Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 174
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speaking carefully, piping his thoughts intellectual clear in the old bard’s ear—
He settled down on the tiger, deer & sheep-skin covered floor, where the old man lay
with bearded head uplifted on the gold haird neck of a Lion amber eyed
Staring silent at the moon, huge pelt outstretched four-legged with yellow claws
and hard tail laid out on white lamb fleece toward the new discovered hearth-Rune.
Shivering in moonlight musing at the fire, the messenger put his nakedness against the white robed Elder’s
Giant form, slow-breathed resting back on the soft floor, silent eyes awake—
“I know your present mind, old heart, I’ll satisfy that as you wish
Unspoken, I know your work & nature beyond the wildest daydream
Y’ever had naked in hot sunshine summer noon ecstatic far from mankind
or downy-bearded in your animal bed embraced with glad phantom heroes
in midnight reverie down below Orion’s belt, right hand clasped in the heat of Creaturehood,
I saw your hard revelry with bodiless immortal companions,” the messenger cajoled,
laying his mournful sweet visage on the silenced Sage’s shoulder, drawing his right arm down his nippled thin-ribbed chest.
He shook & trembled chill, for the low moon paled over green ocean waves
and cold bright sun-fire passed upward whitening the long horizon—
The cloud-glory’d orange Orb arc’d living in blue still space, then lifting its bulk aflame
circled slowly over the breathing earth, while tiny oil tankers moved thru dawn
floating across the widespread ocean’s far edge silently going from world to world.
The boy took wrinkled years on his flesh, the snow whiskered bard trembled and touched
his breast, embracing, adoring from nipple to pink kneecap
and kissing behind him and before, using his form as a girl’s.
The youth of colored hills closed his eyes in virgin pleasure, uttered small moans
of merciful-limbed ecstasy in his throat, ah tremorous daydream pleasure,
body tingling delicate, made tender, open’d flower-soft, skull top to sole-skin touched.
The messenger, young and cold as the sun, sad face turned up to his earth-worn host
shuddered then as morning warmed the chill world, shuddered with more than world’s chill
drawing his old Companion closer face to face embraced, silent thoughted, calm and still.
The boy looked in his elder’s eyes, which gazed in his while bare branches on the hillside stood trembling in sky
blue dawn light. Honey bees woke under heaven inland and sought the lilac, Honeysuckle, rose,
pale dew dript from day-lily leaf to leaf, green lamps went out in windows on Minneapolis avenues,
Lovers rose to work in subways, buses ground down empty streets in early light, the country
robin lit from the maple leaf whistling, cat scratched the farmhouse door bulls groaned in barns, the aluminum pail clanked on cement by wooden stools in steaming flop
& stainless-steel mouths sucked milk from millions of cows into shining vats,
Black nannygoats whinnied nubian complaints to the stinking spotted dog
whose clump’d hair hung from his belly tangled with thistle, Church organs sang,
Radios Chattered the nasal weather from barn to barn, the last snow patch slipped from the tarpaper roof of the tractor lean-to,
Ice melted in the willow bog, stars vanished from the sky over gravestones stained with water melt,
The White House shined near pillared Courts on electric-lit avenues wide roaring with cars.
The messenger remembered his dream vision, the Rune discovered by the bright fire,
the Hermit’s startled wrath, magnificent and vainly noised all night,
his softness now, his careful fear, the wrinkle that remained around his eye
still watery with emotionless tears tho he held love in his arms, a silent thinking boy.
The naked messenger returned his thought. “I came for Love, old bard, tho you mistook
my youth for Innocence; I came for love, Old Prophet, and I brought you Prophecy,
Though you knew all; I came from Beauty, I came to Beauty, and I brought more beauty.
I knew the Beauty here; not your ass on your stone seat but under your prophetic throne,
older Beauty than your own, that laughs at wrinkled or smooth loins:
thus I have proved pure Beauty to your empty heart—and now you sigh.
It is that Beauty that I love in you, & not your intestinal self—
A Babe I saw more horror than your smoky ocean holds, your empty heaven,
& your tattered Earth. Follow the Prophecy I showed on your floor
Follow the Ancient Command, chase diamonds in the wind, chase years, chase clouds
chase this rainbow I brought you, chase Beauty again—
chase wrinkled lust away or chase a moonbeam, chase the rising Sun and then Chase setting sun
chase off your Mind thru ocean, chase mind Under the World,
Chase your body down to the grave & rejoice, Chase Chastity at last!
Chaste virgin suffering for you now old bony lecherous Poet.”
The boy raged on, with tongue caught fire from the dawn sun lifted now over the heavy
skulled rafters of the hermitage long-haired with sea moss barnacled at foot, stone girders snailed and starfish stinking, sea sperm rotten in kelp masses at the porch stone. “Your door’s the musty stone door of a tomb, old man, corpses of corrupted loves’re buried under the smooth stone bed we lie on, pitted with yr fearful tears! What animal skins you vulgarize your bed with, boorish stained with creepy-handed dream stuff jacked out of your Impotent loins in Pain—
This toothless lion, stuffed head, ear bit off by sea moths, this your love?
Deerskin stol’n from a Dead Buddha, snatched from wanderings in your boring Buddhafields?
A gutless Lamb for a pillow I hear you baah & bleat your Terrified Love—
Naked I have you now, bared, wrinkled, heaving heavy breaths on me you brought to your bed, and covered with hides of deskeletoned sheep.”
Wondering between shame and Longing the old Bard lay thick bellied open eyed
Bewilderment at heart, chill-loined, urgent to press that Cherry raving angel mouth a soft kiss,
tie down the juvenile prophet on the stone bed back upturned to slap his shamed white cheeks
in furious sexual punishment, pubescent weakling pale with anger,
rouse his virgin blood to blush thin buttocks ruddy tingling, humiliated
cock hard pink with desire, heart tamed submissive, soft lipped, tearful.
The kid-like messenger laughed in the bed Despairing and looked the old man in the eye:
“Now slap my face, I want to Feel! Hard with all your Love’s strength coward Bard!
Show your Power!” Bold mute the Bard hit once, and then hit hard—
Cold faced, the Boy complained, “Now hit again, I want to feel an honest hand!” The old man struck
his naked cheek with a rough palm, thrice shocked by harsh joy, pain enough!
“Now!” said the Changeling boy, “We prove the last verse of this Prophecy—
Yes the Prophecy old & Confounded Fool, that rune on your floor you never beheld before
I forced your gaze to my foot, the prophecy some Elder Mysterious Forebear Bard Magician left us—
that prophecy I dreamed & made real before your eyes, renewing your Beauty
thru suffering dumb knowledge, yourself roused at my Beauteous Command—
All but the Last verse I understand, thick rhymed with senses and nonsenses of worst Beauty
no man or boy can interpret in this stupid dank closed cell
Under this Skull that hides the Sun, behind walls covered with yr chill laborious decipherings,
your 30 years moony babbling fishy solitude—one verse remains undeciphered,
Magical worthy our mutual war thru Society & Nations, Bards at large on the planet
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