Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 165
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World Report?
What’d we remember that destroyed these armies
with a breath?
How pay rent & stay in our bodies
if we don’t sell our minds to Samsara?
If we don’t join the illusion—that Gas is life—
How can we in Dallas SMU
look forward to our futures?
work with our hands
like niggers growing Crops in the field,
& plow and harvest our own corny
fate?
Oh Walt Whitman salutations you knew the laborer,
the sexual intelligent horny handed
man who lived in Dirt
and fixed the axles of Capitalism, dumbed and laughing at hallucinated Secretaries
Of State!
Oh intellect of body back & Cock whose red neck
supports the S&M freaks of Government
police & Fascist Monopolies—
Kissinger bare assed & big buttocked
with a whip, in leather boots
scrawling on a memo to Chile “No more
civics lectures please”
When the ambassador complained about Torture
methods used in the Detention Stadium!
And I ride the planes that Rockefeller gassed
when he paid off Kissinger!
Stony Burns sits in jail, in a stone cell in
Huntsville
and breathes his news to solitude.
Homage
to the Gurus, Guru om! Thanks to the teachers
who taught us to breathe,
to watch our minds revolve in emptiness,
to follow the rise & fall of thoughts,
Illusions big as empires flowering &
Vanishing on a breath!
Thanks to aged teachers whose wrinkles
read our minds’ newspapers &
taught us not to Cling to yesterday’s
thoughts,
nor thoughts split seconds ago, but
let cities vanish on a breath—
Thanks to teachers who showed us behold
Dust motes in our own eye,
anger our own hearts,
emptiness of Dallases where we
sit thinking knitted brows—
Sentient beings are numberless I vow
to liberate all
Passions unfathomable I vow to
release them all
Thought forms limitless I vow to
master all
Awakened space is endless I vow to
enter it forever.
Dallas, December 4, 1974
We Rise on Sun Beams and Fall in the Night
Dawn’s orb orange-raw shining over Palisades
bare crowded branches bush up from marshes—
New Jersey with my father riding automobile
highway to Newark Airport—Empire State’s
spire, horned buildingtops, Manhattan
rising as in W. C. Williams’ eyes between wire trestles—
trucks sixwheeled steady rolling overpass
beside New York—I am here
tiny under sun rising in vast white sky,
staring thru skeleton new buildings,
with pen in hand awake …
December 11, 1974
Written on Hotel Napkin: Chicago Futures
Wind mills churn on Windy City’s
rooftops Antennae
collecting electric
above thick-loamed gardens
on Playboy Tower
Merchandise Mart’s compost
privies
supply nightsoil for Near North Side’s
back Gardens
Cabbages, celery & cucumbers
sprout in Mayor Daley’s
frontyard
rich with human waste—
Bathtub beer like old days
Backyard Mary Jane like
old days,
Sun reflectors gather heat
in rockpile collectors
under apartment walls
Horses graze in Parks &
streets covered with grass
Mafia Dons shovel earth
& bury Cauliflower
leaves
Old gangsters & their sons
tending grapevines
Mid-March 1975
Hospital Window
At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke
ribbons past Chrysler Building’s silver fins
tapering delicately needletopped, Empire State’s
taller antenna filmed milky lit amid blocks
black and white apartmenting veil’d sky over Manhattan,
offices new built dark glassed in bluish heaven—The East
50s & 60s covered with castles & watertowers, seven storied
tar-topped house-banks over York Avenue, late may-green trees
surrounding Rockefellers’ blue domed medical arbor—
Geodesic science at the waters edge—Cars running up
East River Drive, & parked at N.Y. Hospital’s oval door
where perfect tulips flower the health of a thousand sick souls
trembling inside hospital rooms. Triboro bridge steel-spiked
raftertops stand stone-piered over mansard
penthouse orange roofs, sunset tinges the river and in a few
Bronx windows, some magnesium vapor brilliances’re
spotted five floors above E 59th St under gray painted bridge
trestles. Way downtown along the river, as Monet saw Thames
100 years ago, Con Edison smokestacks 14th street,
& Brooklyn Bridge’s skeined dim in modern mists—
Pipes sticking up to sky nine smokestacks huge visible—
U.N. Building hangs under an orange crane, & red lights on
vertical avenues below the trees turn green at the nod
of a skull with a mild nerve ache. Dim dharma, I return
to this spectacle after weeks of poisoned lassitude, my thighs
belly chest & arms covered with poxied welts,
head pains fading back of the neck, right eyebrow cheek
mouth paralyzed—from taking the wrong medicine, sweated
too much in the forehead helpless, covered my rage from
gorge to prostate with grinding jaw and tightened anus
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