Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 38

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Someone to hear me there

My immortality

without steel or cobalt basalt or diamond gold or mercurial fire

without passports filing cabinets bits of paper warheads

without myself finally

pure thought

message all and everywhere the same

I send up my rocket to land on whatever planet awaits it

preferably religious sweet planets no money

fourth dimensional planets where Death shows movies

plants speak (courteously) of ancient physics and poetry itself is manufactured by the trees

the final Planet where the Great Brain of the Universe sits waiting for a poem to land in His golden pocket

joining the other notes mash-notes love-sighs complaints-musical shrieks of despair and the million unutterable thoughts of frogs

I send you my rocket of amazing chemical

more than my hair my sperm or the cells of my body

the speeding thought that flies upward with my desire as instantaneous as the universe and faster than light

and leave all other questions unfinished for the moment to turn back to sleep

in my dark bed on earth.

Amsterdam, October 4, 1957

Squeal

He rises he stretches he liquefies he is hammered again

He’s divided in shares he litters the floor of the Bourse

He’s cut by adamantine snips and sent by railway car

Accumulated on the margin by bony Goldfinger has various

Visions of being an automobile consolidates

The fortune of spectral lawyers heirs weep over him

He melts he undergoes remarkable metamorphoses peculiar

Hallucinations he coughs up debentures beaten

By immense hammers in a vast loft pours in fire spurts

Upward in molten forges he levels he dreams and he cools

And the present adjusted steel squints.

A hunchback tuberculosis salesman drives him cackling to St. Louis

In the rain Hack no will of his own Creep next resale Crank

San Pedro tomorrow St. Joe Squeak will it never end Hohokus—

Crashes into a dirty locomotive the bastard never

Mind stock averages decline slightly here’s the mechanic

Blam the junkyard Help the smelter later a merger pressure accumulates

He’s had it now Eek he’s an airplane Whine he wants to go home

Suddenly he dives on the market like a bomb.

Paris, December 1957

Wrote This Last Night

Listen to the tale of the sensitive car

who was coughed up out of earth in Pittsburgh.

She screamed like a Swedish Prime Minister

on her first flight down the red neon highway,

she couldn’t stand the sirens and blind lights

of the male cars Fords Oldsmobiles Studebakers

—her assembly line foreman had prophesied wild wreck

on Sunset Boulevard headlights & eyeballs broken fenders & bones.

She rode all over Mexico avoiding Los Angeles

praying to be an old junkie in a bordertown graveyard

with rattly doors and yellow broken windowpanes

bent license plate weak brakes & unsalable motor

worn out by the slow buttocks of teen-age nightmare

panting under the impoverished jissum of the August moon,

Anything but that final joyride with the mad producer

and his bombshell intellectual star on the last night up from Mexicali.

Paris, December 1957

Death to Van Gogh’s Ear!

POET is Priest

Money has reckoned the soul of America

Congress broken thru to the precipice of Eternity

the President built a War machine which will vomit and rear up Russia out of Kansas

The American Century betrayed by a mad Senate which no longer sleeps with its wife

Franco has murdered Lorca the fairy son of Whitman

just as Mayakovsky committed suicide to avoid Russia

Hart Crane distinguished Platonist committed suicide to cave in the wrong America

just as millions of tons of human wheat were burned in secret caverns under the White House

while India starved and screamed and ate mad dogs full of rain

and mountains of eggs were reduced to white powder in the halls of Congress

on godfearing man will walk there again because of the stink of the rotten eggs of America

and the Indians of Chiapas continue to gnaw their vitaminless tortillas

aborigines of Australia perhaps gibber in the eggless wilderness

and I rarely have an egg for breakfast tho my work requires infinite eggs to come to birth in Eternity

eggs should be eaten or given to their mothers

and the grief of the countless chickens of America is expressed in the screaming of her comedians over the radio

Detroit has built a million automobiles of rubber trees and phantoms

but I walk, I walk, and the Orient walks with me, and all Africa walks

and sooner or later North America will walk

for as we have driven the Chinese Angel from our door he will drive us from the Golden Door of the future

we have not cherished pity on Tanganyika

Einstein alive was mocked for his heavenly politics

Bertrand Russell driven from New York for getting laid

immortal Chaplin driven from our shores with the rose in his teeth

a secret conspiracy by Catholic Church in the lavatories of Congress has denied contraceptives to the unceasing masses of India.

Nobody publishes a word that is not the cowardly robot ravings of a depraved mentality

The day of the publication of the true literature of the American body will be day of Revolution

the revolution of the sexy lamb

the only bloodless revolution that gives away corn

poor Genet will illuminate the harvesters of Ohio

Marijuana is a benevolent narcotic but J. Edgar Hoover prefers his deathly scotch

And the heroin of Lao-Tze & the Sixth Patriarch is punished by the electric chair

but the poor sick junkies have nowhere to lay their heads

fiends in our government have invented a cold-turkey cure for addiction as obsolete as the Defense Early Warning Radar System.

I am the defense early warning radar system

I see nothing but bombs

I am not interested in preventing Asia from being Asia

and the governments of Russia and Asia will rise and fall but Asia and Russia will not fall

the government of America also will fall but how can America fall

I doubt if anyone will ever fall anymore except governments

fortunately all the governments will fall

the only ones which won’t fall are the good ones

and the good ones don’t yet exist

But they have to begin existing they exist in my poems

they exist in the death of the Russian and American governments

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