In a conversation with Eileen Myles that serves as the afterword to Up Is Up, But So Is Down: New York’s Downtown Literary Scene, 1974-1992, Dennis Cooper states, “I wanted to make it as a writer, and I thought I had to be in New York for that to happen.” Myles cites the “incomprehensibly exciting” work of Frank O’Hara and James Schuyler as the impetus for her sojourn. Their dialogue is fascinating not just for the you-are-there testimonials of the Downtown lifestyle or their theories on the scene’s downfall, but to see Cooper and Myles—arguably the two most lasting figures and influences from the scene—admit to the commonality of this experience. They caught a whiff of something strange and new and decided to take part, packing up their ambitions and belongings to live in what was then (and what will probably always be) this great beacon of opportunity known as New York.
What is so lovingly documented in Up Is Up (much-deserved kudos to editor Brandon Stosuy) is the notion that, within this area and this locale, a real bohemian Renaissance occurred. The work included here legitimizes—with much flair and fervor, and completely on its own terms—the voices of outsiders, junkies, hustlers, punks, faggots and dykes. The proof of Downtown’s rich literary history is showcased by the wild, disparate and passionate work of such luminaries as Kathy Acker, Eric Bogosian, Cooper, Gary Indiana, Myles, Sarah Schulman, Lynne Tillman and David Wojnarowicz, among many. In ways that were journalistic, lyrical, shocking and comical, these writers unearthed narratives and experiences that the publishing industry and culture at-large attempted to ignore, dismiss or admonish. In a way, the sheer existence of Up Is Up is a testament to Downtown’s indomitable spirit of struggle and survival.
Perhaps the most affecting portion of Up Is Up occurs towards the end of the 1980s section, where AIDS becomes a dominant theme best exemplified by an excerpt from Indiana’s Horse Crazy and Tim Dlugos’ poem “G-9.” At a time when Presidents Reagan and Bush were refusing to even acknowledge AIDS, these pained, urgent, deeply human works resonated even more loudly, giving voice to a segment of society appallingly mistreated and let down by the general culture. The feverish, groundbreaking work of someone like Wojnarowicz (also a successful visual artist and the subject of a new book published by Semiotext(e), David Wojnarowicz: A Definitive History of Five or Six Years on the Lower East Side) gave a passionate face to a disease our government was pointedly ignoring. AIDS can also be seen as one of the prominent factors in the decay of the Downtown scene during the early 1990s; its decimation of the community essentially signaled the death knell of a nearly twenty-year literary Renaissance. Says Schulman, “AIDS not only killed off the most outrageous, risk-taking artists … it also killed off the audience of the survivors; when the people you had experiences with are gone, then the witnesses to your own life are also gone.” Cooper agrees with this sentiment, stating in the afterword, “I really think that if AIDS hadn’t happened, Downtown probably would have continued to be an amazingly fertile place that was continually evolving.” Fittingly, the 1990s section ends with two indelible images: a flyer announcing a memorial procession for Wojnarowicz, and James Romberger’s “The Triumph of Death, after Brueghel.”
In spite of all this, Up Is Up is a remarkable monument to the vibrancy of the Downtown scene. There are moments of romantic myth-making (Miguel Piñero’s “A Lower East Side Poem”), dysfunctional beauty (Peter Cherches’ excerpt from Bagatelles) and hilarious profundity (Myles’ “Bread and Water”). It documents a now-gone era when lower Manhattan was an affordable oasis for artists, writers and musicians, when poetry and prose rubbed up against punk and visual art before drunkenly stumbling into an endless pansexual orgy.
The scene attributed an allure to downtown Manhattan that still beckons writers and artists from all over the world, even in this high rent, gentrified, post-Giuliani era. We continue to arrive to take part in that history, no matter how distant that history is. In the afterword, Myles explains, “[this need was a] sort of dream of this ideal space or time or place that drove people to come here and be part of it. But the sense of not being there—which everyone also has—seems important to me because it’s not nostalgic … I’ll talk to younger people who always feel like they came just after something and that feeling is a central piece of anyone’s present-day art world—like, oops, missed it again. But you keep shooting.”
Years later, some of us caught whiff of this Downtown corpse and had no choice but to go on that journey. Up Is Up, But So Is Down makes for a glorious tombstone, ensuring that optimistic young writers and artists will continue to be led by the nose until they find themselves somehow in the middle of this city.
