Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 142

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                              looking in Creeley’s one eye,

Peter sweet holding a flower

                              Gregory toothless bending his

                                   knuckle to Cinema machine— and that’s the end of the drabble tongued

                              Poet who sounded his Kock-rup

                                        throughout the Northwest Passage.

Blue dusk over Saybrook, Holmes

                                        sits down to dine Victorian—

& Time has a ten-page spread on

                              Homosexual Fairies!

Well, while I’m here I’ll

                         do the work—

and what’s the Work?

               To ease the pain of living.

Everything else, drunken

                                        dumbshow.

October 22–29, 1969

Flash Back

In a car Gray smoke over Elmira

The vast boy reformatory brick factory

Valed below misty hills 25 years ago

I sat with Joe Army visiting and murmured green Grass.

Jack’s just not here anymore, Neal’s ashes

Loneliness makes old men moan, God’s solitude,

O women shut up, yelling for baby meat more.

November 10, 1969

Graffiti 12th Cubicle Men’s Room Syracuse Airport

11 November 1969

I am married and would like to fuck someone else

Have a strange piece (Go Home)

USN ’69

I want to suck a big cock Make Date

Support Third World Struggle Against US Imperialism

I fucked Mom and got VD

All power to the Viet Cong!

Yeah! Max Voltage up the Ass!! O

Perhaps Man needs—But to kill is only brown butter Wax

April 20, 1965 Mike Heck & Salena Bennett

Keep on Chugglin

Eat prunes and be a regular guy.

I would like to suck a big cock.

So would I.

War is good business Invest your son.

Help me J.P.

John Wayne flunked basic training.

Pat Miller ’69 Home on Leave

My wife sucks cock.

Chickenman Lives Yes somewhere in Argentina

Peace & Love Sucks

I want a blow job Who do I call

What if someone gave a war & Nobody came?

Life would ring the bells of Ecstasy and Forever be Itself again.

J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. is a Voyeur.

Man, I’m really stoned out of my skull really O-Zoned—good old LSD the colors in here are so nice really fine colors and the floor tile is really outasight if you haven’t tried it you ought to since it is the only way to really get your head together by first getting it apart LSD Forever.

CH₂CH₂N(CH₃)₂

After Thoughts

When he kissed my nipple

               I felt elbow bone thrill—

When lips touched my belly

               tickle ran up to my ear

When he took my cock head to tongue

               a tremor shrunk sphincter, joy

                         shuddered my reins

I breathed deep sighing ahh!

•

Mirror looking, combing

               gray glistening beard

Were I found sharp eyed

               attractive to the young?

Bad magic or something—

Foolish magic most likely.

November 1969

G. S. Reading Poesy at Princeton

Gold beard combd down like chinese fire gold hair braided at skullnape—

gold turning silver soon—worn face young forehead wrinkled, deep-boned smile,

tiny azure earring, turquoise finger stone, Paramita beads centered by ivory skull-nut—

On Deer Mountain, in ship’s iron belly, sat crosslegged on Princeton couch,

body voice rumbling Bear Sutra to younger selves—her long hair to rug, dungareed legs lotus-postured;

or that half-Indian boy his face so serious woe’d by tree suffering he’s

more compassionate to bear, skunk, deer, coyote, hemlock, whale

than to his own new-sprung cock. O Lizard Dharma

what doth breath, that Aums thru elm bough & rock canyon loud as thru mammal skull hummed,

hymn to bone-chaliced minds now multiplied over planet colleges

so many, with such hollow cheek gaze-eye tenderness, Fitzgerald himself’d weep to see

student faces celestial, longhaired angelic Beings planet-doomed to look thru too many human eyes—?

Princeton in Eternity! Long years fall, December’s woods in snow

Old poets half century ago their bones cracked up in death

alcohol trembling in immortal eyes, Fitzgerald & Kerouac weeping, on earth once—

earth’s voice moves time, old vows and prophecies remembered, mountain prayers repeated,

Gary’s voice echoes hollow under round electric lamps.

1970

Friday the Thirteenth

Blasts rip Newspaper Gray Mannahatta’s mid day Air Spires,

Plane roar over cloud, Sunlight on blue fleece-mist,

I travel to die, fellow passengers silk-drest & cocktailed burn oil NY to Chicago—

Blasting sky with big business, billion bodied Poetry Commerce,

all Revolution & Consumption, Manufacture & Communication

Bombburst, vegetable pie, rubber donut sex accessory & brilliant TV Jet-plane CIA Joke Exorcism Fart Mantra

or electronic war Laos to AID Gestapo training in Santo Domingo

equally massacre grass, exhaust flower power in coal factory smokedust

—O how beautiful snowy fields earth-floored below cloud-holes

glimpsed from air-roads smogged thru heavens toward Illinois—

What right have I to eat petrol guns & metal from earth heart

What right have I to burn gas air, screech overground rubber tired round midnight stoplight corners in Peoria, Fort Wayne, Ames—

What prayer restores freshness to eastern meadow, soil to cindered acres, hemlock to rusty hillside,

transparency to Passaic streambed, Blue whale multitudes to coral gulfs—

What mantra bring back my mother from Madhouse, Private Brakefield from Leavenworth, Neal from the Streets of Hades,

Hampton, King, Gold, murdered suicided millions from the War-torn fields of Sheol

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