Peaches and Penumbras
In 1968, Jane Kramer published a tender profile of Allen Ginsberg in the New Yorker, one that begins on a curious note. It's not the scene Kramer describes, a sparsely furnished apartment in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco where, on an evening in January of the previous year, the planning committee for a "Gathering of the Tribes for a Human Be-In" is holding an eleventh-hour meeting. Nor is it the one remaining item on the agenda: Is the LSD evangelist Timothy Leary a poet, in which case he will be allowed seven minutes to speak, or is he a bona fide prophet and therefore entitled to as much as half an hour during the next day's gathering in Golden Gate Park?
Rather, what's odd is that when Kramer first introduces Ginsberg, who sits (cross-legged) on the planning committee, he's identified as "Allen
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