The King of the Beats...and jazz
Sa tot fie 5 ani de cind m-am apucat de citit prima oara ”Pe drum” (Polirom 2003) de Jack Kerouac. Atunci n-am ajuns decit pe la jumatatea cartii, dezamagita cumva de repetitia plictisitoare – gindeam la vremea aceea – a calatoriilor lui Sal si Dean de-a latul Americii postbelice. Insa editia aniversara, de anul trecut, a celor de la Viking (“a member of Penguin Group”) m-a facut sa reiau lectura; de la inceput. Si chiar daca nici acum nu pot sa spun cu mina pe inima ca-mi place foooarte mult “Pe drum”, recunosc totusi ca m-a impresionat suficient incit s-o duc la bun sfirsit.

Am gasit remarcabil, cel putin pentru-o carte scrisa asa, dintr-o bucata (e celebra povestea scroll-ului), echilibrul natural (juri c-aproape studiat) intre nebunie si ratiune, cautare si abandon, abjectie si daruire, realitate si halucinatie, naivitate si cunoastere. Nebunia lui Dean Moriarty este cea care-l fascineaza pe Sal Paradise si cea care aprinde spontan dorul de duca. Iar drumul de la Est la Vest si-napoi, iar inainte si iar indarat e suportul perfect al cautarii. Nu, nu a timpului pierdut (lectura, de altfel, preferata si de nedespartit a lui Dean), ci a acelui ceva, necunoscut, dar care sa ofere Sens.

Cautarea celor doi prieteni, carora li se adauga multi altii (pe wikipedia am gasit o lista completa cu personajele din “Pe drum” si persoanele, in carne si oase, la care se refera) functioneaza nu doar ca proces al cunoasterii, ci si ca protest fata de cumintenia si buna cuviinta a acelei epoci americane. O cumintenie de te apuca greata, pe care gasca de prieteni o provoaca ordinar: betii crincene, droguri, sex pe apucate, imoralitate si o totala lipsa de responsabilitate.

Si toata aceasta nebunie, aparent lipsita de orice sens, contrasteaza cu lirismul delicat al peisajelor intilnite pe drum si cu muzica de jazz pe care ... parca o auzi. Fara-ndoiala, Kerouac o cunoaste si-o iubeste. “Once there was Louis Armstrong blowing his beautiful top in the muds of New Orleans; before him the mad musicians who had paraded on official days and broke up their Sousa marches into ragtime. Then there was swing, and Roy Eldridge, vigorous and virile, blasting the horn for everything it had in waves of power and subtlety--leaning to it with glittering eyes and a lovely smile and sending it out broadcast to rock the jazz world. Then had come Charlie Parker, a kid in his mother's woodshed in Kansas City, blowing his taped-up alto among the logs, practicing on rainy days, coming out to watch the old swinging Basie and Benny Moten band that had Hot Lips Page and the rest Charlie Parker leaving home and coming to Harlem, and meeting mad Thelonious Monk and madder Gillespie--Charlie Parker in his early days when he was flipped and walked around in a circle while playing. Somewhat younger than Lester Young, also from KC, that gloomy, saintly goof in whom the history of jazz was wrapped; for when he held his horn high and horizontal from his mouth he blew the greatest; and as his hair grew longer and he got lazier and stretched-out, his horn came down halfway; till it finally fell all the way and today as he wears his thick-soled shoes so that he can't feel the sidewalks of life his horn is held weakly against his chest, and he blows cool and easy getout phrases. Here were the children of the American bop night”.

Provocarea lui Kerouac, desi indrazneata, are -zic eu- jumatate de masura. Obrazniciile lui sint cam soft, asta daca stai sa le privesti din perspectiva timpului prezent, ori macar din cea a lui Bukowski. Mai apoi, provocarea societatii abia de-atinge homosexualismul, insa nu si sexismul; ele ramin tabuuri. Iar daca totusi, in “Pe drum”, se vorbeste despre Kinsey si teoria lui, femeile ori sint inca la mina barbatului, ori curve...ori ceva pe-acolo.

Ca urmare, proza capodopera a lui Kerouac m-a incintat prin naturalete, lirism si sinceritate. Insa provocarea - o fi fost la vremea ei!!