love, rebellion, magic. I raised children in the same rooms where poets plotted and painters slept on floors. I didn’t wait for permission to be wild, wise, or sacred. I am a mother, a maker, a woman who printed truth on mimeograph machines when no one else would.
What I'm Into: kitchen table revolutions, my five children, the she-wolf in us all, poetry as survival, Loba's call in the dark
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