Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 38
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Someone to hear me there
My immortality
without steel or cobalt basalt or diamond gold or mercurial fire
without passports filing cabinets bits of paper warheads
without myself finally
pure thought
message all and everywhere the same
I send up my rocket to land on whatever planet awaits it
preferably religious sweet planets no money
fourth dimensional planets where Death shows movies
plants speak (courteously) of ancient physics and poetry itself is manufactured by the trees
the final Planet where the Great Brain of the Universe sits waiting for a poem to land in His golden pocket
joining the other notes mash-notes love-sighs complaints-musical shrieks of despair and the million unutterable thoughts of frogs
I send you my rocket of amazing chemical
more than my hair my sperm or the cells of my body
the speeding thought that flies upward with my desire as instantaneous as the universe and faster than light
and leave all other questions unfinished for the moment to turn back to sleep
in my dark bed on earth.
Amsterdam, October 4, 1957
Squeal
He rises he stretches he liquefies he is hammered again
He’s divided in shares he litters the floor of the Bourse
He’s cut by adamantine snips and sent by railway car
Accumulated on the margin by bony Goldfinger has various
Visions of being an automobile consolidates
The fortune of spectral lawyers heirs weep over him
He melts he undergoes remarkable metamorphoses peculiar
Hallucinations he coughs up debentures beaten
By immense hammers in a vast loft pours in fire spurts
Upward in molten forges he levels he dreams and he cools
And the present adjusted steel squints.
A hunchback tuberculosis salesman drives him cackling to St. Louis
In the rain Hack no will of his own Creep next resale Crank
San Pedro tomorrow St. Joe Squeak will it never end Hohokus—
Crashes into a dirty locomotive the bastard never
Mind stock averages decline slightly here’s the mechanic
Blam the junkyard Help the smelter later a merger pressure accumulates
He’s had it now Eek he’s an airplane Whine he wants to go home
Suddenly he dives on the market like a bomb.
Paris, December 1957
Wrote This Last Night
Listen to the tale of the sensitive car
who was coughed up out of earth in Pittsburgh.
She screamed like a Swedish Prime Minister
on her first flight down the red neon highway,
she couldn’t stand the sirens and blind lights
of the male cars Fords Oldsmobiles Studebakers
—her assembly line foreman had prophesied wild wreck
on Sunset Boulevard headlights & eyeballs broken fenders & bones.
She rode all over Mexico avoiding Los Angeles
praying to be an old junkie in a bordertown graveyard
with rattly doors and yellow broken windowpanes
bent license plate weak brakes & unsalable motor
worn out by the slow buttocks of teen-age nightmare
panting under the impoverished jissum of the August moon,
Anything but that final joyride with the mad producer
and his bombshell intellectual star on the last night up from Mexicali.
Paris, December 1957
Death to Van Gogh’s Ear!
POET is Priest
Money has reckoned the soul of America
Congress broken thru to the precipice of Eternity
the President built a War machine which will vomit and rear up Russia out of Kansas
The American Century betrayed by a mad Senate which no longer sleeps with its wife
Franco has murdered Lorca the fairy son of Whitman
just as Mayakovsky committed suicide to avoid Russia
Hart Crane distinguished Platonist committed suicide to cave in the wrong America
just as millions of tons of human wheat were burned in secret caverns under the White House
while India starved and screamed and ate mad dogs full of rain
and mountains of eggs were reduced to white powder in the halls of Congress
on godfearing man will walk there again because of the stink of the rotten eggs of America
and the Indians of Chiapas continue to gnaw their vitaminless tortillas
aborigines of Australia perhaps gibber in the eggless wilderness
and I rarely have an egg for breakfast tho my work requires infinite eggs to come to birth in Eternity
eggs should be eaten or given to their mothers
and the grief of the countless chickens of America is expressed in the screaming of her comedians over the radio
Detroit has built a million automobiles of rubber trees and phantoms
but I walk, I walk, and the Orient walks with me, and all Africa walks
and sooner or later North America will walk
for as we have driven the Chinese Angel from our door he will drive us from the Golden Door of the future
we have not cherished pity on Tanganyika
Einstein alive was mocked for his heavenly politics
Bertrand Russell driven from New York for getting laid
immortal Chaplin driven from our shores with the rose in his teeth
a secret conspiracy by Catholic Church in the lavatories of Congress has denied contraceptives to the unceasing masses of India.
Nobody publishes a word that is not the cowardly robot ravings of a depraved mentality
The day of the publication of the true literature of the American body will be day of Revolution
the revolution of the sexy lamb
the only bloodless revolution that gives away corn
poor Genet will illuminate the harvesters of Ohio
Marijuana is a benevolent narcotic but J. Edgar Hoover prefers his deathly scotch
And the heroin of Lao-Tze & the Sixth Patriarch is punished by the electric chair
but the poor sick junkies have nowhere to lay their heads
fiends in our government have invented a cold-turkey cure for addiction as obsolete as the Defense Early Warning Radar System.
I am the defense early warning radar system
I see nothing but bombs
I am not interested in preventing Asia from being Asia
and the governments of Russia and Asia will rise and fall but Asia and Russia will not fall
the government of America also will fall but how can America fall
I doubt if anyone will ever fall anymore except governments
fortunately all the governments will fall
the only ones which won’t fall are the good ones
and the good ones don’t yet exist
But they have to begin existing they exist in my poems
they exist in the death of the Russian and American governments
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