Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
struggled like Asur-Devas
with my mind-snake drifting
motorized under the trees—that
long road with a dip and slow strange
rise into the arch of the four-headed
Smile—gate to the old park
of Khmer palaces—ancient morphine
in a room—Garuda bebeaked and wing-sphinxed—
The many Sphinx-heads with ears on the towers
Looking around the country seventeen, cheek on eye,
Bewildered in a hurry in the rain to make
this City conquered by Chams (upriver
burning the wooden city) of
Stone to last in forest
Even that permanence warped cleaned
in the Alice in Wonderland giant garden
of Ta-Phrom—followed
by the young guardian with a caterpillar
like green frond in his hair
—he shrank back a second when I went to
touch his crown
And I’m following them naked to the waist
chinese smooth limbed workmen or darker
Cambodian cyclist Prisoners cutting the grass
by the Grand Hotel’s
cool waiting room with bar and USIS handout
news-casts only Journals except
for the State Paper reprinting the Prince
King’s questionless speech to
Journalists itching with neon—
So many grounds to cover the terrors of the day
All got to do with snakes and only one shy
tail, I saw disappearing behind a
rock, slow banded worm—the smiles
of Avalokitesvara with his big mouth like
Cambodian Pork Chops—the boys
and why do I not even faintly desire those
black silk girls in the alley of this
clean new tourist city?—
Ah those Deva faces on the walls of Thommanom!
Clean eyebrows and smiles of Lady Yore
Ever Naomi in my ear—a sad case of refusing to
grow up give birth to die—
I am Coward in every direction—Coughing
in the motorcycle trailer seat but
the beautiful forest hath its rain to
drown my noises—
Home to the Needle, further violation
or is this vegetable smoke and vein warmth
futile in the light of my friends Pronouncements
Maybe Gary’ll have the answer! Maybe Jack have
the Answer? Will the Army answer me,
or will a clang of bells herald the God Creeley
To whom I sent postcards of the cold stonebrows—
in the green—on the spot
“Blind white mossed gray carved
blocks of stone noses smiling
thin lips
green mossy fronds of giant
trees, the white drift smoke
sky
The millions of familiar
raindrops dripping in
floor rock crevasses
on the broken crown of the
gray lotus
The stone benches on the roof
Snake balustrades
Buddha’s faces on the
many towers, the forest snakes
waiting in the tall trunks of
wooden trees
Oh the beautiful pour of the rain noises
waiting below the money cyclopede
Motor driver covered with blue plastic
Angkor
where I dreamed of trembling to
write—here again after the
hot sun, sleeping and dreaming
2 days ago—back in the wished
for rain past
rain on my elbows
Buddha save me, what am
I doing here
again dreamed of this
This awful stone monument
being in the streams
of change or the Clouds
in the sky—
Kneeled to the statue on
Porch
Saranam Gochamee Catchme quick
forced with incense—have to
go down to the
velocycle
thru the bat-tower
again, or out
in the rain!”
As might be read for poesy by Olson
At least moves from perception to obsession
according to waves of Me-ness
Still clinging to the Earthen straw
My eye
Confused with this blue sky cloud drift
“illusion” over the treetops
dwelling in my mind “frightened aging nagging flesh”
To step out of—? Who, Me?
