Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
In the car it can drive yr eyes inward
from the snowy hill,
withdraw yr mind from the birch forest
make you forget the blue car in the ice,
Drive yr mind down Supermarket aisles
looking for cans of Save-Your-Money
Polishing-Glue
made of human bones manufactured in N. Vietnam
during a mustard gas hallucination:
The Super-Hit sound of All American Radio.
Turnpike to Tuscarora
Snowfields, red lights blinking in the broken car
Quiet hills’ genital hair black in Sunset
Beautiful dusk over human tininess
Pennsylvanian intimacy,
approaching Tuscarora Tunnel
Quiet moments off the road, Tussey Mountains’
snowfields untouched.
A missile lost Unprogrammed
Twisting in flight to crash 100 miles
south of Cuba into the
Blue Carib!
Diplomatic messages exchanged
“Don’t Worry it’s only the Setting Sun—”
(Western correspondents assembling in Hanoi)
“perfect ball of orange in its cup of clouds”
Dirty Snowbanks pushed aside from Asphalt thruway-edge—
Uphill’s the little forests where the boyhoods grow
their bare feet—
Night falling, “Jan 4 1967, The Vatican Announces Today
No Jazz at the Altar!”
Maybe in Africa
maybe in Asia they got funny music
& strange dancing before the Lord
But here in the West No More Jazz at the Altar,
“It’s an alien custom—”
Missa Luba crashing thru airwaves with Demonic Drums
behind Kyrie Eleison—
Millions of tiny silver Western crucifixes for sale
in the Realms of King Baudouin—
Color TV in this year—weekly
the Pope sits in repose & slumbers to classical music
in his purple hat—
Gyalwa Karmapa sits in Rumtek Monastery, Sikkim
& yearly shows his most remarkable woven Dakini-hair
black Magic Hat
Whose very sight is Total Salvation—
Ten miles from Gangtok—take a look!
* * * *
Mary Garden dead in Aberdeen,
Jack Ruby dead in Dallas—
Sweet green incense in car cabin.
(Dakini sleeping head bowed, hair braided
over her Rudraksha beads
driving through Pennsylvania.
Julius, bearded, hasn’t eaten all day
sitting forward, pursing his lips, calm.)
Sleep, sweet Ruby, sleep in America, Sleep
in Texas, sleep Jack from Chicago,
Friend of the Mafia, friend of the cops
friend of the dancing girls—
Under the viaduct near the book depot
Under the hospital Attacked by Motorcades,
Under Nightclubs under all the
groaning bodies of Dallas,
under their angry mouths
Sleep Jack Ruby, rest at last,
bouquet’d with cancer.
Ruby, Oswald, Kennedy gone
New Years’ 1967 come,
Reynolds Metals up a Half
Mary Garden, 92, sleeping tonite in Aberdeen.
Three trucks adorned with yellow lights crawl uproad
under winter network-shade, bare trees, night fallen.
Under Tuscarora Mountain, long tunnel,
WBZ Boston coming thru—
“Nobody needs icecream nobody needs pot nobody
needs movies.”
… “Public Discussion.”
Is sexual Intercourse any Good? Can the kids handle it?
out the Tunnel,
The Boston Voice returning: “controlled circumstances …”
Into tunnel, static silence,
Trucks roar by in carbon-mist,
Anger falling asleep at the heart.
White Rembrandt, the hills—
Silver domed silo standing above house
in the white reality place
farm up the road,
Mist Quiet on Woods,
Silent Reality everywhere.
Till the eye catches the billboards—
Howard Johnson’s Silent Diamond Reality
“makes the difference.”
Student cannon fodder prepared for next Congress session
