Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
of the human vehicle
which no Titsworth of insurance will customize for resale—
So home, traveler, past the newspaper language factory
under Union Station railroad bridge on Douglas
to the center of the Vortex, calmly returned
to Hotel Eaton—
Carry Nation began the war on Vietnam here
with an angry smashing ax
attacking Wine—
Here fifty years ago, by her violence
began a vortex of hatred that defoliated the Mekong Delta—
Proud Wichita! vain Wichita
cast the first stone!—
That murdered my mother
who died of the communist anticommunist psychosis
in the madhouse one decade long ago
complaining about wires of masscommunication in her head
and phantom political voices in the air
besmirching her girlish character.
Many another has suffered death and madness
in the Vortex from Hydraulic
to the end of 17th—enough!
The war is over now—
Except for the souls
held prisoner in Niggertown
still pining for love of your tender white bodies O children of Wichita!
February 14, 1966
Auto Poesy: On the Lam from Bloomington
Setting out East on rain bright highways
Indianapolis, police cars speeding past
gas station—Stopped for matches
PLOWL of Silence,
Street bulbs flash cosmic blue—darkness!
POW, lights flash on again!
pavement-gleam
Mobil station pumps lit in rain
ZAP, darkness, highway power failure
rain hiss
traffic lights dead black—
Ho! Dimethyl Triptamine flashing circle vibrations
center Spiked—
Einsteinian Mandala,
Spectrum translucent,
… Television eyeball dots in treehouse Ken Kesey’s
Power failure inside the head,
neural apparatus crackling—
So drift months later past
Eli Lilly pharmaceuticals’ tower walls
asleep in early morning dark outside Indianapolis
Street lamps lit humped along downtown Greenfield
News from Dallas, Dirksen declareth
“Vietnam Protesters have forgotten the lessons of History”
Across Ohio River, noon
old wire bridge, auto graveyards,
Washington town covered with rust—hm—
February 1966
Kansas City to Saint Louis
Leaving K.C. Mo. past Independence past Liberty
Charlie Plymell’s memories of K.C. renewed
The Jewel-box Review,
white-wigged fat camps yakking abt
Georgie Washington and Harry T.
filthier than any poetry reading I ever gave
applauded
by the police negro wives Mafia subsidized
To East St. Louis on the broad road
Highway 70 crammed with trucks
Last night almost broke my heart dancing to
Cant Get No Satisfaction
lotsa beer & slept naked in the guest room—
Now
Sunlit wooded hills overhang the highway
rolling toward the Sex Factories of Indiana—
Automobile graveyard, red cars dumped
bleeding under empty skies—
Burchfield’s paintings, Walker Evans’ photos,
a white Victorian house on a hill—
Trumble & Bung of chamber music
pianoesque on radio—midwest culture
before rock and roll
If I knew twenty years ago what I know now
I coulda led a symphony orchestra in Minneapolis
& worn a tuxedo
Heart to heart, the Kansas voice of Ella Mae
“are you afraid of growing old,
afraid you’ll no longer be attractive to your husband?”
“… I dont see any reason” says the radio
“for those agitators— Why dont they move in with the negroes? We’ve been separated all along, why change things now? But I’ll hang up, some other Martian might want to call in, who has another thought.”
The Voice of Leavenworth
echoing thru space to the car dashboard
“… causes and agitations, then, then they’re doing the work of the communists as J. Edgar Hoover says, and many of these people are people with uh respectable, bility, of a cloak of respectability that shows uh uh teachers professors and students …”
hollow voice, a minister
breathing thru the telephone
