Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗

as the car rolled down hillsides past green woods to the water,

I noticed the houses, balconies overlooking a misted horizon, shore & old worn rocks in the sand

I noticed the sea, I noticed the music, I wanted to dance.

May 28, 1987, 2:30–3:15 A.M.

Nanao

Brain washed by numerous mountain streams

Legs clean after walking four continents

Eyes cloudless as Kagoshima sky

Fresh raw surprisingly cooked heart

Tongue live as a Spring salmon

Nanao’s hands are steady, pen & ax sharp as stars.

With Peter Orlovsky

June 1987

Personals Ad

“I will send a picture too if you will send me one of you”

—R. CREELEY

Poet professor in autumn years

seeks helpmate companion protector friend

young lover w/empty compassionate soul

exuberant spirit, straightforward handsome

athletic physique & boundless mind, courageous

warrior who may also like women & girls, no problem,

to share bed meditation apartment Lower East Side,

help inspire mankind conquer world anger & guilt,

empowered by Whitman Blake Rimbaud Ma Rainey & Vivaldi,

familiar respecting Art’s primordial majesty, priapic carefree

playful harmless slave or master, mortally tender passing swift time,

photographer, musician, painter, poet, yuppie or scholar—

Find me here in New York alone with the Alone

going to lady psychiatrist who says Make time in your life

for someone you can call darling, honey, who holds you dear

can get excited & lay his head on your heart in peace.

October 8, 1987

Proclamation

For Carlos Edmondo de Ory

I am the King of the Universe

I am the Messiah with a new dispensation

Excuse me I stepped on a nail.

A mistake

Perhaps I am not the Capitalist of Heaven.

Perhaps I’m a gate keeper snoring

          beside the Pearl Columns—

No this isn’t true, I really am God himself.

Not at all human. Don’t associate me

          w/that Crowd.

In any case you can believe every word

          I say.

October 31, 1987

Gas Station, N.Y.

To Jacob Rabinowitz

Dear Jacob I received your translation, what kind

favor you paid to have it printed up,

lighthearted the most readable I know—

Glad to be your friend, 2000 years after Catullus,

nothing’s changed poets or poetics, lovers or love

familiar conversation between the three of us,

familiar tears—Remember you leaped in bed naked

and wouldn’t sleep on my floor, decade ago? I was

half century old, you hardly out of puberty gave me

your ass bright eyes and virgin body a whole month

What a little liar you were, how’d I know you were cherry?

Put me down now for not hearing your teenage heartbeat,

think back were you serious offering to kidnap me

to Philadelphia, Cleveland, Baltimore, Miami, God

knows, rescued from boring fame & Academic fortune,

Rimbaud Verlaine lovers starved together in boondock houseflat

stockyard furnished rooms eating pea soup reading E. A. Poe?

First night in each other’s arms you chilled my spine whispering

lies till dawn—pubescent lovelife with a tiny monkey you claim’d

you’d tortured to death—how trust you take me to the moon?

Tho you gave your butt to others in St. Mark’s Baths’ steam room

that year I followed you to Chelsea Hotel kissing your boots

& still lust for your body tho now you’ve grown a red beard.

At thirty still cute, lost interest in my potbelly years ago,

useless to jack off to your youthful shadow anymore.

And I your genius poet first love ignored hypoglycemic,

impotent, gouty, squint-eyed, halfway bald—

Reading this book gives me youth back again, not old

in vain, at last you bring love to Catullus & Poetry

humble enough to print these translations by yourself.

December 2, 1987, 4:30 A.M.

Grandma Earth’s Song

I started down Capitol Hill side along unfamiliar black central avenues warily uncertain which streets thru Fillmore district to City Hall valley center,

and as I passed a block or two I saw a fragile crone marching toward me up hill, Grandma Bag-lady ragged dressed with firm ancient steps Old Ma Earth

dragging a shopping cart filled with cans bottles & plastic newspapers tied

with silk stockings wandering alone singing out loud on way to Civic Center

When dull roots write Laws

Jerusalem to New York

Poor Jews break Arab Jaws

Blacks eat greasy pork

What’s the Planet News?

Wall Street’s poison pill

Palestinians stone Jews

Water runs downhill

Young soldiers gonna die

Old presidents get AIDS

They bankrupted the sky

The ozone layer fades

Crazy people got money

I own State Capitols

Sheriff calls me honey

The army’s a bunch of fools