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Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 97


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97

          around christmas-tree-bulbed refineries—aluminum

               white tanks squat beneath

          winking signal towers’ bright plane-lights,

                    orange gas flares

          beneath pillows of smoke, flames in machinery—

                    transparent towers at dusk

In advance of the Cold Wave

     Snow is spreading eastward to

               the Great Lakes

     News Broadcast & old clarinets

       Watertower dome Lighted on the flat plain

            car radio speeding acrost railroad tracks—

Kansas! Kansas! Shuddering at last!

            PERSON appearing in Kansas!

     angry telephone calls to the University

     Police dumbfounded leaning on

               their radiocar hoods

     While Poets chant to Allah in the roadhouse Showboat!

Blue eyed children dance and hold thy Hand O aged Walt

     who came from Lawrence to Topeka to envision

          Iron interlaced upon the city plain—

    Telegraph wires strung from city to city O Melville!

          Television brightening thy rills of Kansas lone

I come,

     lone man from the void, riding a bus

     hypnotized by red tail lights on the straight

                         space road ahead—

   & the Methodist minister with cracked eyes

                       leaning over the table

          quoting Kierkegaard “death of God”

                    a million dollars

     in the bank owns all West Wichita

                    come to Nothing!

          Prajnaparamita Sutra over coffee—Vortex

     of telephone radio aircraft assembly frame ammunition

petroleum nightclub Newspaper streets illuminated by Bright

                         EMPTINESS—

Thy sins are forgiven, Wichita!

          Thy lonesomeness annulled, O Kansas dear!

               as the western Twang prophesied

     thru banjo, when lone cowboy walked the railroad track

               past an empty station toward the sun

          sinking giant-bulbed orange down the box canyon—

     Music strung over his back

      and empty handed singing on this planet earth

                    I’m a lonely Dog, O Mother!

Come, Nebraska, sing & dance with me—

     Come lovers of Lincoln and Omaha,

               hear my soft voice at last

   As Babes need the chemical touch of flesh in pink infancy

      lest they die Idiot returning to Inhuman—

                                   Nothing—

So, tender lipt adolescent girl, pale youth,

                         give me back my soft kiss

          Hold me in your innocent arms,

               accept my tears as yours to harvest

               equal in nature to the Wheat

          that made your bodies’ muscular bones

               broad shouldered, boy bicept—

               from leaning on cows & drinking Milk

                    in Midwest Solitude—

No more fear of tenderness, much delight in weeping, ecstasy

     in singing, laughter rises that confounds

          staring Idiot mayors

               and stony politicians eyeing

               Thy breast,

                    O Man of America, be born!

Truth breaks through!

     How big is the prick of the President?

          How big is Cardinal Vietnam?

How little the prince of the FBI, unmarried all these years!

     How big are all the Public Figures?

   What kind of flesh hangs, hidden behind their Images?

                         Approaching Salina,

Prehistoric excavation, Apache Uprising

                      in the drive-in theater

     Shelling Bombing Range mapped in the distance,

     Crime Prevention Show, sponsor Wrigley’s Spearmint

     Dinosaur Sinclair advertisement, glowing green—

South 9th Street lined with poplar & elm branch

          spread over evening’s tiny headlights—

    Salina Highschool’s brick darkens Gothic

                         over a night-lit door—

     What wreaths of naked bodies, thighs and faces,

                         small hairy bun’d vaginas,

                    silver cocks, armpits and breasts

          moistened by tears

                         for 20 years, for 40 years?

Peking Radio surveyed by Luden’s Coughdrops

          Attacks on the Russians & Japanese,

Big Dipper leaning above the Nebraska border,

                    handle down to the blackened plains,

     telephone-pole ghosts crossed

97

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