Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 68

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     sinking its foot in its gullet &

vomiting its own image out of its ass

—This woman Futurity I am pledge to

          born not to die,

but issue my own cockbrain replica Me-Hood

     again—For fear of the Blot?

Face of Death, my Female, as I’m sainted

          to my very bone,

I’m fated to find me a maiden for

               ignorant Fuckery—

flapping my belly & smeared with Saliva

     shamed face flesh & wet,

—have long droopy conversations

     in Cosmical Duty boudoirs,

               maybe bored?

Or excited New Prospect, discuss

     her, Futurity, my Wife

          My Mother, Death, My only

               hope, my very Resurrection

Woman

          herself, why have I feared

               to be joined true

     embraced beneath the Panties of Forever

in with the one hole that repelled me 1937 on?

—Pulled down my pants on the porch showing

     my behind to cars passing in rain—

& She be interested, this contact with Silly new Male

     that’s sucked my loveman’s cock

in Adoration & sheer beggary romance-awe

     gulp-choke Hope of Life come

and buggered myself innumerably boy-yangs

          gloamed inward so my solar plexus

     feel godhead in me like an open door—

Now that’s changed my decades body old

tho’ admiring male thighs at my brow,

     hard love pulsing thru my ears,

          stern buttocks upraised

               for my masterful Rape

     that were meant for a private shit

          if the Army were All—

But no more answer to life

               than the muscular statue

          I felt up its marbles

     envying Beauty’s immortality in the

                    museum of Yore—

     You can fuck a statue but you can’t

               have children

     You can joy man to man but the Sperm

               comes back in a trickle at dawn

     in a toilet on the 45th Floor—

     & Can’t make continuous mystery out of that

          finished performance

                    & ghastly thrill

          that ends as began,

                    stupid reptile squeak

          denied life by Fairy Creator

               become Imaginary

          because he decided not to incarnate

               opposite—Old Spook

     who didn’t want to be a baby & die,

          didn’t want to shit and scream

               exposed to bombardment on a

                    Chinese RR track

and grow up to pass his spasm on

               the other half of the Universe—

Like a homosexual capitalist afraid of the masses—

and that’s my situation, Folks—

New York, April 12, 1961

Sunset S.S. Azemour

As orange dusk-light falls on an old idea

I gaze thru my hand on the page

sensing outward the intercoiled weird being I am in

and seek a head of that—Seraphim

advance in lightning flash through aether storm

Messengers arrive horned bearded from Magnetic spheres

disappearing radios receive aged galaxies

Immensity wheels mirrored in every direction

Announcement swifting from Invisible to Invisible

Eternity-dragon’s tail lost to the eye

Strange death, forgotten births, voices calling in the past

“I was” that greets “I am” that writes now “I will be”

Armies marching over and over the old battlefield—

What powers sit in their domed tents and decree Eternal Victory?

I sit at my desk and scribe the endless message from myself to my own hand

Marseilles-Tanger, 1961

Seabattle of Salamis Took Place off Perama

If it weren’t for you Mr Jukebox with yr aluminum belly roaring & thirty teeth eating dirty drx.

yr eyes starred round the world, purple diamonds & white brain revolving black disks

in every bar from Yokamama to Pyraeus winking & beaming Saturday Nite

what silence harbor Sabbath dark instead of boys screaming and dancing wherever I go—

Hail Jukebox of Perama with attendant minstrel juvenile whores

on illuminated porches where kids leap to noise bouncing over black oceantide,

leaning into azure neon with sexy steps, delicious idiot smile and young teeth, flowers in ears,

Negro voices scream back 1000 years striped pants pink shirts patent leather shoes on their lean dog feet

exaggerated sneakers green pullovers, long hair, hips & eyes!

They’re jumping & joying this minute over the bones of Persian sailors—

Echoes of Harlem in Athens! Hail to your weeping eyes New York!

Hail to the noise wherever the jukebox is on TOO LOUD,

The Muses are loose in the world again with their big black voice bazooky blues,

Muses with bongo guitars electric flutes on microphones Cha Cha Cha

Feeling happy in Havana Mambo moving delicate London new Lyre in Liverpool

Tin Clarinet prophesying in Delphos, Crete jumping again!

Panyotis dancing alone stepped drunk from a krater, Yorgis slapping his heels & kicking Cerberus’ heads off!

Doobie Doobie reigns forever on the shores! One drachma for Black Jack, one drachma brings Aharisti again, Na-ti-the-Ma-Fez,

Open the Door Richard, I’m Casting a Spell on You, Apocalypse Rock, End of History Rag!

Piraeus, September 1, 1961

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