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Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 14


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14

we dream again of Heaven.

For the world is a mountain

of shit: if it’s going to

be moved at all, it’s got

to be taken by handfuls.

c.

Man lives like the unhappy

whore on River Street who

in her Eternity gets only

a couple of bucks and a lot

of snide remarks in return

for seeking physical love

the best way she knows how,

never really heard of a glad

job or joyous marriage or

a difference in the heart:

or thinks it isn’t for her,

which is her worst misery.

Paterson, Spring 1950

The Night-Apple

Last night I dreamed

of one I loved

for seven long years,

but I saw no face,

only the familiar

presence of the body:

sweat skin eyes

feces urine sperm

saliva all one

odor and mortal taste.

Paterson, Spring 1950

Cezanne’s Ports

In the foreground we see time and life

swept in a race

toward the left hand side of the picture

where shore meets shore.

But that meeting place

isn’t represented;

it doesn’t occur on the canvas.

For the other side of the bay

is Heaven and Eternity,

with a bleak white haze over its mountains.

And the immense water of L’Estaque is a go-between

for minute rowboats.

Paterson, Summer 1950

The Blue Angel

Marlene Dietrich is singing a lament

for mechanical love.

She leans against a mortarboard tree

on a plateau by the seashore.

She’s a life-sized toy,

the doll of eternity;

her hair is shaped like an abstract hat

made out of white steel.

Her face is powdered, whitewashed and

immobile like a robot.

Jutting out of her temple, by an eye,

is a little white key.

She gazes through dull blue pupils

set in the whites of her eyes.

She closes them, and the key

turns by itself.

She opens her eyes, and they’re blank

like a statue’s in a museum.

Her machine begins to move, the key turns

again, her eyes change, she sings

—you’d think I would have thought a plan

to end the inner grind,

but not till I have found a man

to occupy my mind.

Dream, Paterson, Mid-1950

Two Boys Went Into a Dream Diner

and ate so much the bill was five dollars,

but they had no idea

what they were getting themselves into,

so they shoveled

garbage into a truck in the alley

to make up for the food.

After about five minutes, wondering

how long they would have

to work off what it cost, they asked

the diner owner when

their penance or pay would be over.

He laughed.

Little did they realize—they were

so virginal—

that a grown worker works half a day

for money like that.

Paterson, Mid-1950

A Desolation

Now mind is clear

as a cloudless sky.

Time then to make a

home in wilderness.

What have I done but

wander with my eyes

in the trees? So I

will build: wife,

family, and seek

for neighbors.

          Or I

perish of lonesomeness

or want of food or

lightning or the bear

(must tame the hart

and wear the bear).

And maybe make an image

of my wandering, a little

image—shrine by the

roadside to signify

to traveler that I live

here in the wilderness

awake and at home.

Paterson, Mid-1950

In Memoriam: William Cannastra, 1922–1950

He cast off all his golden robes

and lay down sleeping in the night,

and in a dream he saw three fates

at a machine in a shroud of light.

He yelled “I wait the end of Time;

be with me, shroud, now, in my wrath!

There is a lantern in my grave,

who hath that lantern all light hath.”

Alas! The prophet of this dream

is sunken in the dumbing clime:

much is finished, much forgotten

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Ginsberg Allen - Collected Poems 1947-1997 Collected Poems 1947-1997
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