Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
Memory Cousins
After Long Absence, I returned from the land of the dead
to visit my stepmother in her suburban apartment.
I looked from a distance, was it a mental hospital
standing on a grass plain far from Manhattan’s skyscrapers
after crossing Washington Bridge, or Jersey’s tract houses
risen gigantic during my exile in China? I’d
been gone so long my relatives’d grown old at their doors—
a neighbor widow come out to empty the black plastic
garbagebag, I’d known her middle age, now with white hair
she gazed at me nodding absently, I’d not been gone long
while her husband’d died, children married with children now—
How dear to see me, where’d I been? I looked down the long hall,
door after door of Aunts and Uncles retired alive
white haired, television bound seeing the doctor, eating
delicatessen salad Sundays, reading best seller
books, dusting furniture, cleaning kitchen floors, happily
visiting Doctors for minor blood pressure, depression
or hernias. Years ahead, they should live so long, they’d die,
I’d never see them again, best settle down while childhood
memory cousins and brothers were old, but still alive,
enjoy each other’s tables and coffee, business gossip.
Where else go off to, unhappy Russia warring Israel?
Here in America, peace, a place to live together.
They were bombing Nicaragua, factories exploding
in India, Cities crowded with Animal muggers
newspapers said, TV had pictures of them every nite—
Peter in fact just came back from Nuclear Buddhaland,
His belly exposed to Radiation a soft yellow
spot near his navel, he smiled rueful pulling his shirt
above his belt to show his mortal sore, what could cure him?
If go away now I’ll be gone forever, Peter,
Stepmother Edith, Aunt Honey & Leo, Aunt Clara
and Uncle Abe, my brother Gene & Connie & the kids,
I may never see them again. Here are their living eyes,
here’s the end of the Immortal Dream.
March 2, 1985, 7:56 A.M.
Moral Majority
Something evil about you Mr. Viguerie Mr. Falwell Robertson Swaggert.
Not evil but ignorance of the delights of the Boy
The 1920s have passed, corsets chastity belts whips
the stake, Lesbian cities aflame in your fiery eyes
—Some old Demon the Satan in possession of your body
a thousand years old, two thousand that burned the parchments of Black Sappho
I’ve seen God as much as any, he doesn’t look like you alone
He looks like me too, all the homosexuals on earth,
in Congo, Cities of North America, Rio Barrios—
He looks like a lavender fairy, Paris salons 1890 the birds & bees,
Like an ambidextrous worm, male dogs coupling in the Alabama parking-lot.
Nothing wrong with Family, Mother Father & Buba.
Nothing wrong with the Babe.
Nothing wrong with Mr. Falwell except a little mean streak
that isn’t god, just a jerk, talks too big for his britches,
inexperienced Bible Salesman
interprets words & letters, not Holy Spirit
ambitious politically, at the expense of the poor,
the thwarted, & happy ruddy kids—
Find out Buddha, enter the great silence
& pass thru the needle’s eye,
then come back happy, laughing, generous
big mouth full of good cheer, not money,
honey.
March 19, 1985
The Guest
I’ve a pain in my back
Fifth lumbar & sacrum
Kidneystones alas alack
can’t drink milk calcium
High blood pressure about
salt I can’t eat
at my age no red meat
sometimes I get gout
My age fifty eight
My friend Peter’s away
I should lose ten pounds weight
Prostrate every day
to my guru who’s Crazy
Prepare for grim death
Exercise for good health
All my life I’ve been lazy
Little gold, lots of fame
Small flat in Manhattan
tho I bank on my name
my wallet won’t fatten
But the thing I want most
to embody my joy
is the belly of a boy
and there I get lost
I met David he undressed
Came naked on my bed
He climbed on my chest
“I love you Allen” he said
He touched and caressed
my stomach, heart and thigh
appreciated my sigh
I slept chaste & blessed.
He visited New York
to sleep a week in my room
watch me at work,
enlighten my gloom—
Body young & strong
shapely from Basketball
Skin muscular stomach small
“I can’t be your lover long.”
Mind tender, he loves girls
Sees me as poetry master
His pubic hair’s soft curls
press my breast to rapture
His smooth cock grows thick
my heart beats at his loin
He presses with his groin
His hands caress my neck
I touch around his buttocks
smooth, firm and warm.
