Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 125
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Willow Hill, Willow hill, Cannon Fodder, Cannon fodder—
And the Children of the Warmakers’re exempt from fighting
their parents’ war—
Those with intellectual money capacities who go to college
till 1967—
Slowly the radio war news
steals o’er the senses—
Negro photographs in Rochester
ax murders in Cleveland,
Anger at heart base
all over the Nation—
Husbands ready to murder their wives
at the drop of a hat-statistic
I could take an ax and split Peter’s skull with pleasure—
Great trucks crawl up road
insect-lit with yellow bulbs outside Pittsburgh,
“The Devil with Blue Dress” exudes over radio,
car headlights gleam on motel signs in blackness,
Satanic Selfs covering nature
spiked with trees.
Crash of machineguns, ring of locusts, airplane roar,
calliope yell, bzzzs.
January 4, 1967
An Open Window on Chicago
Midwinter night,
Clark & Halstead brushed with this week’s snow
grill lights blinking at the corner
decades ago
Smokestack poked above roofs & watertower
standing still above the blue
lamped boulevards,
sky blacker than th’ east
for all the steel smoke
settled in heaven from South.
Downtown—like Batman’s Gotham City
battleshipped with Lights,
towers winking under clouds,
police cars blinking on Avenues,
space above city misted w/fine soot
cars crawling past redlites down Avenue,
exuding white wintersmoke—
Eat Eat said the sign, so I went in the Spanish Diner
The girl at the counter, whose yellow Bouffant roots
grew black over her pinch’d face,
spooned her coffee with knuckles
puncture-marked,
whose midnight wrists had needletracks,
scars inside her arms:
“Wanna go get a Hotel Room with me?”
The Heroin Whore
thirty years ago come haunting Chicago’s midnite streets,
me come here so late with my beard!
Corner Grill-lights blink, police car turned
& took away its load of bum to jail,
black uniforms patrolling streets
where suffering
lifts a hand palsied by Parkinson’s Disease
to beg a cigarette.
The psychiatrist came visiting this Hotel 12th floor—
Where does the Anger come from?
Outside! Radio messages, images on Television,
Electric Networks spread
fear of murder on the streets—
“Communications Media”
inflict the Vietnam War & its anxiety on every private skin
in hotel room or bus—
Sitting, meditating quietly on Great Space outside—
Bleep Bleep dit dat dit radio on, Television
murmuring,
bombshells crash on flesh
his flesh my flesh all the same.—
The Dakini in the hotel room turns in her sleep
while War news flashes thru Aether—
Shouts at streetcorners as bums
crawl in the metal policevan.
And there’s a tiny church in middle Chicago
with its black spike to the black air
And there’s the new Utensil Towers round on horizon.
And there’s red glow of Central Neon
on hushed building walls at 4 A.M.,
And there’s proud Lights & Towers of Man’s Central City
looking pathetic at 4 A.M., traveler passing through,
staring outa hotel window under Heaven—
Is this tiny city the best we can do?
These tiny reptilian towers
so proud of their Executives
they haveta build a big sign in middle downtown
to Advertise
old Connor’s Insurance sign fading on brick
building side—
Snow on deserted roofs & parkinglots—
Hog Butcher to the World!?
Taxi-Harmonious Modernity grown rusty-old—
The prettiness of Existence! To sit at the window
& moan over Chicago’s stone & brick
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