Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 75

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               struggled like Asur-Devas

            with my mind-snake drifting

         motorized under the trees—that

   long road with a dip and slow strange

      rise into the arch of the four-headed

         Smile—gate to the old park

         of Khmer palaces—ancient morphine

in a room—Garuda bebeaked and wing-sphinxed—

The many Sphinx-heads with ears on the towers

Looking around the country seventeen, cheek on eye,

Bewildered in a hurry in the rain to make

   this City conquered by Chams (upriver

   burning the wooden city) of

                  Stone to last in forest

   Even that permanence warped cleaned

         in the Alice in Wonderland giant garden

         of Ta-Phrom—followed

by the young guardian with a caterpillar

   like green frond in his hair

—he shrank back a second when I went to

      touch his crown

And I’m following them naked to the waist

      chinese smooth limbed workmen or darker

      Cambodian cyclist Prisoners cutting the grass

      by the Grand Hotel’s

cool waiting room with bar and USIS handout

      news-casts only Journals except

      for the State Paper reprinting the Prince

            King’s questionless speech to

         Journalists itching with neon—

So many grounds to cover the terrors of the day

All got to do with snakes and only one shy

   tail, I saw disappearing behind a

   rock, slow banded worm—the smiles

of Avalokitesvara with his big mouth like

      Cambodian Pork Chops—the boys

and why do I not even faintly desire those

      black silk girls in the alley of this

            clean new tourist city?—

Ah those Deva faces on the walls of Thommanom!

         Clean eyebrows and smiles of Lady Yore

Ever Naomi in my ear—a sad case of refusing to

         grow up give birth to die—

I am Coward in every direction—Coughing

      in the motorcycle trailer seat but

      the beautiful forest hath its rain to

            drown my noises—

      Home to the Needle, further violation

or is this vegetable smoke and vein warmth

      futile in the light of my friends Pronouncements

Maybe Gary’ll have the answer! Maybe Jack have

         the Answer? Will the Army answer me,

      or will a clang of bells herald the God Creeley

To whom I sent postcards of the cold stonebrows—

      in the green—on the spot

“Blind white mossed gray carved

blocks of stone noses smiling

thin lips

         green mossy fronds of giant

trees, the white drift smoke

sky

      The millions of familiar

raindrops dripping in

floor rock crevasses

         on the broken crown of the

gray lotus

         The stone benches on the roof

Snake balustrades

         Buddha’s faces on the

many towers, the forest snakes

waiting in the tall trunks of

         wooden trees

Oh the beautiful pour of the rain noises

waiting below the money cyclopede

Motor driver covered with blue plastic

            Angkor

where I dreamed of trembling to

write—here again after the

hot sun, sleeping and dreaming

2 days ago—back in the wished

for rain past

      rain on my elbows

Buddha save me, what am

      I doing here

again dreamed of this

      This awful stone monument

      being in the streams

      of change or the Clouds

            in the sky—

Kneeled to the statue on

         Porch

Saranam Gochamee Catchme quick

      forced with incense—have to

      go down to the

            velocycle

      thru the bat-tower

            again, or out

      in the rain!”

As might be read for poesy by Olson

At least moves from perception to obsession

      according to waves of Me-ness

   Still clinging to the Earthen straw

            My eye

      Confused with this blue sky cloud drift

            “illusion” over the treetops

      dwelling in my mind “frightened aging nagging flesh”

      To step out of—? Who, Me?

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