Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 57
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the voice rose out of the page to my secret ear never heard before—
I lifted my eyes to the window, red walls of buildings flashed outside, endless sky sad in Eternity
sunlight gazing on the world, apartments of Harlem standing in the universe—
each brick and cornice stained with intelligence like a vast living face—
the great brain unfolding and brooding in wilderness!—Now speaking aloud with Blake’s voice—
Love! thou patient presence & bone of the body! Father! thy careful watching and waiting over my soul!
My son! My son! the endless ages have remembered me! My son! My son! Time howled in anguish in my ear!
My son! My son! my father wept and held me in his dead arms.
1960
To an Old Poet in Peru
Because we met at dusk
Under the shadow of the railroad station
clock
While my shade was visiting Lima
And your ghost was dying in Lima
old face needing a shave
And my young beard sprouted
magnificent as the dead hair
in the sands of Chancay
Because I mistakenly thought you were
melancholy
Saluting your 60 year old feet
which smell of the death
of spiders on the pavement
And you saluted my eyes
with your anisetto voice
Mistakenly thinking I was genial
for a youth
(my rock and roll is the motion of an
angel flying in a modern city)
(your obscure shuffle is the motion
of a seraphim that has lost
its wings)
I kiss you on your fat cheek (once more tomorrow
Under the stupendous Desamparados clock)
Before I go to my death in an airplane crash
in North America (long ago)
And you go to your heart-attack on an indifferent
street in South America
(Both surrounded by screaming
communists with flowers
in their ass)
—you much sooner than I—
or a long night alone in a room
in the old hotel of the world
watching a black door
… surrounded by scraps of paper
DIE GREATLY IN THY SOLITUDE
Old Man,
I prophesy Reward
Vaster than the sands of Pachacamac
Brighter than a mask of hammered gold
Sweeter than the joy of armies naked
fucking on the battlefield
Swifter than a time passed between
old Nasca night and new Lima
in the dusk
Stranger than our meeting by the Presidential
Palace in an old cafe
ghosts of an old illusion, ghosts
of indifferent love—
THE DAZZLING INTELLIGENCE
Migrates from Death
To make a sign of Life again to you
Fierce and beautiful as a car crash
in the Plaza de Armas
I swear that I have seen that Light
I will not fail to kiss your hideous cheek
when your coffin’s closed
And the human mourners go back
to their old tired
Dream.
And you wake in the Eye of the
Dictator of the Universe.
Another stupid miracle! I’m
mistaken again!
Your indifference! my enthusiasm!
I insist! You cough!
Lost in the wave of Gold that
flows thru the Cosmos.
Agh I’m tired of insisting! Goodbye,
I’m going to Pucallpa
to have Visions.
Your clean sonnets?
I want to read your dirtiest
secret scribblings,
your Hope,
in His most Obscene Magnificence. My God!
May 19, 960
Aether
11:15 P.M., May 27
4 Sniffs & I’m High,
Underwear in bed,
white cotton in left hand,
archetype degenerate,
bloody taste in my mouth
of Dentist Chair
music, Loud Farts of Eternity—
an owl with eyeglasses scribbling in the
cold darkness—
All the time the sound in my eardrums
of trolleycars below
taxi fender cough—creak of streets—
Laughter & pistol shots echoing
at all walls—
tic leaks of neon—the voice of Myriad
rushers of the Brainpan
all the chirps the crickets have created
ringing against my eares in the
instant before unconsciousness
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