Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
as “all the news that’s fit to print.”
May 18, 1996
Multiple Identity Questionnaire
“Nature empty, everything’s pure; Naturally pure, that’s what I am.”
I’m a jew? a nice Jewish boy?
A flaky Buddhist, certainly
Gay in fact pederast? I’m exaggerating?
Not only queer an amateur S&M fan, someone should spank me for
saying that
Columbia Alumnus class of ’48, Beat icon, students say.
White, if jews are “white race”
American by birth, passport, and residence
Slavic heritage, mama from Vitebsk, father’s forebears Grading in
Kamenetz-Podolska near Lvov.
I’m an intellectual! Anti-intellectual, anti-academic
Distinguished Professor of English Brooklyn College,
Manhattanite, Another middle class liberal,
but lower class second generation immigrant,
Upperclass, I own a condo loft, go to art gallery Buddhist Vernissage
dinner parties with Niarchos, Rockefellers, and Luces
Oh what a sissy, Professor Four-eyes, can’t catch a baseball or drive a
car—courageous Shambhala Graduate Warrior
addressed as “Maestro” Milano, Venezia, Napoli
Still student, chela, disciple, my guru Gelek Rinpoche,
Senior Citizen, got Septuagenarian discount at Alfalfa’s Healthfoods
New York subway—
Mr. Sentient Being!—Absolutely empty neti neti identity, Maya Nobo-
daddy, relative phantom nonentity
July 5, 1996, Naropa Tent,
Boulder, CO
Don’t Get Angry with Me
for Chodok Tulku
Don’t get angry with me
You might die tomorrow
I’m an empty hungry ghost
Any spare change I can borrow?
Don’t get angry with me
Full of God tomorrow
Could get sorry you got mad,
wanna be the God of sorrow?
Don’t get angry with me
War starts tomorrow
I’ll get bombed You’ll get shot
in the eye with Interdependent Arrow
Don’t get angry with me
Hell’s hot tomorrow
If we’re burned up now inflamed
Could pass aeons in cold horror
Don’t get angry with me
We’ll be worms tomorrow
Both wriggling in the mud
cut in two by the ploughman’s harrow
Don’t get angry with me—
Who’ll we be tomorrow?
who knows who we are today?
Better meditate & pray,
Tila, Mila, Marpa, Naro.
August 27, 1996
Swan Songs in the Present
“Swan songs in the present
moon systems in gleeps
Don’t hang on to the essence
the refrigerator’s for keeps
the Hot house vernacular
Sets up on the moldy hill
you and I climb the ribcage
& look for a heart to kill
you can do whatcha want with Europe
Eat Bananas with your dung
Whistle while you wonk the Pope
Breathe out of a spastic lung
but you’ll live forever anyway
in birds’ beasts hungry ghosts
& various Boddhisattvas
Drinking morning coffee
eating loxes & toasts
Hypnogogi Twaddle
anytime I can
But 70 years I’ll sleep
like other old men
October 29, 1996, 3:50 A.M.
Gone Gone Gone
“The wan moon is sinking under the white wave
and time is sinking with me, O!”
—Robert Burns
yes it’s gone gone gone
gone gone away
yes it’s gone gone gone
gone gone away
yes it’s gone gone gone
gone gone away
yes it’s gone gone gone
it’s all gone away
gone gone gone
won’t be back today
gone gone gone
just like yesterday
gone gone gone
isn’t any more
gone to the other shore
gone gone gone
it wasn’t here to stay
yes it’s gone gone gone
all gone out to play
yes it’s gone gone gone
until another day
no one here to pray
gone gone gone
yak your life away
no promise to betray
gone gone gone
somebody else will pay
the national debt no way
gone gone gone
your furniture layaway
plan gone astray
gone gone gone
made hay
