Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
Drop the Bomb on Niggers!
drop Fire on the gook China
Frankenstein Dragon
waving its tail over Bayonne’s domed Aluminum oil reservoir!
I’ll haunt these States all year
gazing bleakly out train windows, blue airfield
red TV network on evening plains,
decoding radar Provincial editorial paper message,
deciphering Iron Pipe laborers’ curses as
clanging hammers they raise steamshovel claws
over Puerto Rican agony lawyers’ screams in slums.
October 11, 1966
Autumn Gold: New England Fall
Auto Poetry to Hanover, New Hampshire
Coughing in the Morning
Waking with a steam beast, city destroyed
Pile drivers pounding down in rubble,
Red smokestacks pouring chemical
into Manhattan’s Nostrils …
“All Aboard”
Rust colored cliffs bulking over superhighway
to New Haven,
Rouged with Autumny leaves, october smoke,
country liquor bells on the Radio—
Eat Meat and your a beast
Smoke Nicotine & your meat’ll multiply
with tiny monsters of cancer,
Make Money & yr mind be lost in a million green papers,
—Smell burning rubber by the steamshovel—
Mammals with planetary vision & long noses,
riding a green small Volkswagen up three lane
concrete road
past the graveyard
dotted w/tiny american flags waved in breeze,
Washington Avenue:
Sampans battling in waters off Mekong Delta
Cuban politicians in Moscow, analyzing China—
Yellow leaves in the wood,
Millions of redness,
gray skies over sandstone
outcroppings along the road—
cows by yellow corn,
wheel-whine on granite,
white houseroofs, Connecticut woods
hanging under clouds—
Autumn again, you wouldn’t know in the city
Gotta come out in a car see the birds
flock by the yellow bush—
In Autumn, in autumn, this part of the planet’s
famous for red leaves—
Difficult for Man on earth to ’scape the snares of delusion—
All wrong, the thought process screamed at
from Infancy,
The Self built with myriad thoughts
from football to I Am That I Am,
Difficult to stop breathing factory smoke,
Difficult to step out of clothes,
hard to forget the green parka—
Trees scream & drop
bright Leaves,
Yea Trees scream & drop bright leaves,
Difficult to get out of bed in the morning
in the slums—
Even sex happiness a long drawn-out scheme
To keep the mind moving—
Big gray truck rolling down highway
to unload wares—
Bony white branches of birch relieved of their burden
—overpass, overpass, overpass
crossing the road, more traffic
between the cities,
More sex carried near and far—
Blinking tail lights
To the Veterans hospital where we can all collapse,
Forget Pleasure and Ambition,
be tranquil and let leaves
blush, turned on
by the lightningbolt doctrine that rings
telephones
interrupting my pleasurable humiliating dream
in the locker room
last nite?—
Weeping Willow, what’s your catastrophe?
Red Red oak, oh, what’s your worry?
Hairy Mammal whaddya want,
What more than a little graveyard
near the lake by airport road,
Electric towers marching to Hartford,
Buildingtops spiked in sky,
asphalt factory cloverleafs spread over meadows
Smoke thru wires, Connecticut River concrete wall’d
past city central gastanks, glass boat bldgs,
downtown, ten blocks square,
North, North on the highway, soon outa town,
green fields.
The body’s a big beast,
The mind gets confused:
I thought I was my body the last 4 years,
