Interview #30: Dan Richter

Foot in both Beat & Beatles camps

DAN RICHTER, poet, publisher, memoirist, mime artist and choreographer, is perhaps best known for his work on Stanley Kubrick’s science fiction masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey, in which he played the lead ape Moonwatcher and choreographed the opening ‘Dawn of Man’ sequence.

He has written several memoirs about his life and career, including The Dream is Over, which recalls the years he lived and worked with John Lennon and Yoko Ono from 1969 to 1973.

Pictured above: Dan Richter today

Richter was a principal performer and organiser at the 1965 International Poetry Incarnation, the now legendary reading at the Royal Albert Hall, immortalised in Peter Whitehead’s film Wholly Communion and an event which is widely regarded as having kick-started the UK’s countercultural scene.

LEON HORTON, UK based counterculture writer and editor and contributor to Rock and the Beat Generation, recently spoke to Dan Richter about an interesting life…

Leon Horton: Dan, in 1965, at the time of the International Poetry Incarnation, you were editing and publishing your own arts magazine Residu, in Athens, which included poetry by Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso. How did Residu come about?

Dan Richter: I was in Athens because my friends from India, Zena Rachevsky and Ron Vial, who I had lived with in Srinager, were wintering there. It seemed more attractive than the States. I was writing poetry and was surrounded by poets, so I thought a poetry review was in order. Jill [Dan’s then wife] had come to stay at my house on her way to India so we just did it.

LH: Was that how you became involved with the Albert Hall reading?

DR: I was close to Alexander Trocchi. When Ginsberg was coming to his apartment, Alex invited Jill and I to be there so we could meet him in person. We had published Allen in Residu but had never met him.

LH: The initial idea came off the back of Ginsberg’s successful reading at Better Books. According to Barry Miles in London Calling, the filmmaker Barbara Rubin was the one who picked up the phone and booked the Albert Hall. What part did she play in the proceedings?

DR: I don’t remember Barbara calling the Albert Hall. Miles may have that wrong. Jill and I were checking out venues and had stopped at the Albert Memorial to smoke a joint. Looking across at the Hall, I thought we should ask them if they had a date and what it would cost.

Pictured above: Richter and wife Jill at the International Poetry Incarnation in 1965

LH: An organising committee, the Poet’s Co-operative, was quickly formed after the initial burst of enthusiasm. I know Michael Horovitz was in there from the beginning, but who were the other core members and what active roles did they take?

DR: Wow. That’s hard to remember. Alex [Trocchi] was the driving force, and his little apartment was ground zero. Allen, of course, and he brought along Barbara. The circle kept growing each day and it was a delightful chaos in slow motion.

LH: Did you contribute to the joint writing of the ‘England! Awake!’ invocation at Trocchi’s flat? It is, in most part, attributed to Ginsberg – his voice is certainly audible – but it would be fascinating to know who wrote which lines of the manifesto.

DR: I really don’t remember, everyone was contributing to everything but certainly that seems to have been pure Allen.

LH: It was your wife Jill who raised the money to pay for the venue – what was it, about £450 for the night? That’s a lot of money in 1965. How did she get the cash?

DR: It was at least £450. When Jill and I went in to the booking office she had a cheque her parents had given her from a cashed in insurance policy, which she signed over to them. After Allen went on TV I went back to see how much more we owed and they told me we owed nothing as we were rapidly selling out.

LH: I read somewhere – I don’t know if this is true – that the organisers pretty soon split into two camps, and that Allen Ginsberg was griping about the suitability of some of the other poets that were booked. Is that true? Was it a rocky road to the Hall?

DR: Rocky road is an understatement. The arguing got quite volatile. At one point Alex wanted to sacrifice a chicken.

LH: Trocchi, ever the master publicist, staged a group photo of poets at the Albert Memorial, which attracted the press and BBC News and doubtless accounted for the uplift in ticket sales. There’s a lot to be said about Alexander Trocchi, some of it really disturbing, but how do you think he performed as Master of Ceremonies?

DR: In the end Alex did a great job. He was the catalyst that brought us all together. His vision and energy were always there. His years in Paris with Merlin and the literary success of Cain’s Book had made him a central figure in the literary world.

His flat had a constant stream of writers and related people constantly visiting. Books, the underground and dope here constant themes. You never knew who you would meet when you stopped by.

LH: Forgive me, but wasn’t it Trocchi who first introduced you to heroin?

DR: At that time I had no idea what I was getting into. I had experimented with heroin in Athens and wanted to have a complete experience. When I arrived in London, Alex helped me to find a doctor so I could use it legally.

LH: You were, of course, one of the 17 poets who got up to perform that night. What was the atmosphere like? Do you remember how you felt waiting to go on?

DR: The atmosphere was electric and delightfully chaotic. We decided to leave the house lights on and had added ‘smoking is permitted’ to the programme. None of us waited to go on as we all sat together in the centre. When I found out that the event before us was a boxing match, I asked them to leave the ring there but take down the ropes. We put out easy chairs, couches, and lamps so it mimicked a living room.

LH: What poems did you perform?

DR: I wish I could remember.

LH: How did you feel about your performance? How did the audience react to you?

DR: It was exhilarating. It went very well, as I remember. I’m a trained performer and always feel comfortable in front of an audience.

LH: Did you see yourself as a Beat poet at that time?

DR: We were all Beats. And glad to be in spite of the problems.

LH: Adrian Mitchell read ‘To Whom It May Concern (Tell Me Lies about Vietnam)’, considered to be the surprise hit of the event. Who do you think gave the best reading?

DR: Adrian’s reading was great, well delivered, and very timely; but Allen was, for me, the high point of the evening.

LH: Peter Whitehead’s documentary Wholly Communion is an important record of the event, but at 33 minutes long it misses a great many of the performances. Christopher Logue made the point that ‘the audience is missing. The audience were just as interesting, in fact more interesting than the performers.’ What was so interesting about the audience?

DR: Well, we wanted the audience to be part of the event and there was a constant give and take between them and us. The fact that you had thousands of stoned people in the audience for hours listening to some powerful poetry created an amazing energy that seemed as if it would topple into total chaos at any moment.

LH: Harry Fainlight was heckled by fellow poet Simon Vinkenoog (off his bonce on acid) when he tried to read ‘The Spider’, his poem about a bad LSD trip. Plenty of irony there, of course, and it’s a bit of a moot question, but was there much drug taking?

DR: Almost everyone on stage and in the audience was stoned.

LH: Were you privy to any backstage shenanigans? I’m thinking specifically of Jeff Nuttall and John Latham and their abortive attempt to stage a happening when Latham fainted in the wings covered in green paint. Did you see much to laugh at?

DR: I don’t remember Jeff’s incident. Aside from wanting to give a great performance, I was mainly wearing my producer’s hat, trying to keep the event going and from being shut down by the police.

LH: Why did the police want to shut you down? Were they hoping you would fuck up?

DR: The police didn’t have a clue. From their point of view we were just another menace and a danger to society.

LH: You first met Gregory Corso that night, the start of an enduring friendship that would ultimately see you both living and carousing at the Chelsea Hotel in the 1980s. Corso could be belligerent – not helped by his increasing dependency on heroin – but also a beautifully honest poet. Was it love at first sight? What drew you guys together?

DR: I don’t really know why we clicked from the start. He was helping me with my poetry and we had a sense of fun when we were together. It certainly became a long-time friendship. He certainly was a wild man but also a sweetheart.

LH: This next question is really the elephant in the room, but I must ask. It has been widely suggested, by some of the poets, that they didn’t get paid, and in the tabloid press that the profits mysteriously disappeared. What happened to the money?

DR: Jill had put up the money and since John Esam and I were producing the event we paid all the bills and distributed the money. There was a lot less than many people hoped for and I think promises were made by others that we didn’t know about with regards to money. No one absconded with anything, despite all the rumours, chaos and drugged talk.

LH: Many people regard the International Poetry Incarnation as a defining moment that kick-started the counterculture in the UK. Adrian Mitchell said ‘it changed poetry forever in the UK’; Barry Miles remarked that ‘for the youth of London it was a catalyst: the birth of the London underground.’ Is that a fair summation, do you think?

DR: Absolutely. Before that evening Miles might put on a poetry reading and 100 people would be a big audience. I had hoped we would at least break even so Jill didn’t lose any money. I don’t think any of us had any idea that we would sell out and turn away so many. What had been an esoteric small scene had exploded in front of our eyes into the counterculture and it all seemed to have happened that night.

LH: A year later you choreographed the opening sequence to Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and played the lead ape Moonwatcher, but did the International Poetry Incarnation have any impact on your career? Is there anything you would like to add about the event, its cultural significance or its lasting legacy?

DR: I think it’s all been said by many more articulate than I. There are great moments that are profound turning points in history, and I was there for one of them. The main impact the reading had for me is that we met so many wonderful poets and made many new friends.

The next Residu reflected some of the new people we had met. It also expanded our social life, and we became semi-famous with articles in the newspapers featuring Jill and me.

I started appearing on BBC panel shows and discussions about the counterculture and dope. After one TV appearance, the police raided our bedsit in Notting Hill Gate, started beating me up and only stopped when Jill shouted in the hallway, ‘the police are beating up my husband!’

The most important result was that John Esam was asked by Mike Wilson (Swami, skin diver and filmmaker) if he knew any mimes in London. Mike was a friend of Arthur C. Clarke and he and Stanley Kubrick wanted to talk to a mime about putting together ‘The Dawn of Man’ sequence. Johnny said he knew the best mime in London and within a few days Stanley had hired me.

LH: Finally, this being Rock and the Beat Generation, I can’t let you go without asking about your time with John Lennon and Yoko Ono…

DR: We were close friends with Yoko, and when John turned up and they fell in love. We got to know him and the other Beatles. We end up living with them at their estate in Ascot, Tittenhurst Park, because we needed a place and Yoko liked having her own friends around. I ended up working with them.

I helped renovate the estate, shot the Plastic Ono Band covers, and rode shotgun with them for three years. I was lucky enough to help produce their films and other projects. I’m still friends with Yoko.

Editor’s note: Leon Horton is a UK-based countercultural writer, interviewer and editor. He is the editor of the acclaimed essay/memoir collection, Gregory Corso: Ten Times a Poet (Roadside Press, 2024), and recently completed a long-form interview with author Victor Bockris for the recently published title The Burroughs-Warhol Connection (Beatdom Books, 2024). His writing has been presented by Beatdom, International Times and Beat Scene.

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