Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 188

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mountains rising over the white lake 6 A.M., mist drifting between water and sky.

May 7–9, 1980

???????? ?’ ????? ’??????? ?????’ ?????

Red cheeked boyfriends tenderly kiss me sweet mouthed

under Boulder coverlets winter springtime

hug me naked laughing & telling girl friends

          gossip till autumn

Aging love escapes with his Childish body

Monday one man visited sleeping big cocked

older mustached crooked-mouthed not the same teenager

          I sucked off

This kid comes on Thursdays with happy hard ons

long nights talking heart to heart reading verses

fucking hours he comes in me happy but I

          can’t get it in him

Cherub, thin-legged Southern boy once slept over

singing blues and drinking till he got horny

Wednesday night he gave me his ass I screwed him

good luck he was drunk

Blond curl’d clear eyed gardener passing thru town

teaching digging earth in the ancient One Straw

method lay back stomach bare that night blew me

          I blew him and came

Winter dance Naropa a barefoot wild kid

jumped up grabbed me laughed at me took my hand and

ran out saying Meet you at midnight your house

          Woke me up naked

Midnight crawled in bed with me breathed in my ear

kissed my eyelids mouth on his cock it was soft

“Doesn’t do nothing for me,” turned on belly

          Came in behind him

Future youth I never may touch any more

Hark these Sapphics lipped by my hollow spirit

everlasting tenderness breathed in these vowels

          sighing for love still

Song your cadence formed while on May night’s full moon

yellow onions tulips in fresh rain pale grass

iris pea pods radishes grew as this verse

          blossomed in dawn light

Measure forever his face eighteen years old

green eyes blond hair muscular gold soft skin whose

god like boy’s voice mocked me once three decades past

          Come here and screw me

Breast struck scared to look in his eyes blood pulsing

my ears mouth dry tongue never moved ribs shook a

trembling fire ran down from my heart to my thighs

          Love-sick to this day

Heavy limbed I sat in a chair and watched him

sleep naked all night afraid to kiss his mouth

tender dying waited for sun rise years ago

          in Manhattan

Boulder, May 17-June 1, 1980

Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writing Letters

Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof

out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross

surveys the city’s blue-gray clouds. Larry Rivers

’ll come at 10 A.M. and take my picture. I’m taking

your picture, pigeons. I’m writing you down, Dawn.

I’m immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.

O Thought, now you’ll have to think the same thing forever!

New York, June 7, 1980, 6:48 A.M.

Ode to Failure

Many prophets have failed, their voices silent

ghost-shouts in basements nobody heard dusty laughter in family attics

nor glanced them on park benches weeping with relief under empty sky

Walt Whitman viva’d local losers—courage to Fat Ladies in the Freak Show! nervous prisoners whose mustached lips dripped sweat on chow lines—

Mayakovsky cried, Then die! my verse, die like the workers’ rank & file fusilladed in Petersburg!

Prospero burned his Power books & plummeted his magic wand to the bottom of dragon seas

Alexander the Great failed to find more worlds to conquer!

O Failure I chant your terrifying name, accept me your 54 year old Prophet

epicking Eternal Flop! I join your Pantheon of mortal bards, & hasten this ode with high blood pressure

rushing to the top of my skull as if I wouldn’t last another minute, like the Dying Gaul! to

You, Lord of blind Monet, deaf Beethoven, armless Venus de Milo, headless Winged Victory!

I failed to sleep with every bearded rosy-cheeked boy I jacked off over

My tirades destroyed no Intellectual Unions of KGB & CIA in turtlenecks & underpants, their woolen suits & tweeds

I never dissolved Plutonium or dismantled the nuclear Bomb before my skull lost hair

I have not yet stopped the Armies of entire Mankind in their march toward World War III

I never got to Heaven, Nirvana, X, Whatchamacallit, I never left Earth,

I never learned to die.

Boulder, March 7 / October 10, 1980

Birdbrain!

Birdbrain runs the World!

Birdbrain is the ultimate product of Capitalism

Birdbrain chief bureaucrat of Russia, yawning

Birdbrain ran FBI 30 years appointed by F. D. Roosevelt and never chased Cosa Nostra!

Birdbrain apportions wheat to be burned, keep prices up on the world market!

Birdbrain lends money to Developing Nation police-states thru the International Monetary Fund!

Birdbrain never gets laid on his own he depends on his office to pimp for him

Birdbrain offers brain transplants in Switzerland

Birdbrain wakes up in middle of night and arranges his sheets

I am Birdbrain!

I rule Russia Yugoslavia England Poland Argentina United States El Salvador

Birdbrain multiplies in China!

Birdbrain inhabits Stalin’s corpse inside the Kremlin wall

Birdbrain dictates petrochemical agriculture in Afric desert regions!

Birdbrain lowers North California’s water table sucking it up for Orange County Agribusiness Banks

Birdbrain harpoons whales and chews blubber in the tropics

Birdbrain clubs baby harp seals and wears their coats to Paris

Birdbrain runs the Pentagon his brother runs the CIA, Fatass Bucks!

Birdbrain writes and edits Time Newsweek Wall Street Journal Pravda Izvestia

Birdbrain is Pope, Premier, President, Commissar, Chairman, Senator!

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