Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
“I’ve never been fucked”
he encourages, as my arm
reaches up his spine
passes down his back
presses into his open crack
He turns on his belly to try.
I enter slow, he’s soft
no pain, he raises his behind
no hard on, hips aloft
I push, he doesn’t mind.
My trouble is, I’m old
and tho this young kind boy
gives me a chance for joy
I’m not hard enough to be bold.
Yet I’m in, “How does it feel now?”
“It’s O.K., it’s kind of different.”
Ruddy face, eyes open on the pillow,
he lies before me prone, no effort—
I’m afraid to move, what’ll he say?
But he humps his rear up more
to take what’s in store,
I stick it in all the way.
Something is missing my hard on
But it’s what I have, it works
I pump him slowly, then start on
moving faster while he jerks
his buttocks up to help me come,
I ask permission, he says “yes,”
I pull his hips up, hold his breast,
spurt my loves deep in his bum
Next night we hugged and slept
Chaste again and affectionate
I answered the phone all day but kept
winding him in my mental net—
He wasn’t excited by my body
I couldn’t expect his sexual love
After this week would I approve
his visiting, if I had to sleep lonely?
March 24, 1985
After Antipater
I’ve climbed the Great Wall’s stone steep out of breath
sat on gray columns broken at Acropolis’ marble sill
brushed past morbid scented insect eating plants in Peten Rainforest
Eaten roastbeef with my mother’s cousins atop a World Trade Tower overhanging Hudson River
Slept under the dome echoing lament for Mumtaz Mahal’s white skull
Stood in Red Square snow across from the Kremlin wall-tomb of th’- assassin of millions
Climbed Seville’s gypsy balconies, Sagrada Familia’s crannied spires, gazed through my father’s eyes from San Marco’s high porch
tarried on Brooklyn bridge facing Manhattan dusk’s sparkling Towers, walked Golden Gate’s Pacific promenade
But when you lay on my bed, white sheet covering your loins, your eyes on mine
I forgot these marvels, my heart breathed open, I saw life’s glory look back at me naked.
March 26, 1985
Greek Anthology III, Book IX, Epigram 58, Loeb, p. 31.
Jumping the Gun on the Sun
Sincerity
is the key
to living
in Eternity
If you love
Heav’n above
Hold your ground,
Look around
Hear the sound
of television,
No derision,
Smell your blood
taste your good
bagels & lox
Wash your sox
& touch wood,
It’s understood
This is it
wild wit
Make your love
on earth above,
home of the brave,
Save yr grave
for future days
Present here
nothing to fear
No need to sigh
no need to die
before your time
mentally whine
stupidly dine
on your own meat
That’s what’s neat
Mortally great
Immortally sweet
Incredibly deep
makes you weep
Just this once
Don’t be a dunce
Take your cap
off Hear my rap
Sincerity
is the key
to living in
Eternity
Makes you wise
in your own eyes
makes the body
not seem shoddy
Makes your soul
completely whole
empty, final
indefinable
Mobile, totally
undeniable
Affirmative action
for no faction
for all men
women too,
mother brother,
even for you
Dead soul’d, sick
but really quick
with breath & thick
with blood in yr prick
Walking alive
on Riverside Drive
up on Broadway
shining gay
in New York
waving you dork
waving your mind
or living behind
your meaty masque
magnificent task
