Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 44
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Money money, reminder, I might as well write poems to you—dear American money—O statue of Liberty I ride enfolded in money in my mind to you—and last
Ahhh! Washington again, on the Dollar, same poetic black print, dark words, The United States of America, innumerable numbers
R956422481 One Dollar This Certificate is Legal Tender (tender!) for all debts public and private
My God My God why have you forsaken me
Ivy Baker Priest Series 1953 F
and over, the Eagle, wild wings outspread, halo of the Stars encircled by puffs of smoke & flame—
a circle the Masonic Pyramid, the sacred Swedenborgian Dollar
America, bricked up to the top, & floating surreal above
the triangle of holy outstaring Eye sectioned out of the aire, shining
light emitted from the eyebrowless triangle—and a desert of cactus, scattered all around, clouds afar,
this being the Great Seal of our Passion, Annuit Coeptis, Novus Ordo Seclorum,
the whole surrounded by green spiderwebs designed by T-Men to prevent foul counterfeit—
ONE
S.S. United States, July 1958
‘Back on Times Square, Dreaming of Times Square’
Let some sad trumpeter stand
on the empty streets at dawn
and blow a silver chorus to the
buildings of Times Square,
memorial of ten years, at 5 A.M., with
the thin white moon just
visible
above the green & grooking McGraw
Hill offices
a cop walks by, but he’s invisible
with his music
The Globe Hotel, Garver lay in
gray beds there and hunched his
back and cleaned his needles—
where I lay many nights on the nod
from his leftover bloody cottons
and dreamed of Blake’s voice talking—
I was lonely,
Garver’s dead in Mexico two years,
hotel’s vanished into a parking lot
And I’m back here—sitting on the streets
again—
The movies took our language, the
great red signs
A DOUBLE BILL OF GASSERS
Teen Age Nightmare
Hooligans of the Moon
But we were never nightmare
hooligans but seekers of
the blond nose for Truth
Some old men are still alive, but
the old Junkies are gone—
We are a legend, invisible but
legendary, as prophesied
New York, July 1958
Laughing Gas
To Gary Snyder
The red tin begging cup you gave me,
I lost it but its contents are undisturbed.
I
High on Laughing Gas
I’ve been here before
the odd vibration of
the same old universe
the nasal whine of the dentist’s drill
singing against the nostalgic
piano Muzak in the wall
insistent, familiar, penetrating
the teeth, where’ve I heard that
asshole jazz before?
The universe is a void
in which there is a dreamhole
The dream disappears
the hole closes
It’s the instant of going
into or coming out of
existence that is
important—to catch on
to the secret of the magic
box
Stepping outside the universe
by means of Nitrous Oxide
anesthetizing mind-consciousness
the chiliasm was an impersonal dream—
one of many, being mere dreams.
the sadness of birth
and death, the sadness of
changing from dream to dream,
the constant farewell
of forms …
saying ungoodbye to what
didn’t exist
The many worlds that don’t exist
all which seem real
all joke
all lost cartoon
At that moment the whole goofy-spooky of the Universe WHAT?! Joke Being slips into Nothing like the tail of a lizard disappearing into a crack in the Wall with the final receding eyehole ending Loony Tunes accompanied by Woody Woodpecker’s hindoo maniac laughter in the skull. Nobody gets hurt. They all disappear. They were never there. Beginningless perfection.
That’s why Satori’s accompanied by laughter
and the Zenmaster rips up the Sutras in fury.
And the pain of this contrariety
The cycles of scream and laughter
faces and asses Christs and Buddhas
each with his own universe dragged
over the snowy mental poles
like a sack mad Santa Clauses
Worst pain in the dentist’s chair comes true
novocaine also arrives in the cycle
every hap will have its chance
even God will come Once or Twice
Satan will be my personal enemy
Relax and die—
The process will repeat itself
Be Born! Be Born!
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