Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 129

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                     in mosquitos Amazonas

Sleep on a hill, dull Havana Throne renounced

More sexy your neck than sad aging necks of Johnson

                     De Gaulle, Kosygin,

     or the bullet pierced neck of John Kennedy

Eyes more intelligent glanced up to death newspapers

     than worried living Congress Cameras passing

                dot screens into TV shade, glass-eyed

                McNamara, Dulles in old life …

Women in bowler hats sitting in mud outskirts 11,000 feet up in Heaven

                with a headache in La Paz

         selling black potatoes brought down from earth roof’d huts

                on mountain-lipped Puno

     would’ve adored your desire and kissed your Visage new Christ

They’ll raise up a red-bulb-eyed war-mask’s

     white tusks to scare soldier-ghosts

                who shot thru your lungs

Incredible! one boy turned aside from operating room

         or healing Pampas yellow eye

     To face the stock rooms of Alcoa, Myriad Murderous

                     Board Directors of United Fruit

Smog-Manufacturing Trustees of Chicago U

         Lawyer Phantoms ranged back to dead

                John Foster Dulles’ Sullivan and Cromwell lawfirm

         Acheson’s mustache, Truman’s bony hat

To go mad and hide in jungle on mule & point rifle at OAS

     at Rusk’s egoic Courtesies, the metal deployments of Pentagon

         derring-do Admen and dumbed intellectuals

                from Time to the CIA

One boy against the Stock Market all Wall Street ascream

         since Norris wrote The Pit

     afraid of free dollars showering from the Observers’ Balcony

         scattered by laughing younger brothers,

Against the Tin Company, against Wire Services,

         against infrared sensor Telepath Capitalism’s

                money-crazed scientists

     against College boy millions watching Wichita Family Den TV

One radiant face driven mad with a rifle

                Confronting the electric networks.

Venice, November 1967

War Profit Litany

To Ezra Pound

These are the names of the companies that have made money from this war

nineteenhundredsixtyeight Annodomini fourthousandeighty Hebraic

These Corporations have profited by merchandising skinburning phosphorus or shells fragmented to thousands of fleshpiercing needles

and here listed money millions gained by each combine for manufacture and here are gains numbered, index’d swelling a decade, set in order,

here named the Fathers in office in these industries, telephones directing finance,

names of directors, makers of fates, and the names of the stockholders of these destined Aggregates,

and here are the names of their ambassadors to the Capital, representatives to legislature, those who sit drinking in hotel lobbies to persuade,

and separate listed, those who drop Amphetamines with military, gossip, argue, and persuade

suggesting policy naming language proposing strategy, this done for fee as ambassadors to Pentagon, consultants to military, paid by their industry:

and these are the names of the generals & captains military, who now thus work for war goods manufacturers;

and above these, listed, the names of the banks, combines, investment trusts that control these industries:

and these are the names of the newspapers owned by these banks

and these are the names of the airstations owned by these combines;

and these are the numbers of thousands of citizens employed by these businesses named;

and the beginning of this accounting is 1958 and the end 1968, that statistic be contained in orderly mind, coherent & definite,

and the first form of this litany begun first day December 1967 furthers this poem of these States.

December 1, 1967

Elegies for Neal Cassady

(1968)

Elegy for Neal Cassady

OK Neal

     aethereal Spirit

         bright as moving air

                blue as city dawn

happy as light released by the Day

     over the city’s new buildings—

Maya’s Giant bricks rise rebuilt

                     in Lower East Side

     windows shine in milky smog.

         Appearance unnecessary now.

Peter sleeps alone next room, sad.

Are you reincarnate? Can ya hear me talkin?

If anyone had strength to hear the invisible,

And drive thru Maya Wall

     you had it—

                     What’re you now, Spirit?

That were spirit in body—

The body’s cremate

                                             by Railroad track

                         San Miguel Allende Desert,

                                             outside town,

                         Spirit become spirit,

                                             or robot reduced to Ashes.

Tender Spirit, thank you for touching me with tender hands

When you were young, in a beautiful body,

                         Such a pure touch it was Hope beyond Maya-meat,

                         What you are now,

                                             Impersonal, tender—

you showed me your muscle/warmth/over twenty years ago

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