Alan Ansen | |
|---|---|
 Ansen in 1973 | |
| Born | (1922-01-23)January 23, 1922 |
| Died | November 12, 2006(2006-11-12) (aged 84) Athens, Greece |
| Occupation | Poet, playwright |
| Nationality | American |
| Education | Harvard University |
| Genre | American poetry,British poetry,American theater |
| Notable works | The Table Talk of W. H. Auden |
Alan Ansen (January 23, 1922 – November 12, 2006) was an American poet, playwright, and associate ofBeat Generation writers.[1][2] He was a widely read scholar who knew many languages. Ansen grew up onLong Island and was educated atHarvard. He worked asW. H. Auden's secretary and research assistant in 1948–49; he was the main author of the chronological tables in Auden'sThe Portable Greek Reader andPoets of the English Language.
He became a close friend of various Beat writers, and was the model for "flamboyant" characters in their fiction (Ansen was gay),[3] including Rollo Greb inJack Kerouac'sOn the Road, AJ inWilliam S. Burroughs'Naked Lunch, and Dad Deform inGregory Corso'sAmerican Express.[4] Ansen spent time inTangiers withPaul Bowles and was a close associate ofAllen Ginsberg.William Gaddis, who spent time in the early 50s on Long Island with Kerouac and Ansen, wrote that Ansen had never quite received the credit he deserved for being "the mentor he was for this whole [Beat] group," staying up with Jack until dawn drinking and talking.[5]
Ansen was the protagonist inRalph Rumney'spsychogeographical guide toVenice, produced in 1957 and which primarily consisted of a number of photographs of Ansen – referred to as A. – taken by Rumney on aRolleiflex camera.[6]
Ansen lived mostly in Athens after the early 1960s, where he was part of a circle of writers that includedJames Merrill andChester Kallman.Rachel Hadas, who also lived in Athens and met Ansen in 1969, described his life in "the tall old house on Alopekis Street":
Alan's apartment was notable for innumerable books and vases full of tall flowers—gladiolas, in particular.... There were two sofas in the flower- and book-filled living room, hard and covered with grubby tapestries, but very comfortable.... He had a sensible policy of not lending anything from his library, but the contents of many of his books, in any case, seemed to be in his head; he recited, declaimed and burst (in the case of opera) into song. Alan lived books, in a way that was rare even then.[7]
