Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 76

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Just a lot of words and propaganda

      I been spreading getting scared

      of my own bullshit

Except when faced with my confusion

      words meat / death

            mind-soup

      eaten last night, greedily fried macaroni

         with rare beef—all the children

         scream at my long awkward hair,

On the bed as I ached and strained my

   sphincter opened hoped

   to get next time befucked by

            a Cambodian sweet policeman

      from the bicycle first day

who had Lord Buddha’s lips as on

the towers—all alike many boys—the Monks

      of Lolei, smoking and eating beef,

      touched my toes and my beard pulled

            by the shaven kid in yellow

      Nandi the bull waiting her owner in the Sun

            The house crumbling and Vishnu’s arms

               broken, heads off the seated

                     statues

            bat families hanging upside down in the

               door beams’ cracks—Chinese families

overrunning the earth like greeneyed children of

         Science-fiction—Shall I blow

         them up, Professor?—and

O Leaf of Buddha! when we get to

   the green planets will we fight

   the strange snaky races of—

         Cancer Overpopulation

It’s a pyramid of faces—Sphinx-Avalokitesvara

all mixed up, I hope Buddha’s been there,

Then we’ll know if his mind appeared

            in all the directions of Space—

The Pope died a saint to be dissolved in

            his Christ

Philip Lamantia prophesied truly, all but

      Mao Tze Tung loved Pope John

Except those newspaper Catholics in Saigon

   He didn’t change their plans yet—

A walk, past the Saigon Market, where

   There’s a few brass Buddhas for

         shop sale in the North Wing

Crost the big traffic circle between the Shell

         gas signs, where at nite the troop

         Cops got in buses to go to Hue

            Where telephones spoke blisters

            to the gas students—

         gathered in front of City Hall to redress

            their grievances—

Surabaya Johnnie not seen Bodrabadur Temple

   in Java next time round this part

      of the world

All the wire services eating sweet and

   sour pork and fresh cold lichee white-meat

         in sugarwater—

Discussing the manly truth Gee Fellers—

Even the fat whitehaired belly boy from

         Time and his Kewpiedoll wife

Could’ve been seen in the movies dancing

   the rainy night at the border

   Chinese cha-cha, Hysteria

That UP kid flown down from Vientiane

         Laos fugitive Hepatitis

   Scared of the Yellow Men, or the slow

            Alcohol red face of the Logistics

            Analyst—“I got the Eichmann syndrome”

   said he newsweekly—reporters who

   never committed suicide like

            Hemingway had to, faced

            with the fat newsman with

               Seven children from

                  Buddenbrooks

   They were living in Greece while Pound

   was taking a vow of silence

            “I knew too much”

      but it was all a mistake,

I fled the Mekong delta, fled the 12,000

   Military speaking hot dog guts on the

   downtown aircooled streets,

fled the Catinat Hotel, flushed my shit

   down the bathroom—

jumped in the cab suddenly, afraid

after left Xaloi temple like a

   Negro disintegrated in New Orleans,

afraid to publish that or they bomb

      my typesetter’s woodsy Balcony

            in Louisiana—

Everywhere it’s the fear I got in my own

      intestines—Kenyatta Prime Minister

      peacefully with his fly-whisk

         and maybe the Mo Mo’s underground

Mao-Mao—everywhere is my own Rhodesia

for Mysterious Choose Up Sides and Die

         like a “Man”

I never wanted to be a “human” being and

this is what I got—a himalayan

striped umbrella I don’t use

in the jungle rain—my eyes

      Lid-heavy—my mind skips

back to the overweight knapsack I carry

all these years’ scribbles bound in

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