There are always writers and artists who, although literary history allots them only peripheral status, seem to embody the essence of a particular sensibility in their lives and in their work, to a degree that is not commensurate with their critical acclaim, acceptance, and renown. "Old fleabit Ray is more the Beatnik Buddhist than you'll ever be," says Charles Plymell in "Ten Years Before The Blast," a poem addressed to Allen Ginsberg; and indeed, though his published output has been minimal compared to that of Ginsberg, Kerouac, and others, and though succeeding generations of young, rebellious poets and politicos have not been weaned upon his work, nonetheless Ray Bremser remains the prototype for whatever it means, or meant, to be Beat.

Ray Bremser was born in Jersey City, New Jersey, on Washington's birthday in 1934. His mother was an inspector for Lorrica, Inc., a company that manufactured "CAPS" condoms...