Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 60

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          Indic union to

     Affirm with laughing

                    eyes—

The world is as we see it,

     Male & Female, passing thru the years,

     as has before & will, perhaps

with all its countless pearls & Bloody noses

     and I poor stupid All in G

     am stuck with that old Choice—

Ya, Crap, what Hymn to seek, & in

          what tongue, if this’s the most

          I can requite from Consciousness?—

That I can skim? & put in words?

               Could skim it faster with more juice—

          could skim a crop with Death, perchance

               —yet never know in this old world.

Will know in Death?

               And before?

                              Will in

Another know.

               And in another know.

                              And

in another know.

               And

                         Stop conceiving worlds!

               says Philip Whalen

(My Savior!)                    (oh what snobbery!)

          (as if he cd save Anyone)—

     At least, he won’t understand.

I lift my finger in the air to create

a universe he won’t understand, full

          of sadness.

—finally staring straight ahead in surprise

     & recollection into the mirror of

               the Hotel Comercio room.

          Time repeats itself. Including

     this consciousness, which has seen

     itself before—thus the locust-whistle

     of antiquity’s nightwatch in my eardrum …

I propounded a final question, and

     heard a series of final answers.

What is God? for instance, asks the answer?

     And whatever else can the replier reply but reply?

Whatever the nature of mind, that

          the nature of both question and answer.

                    & yet one wants to live

               in a single universe

                         Does one?

Must it be one?

     Why, as with the Jews

     must the God be One?

          O what does

     the concept ONE mean?

                    IT’S MAD!

GOD IS ONE!

IS X

IS MEANINGLESS—

ADONOI—

IS A JOKE—

THE HEBREWS ARE

WRONG—(CRIST & BUDDA

ATTEST, also wrongly!)

     What is One but Formation

               of mind?

          arbitrary madness! 6000 years

Spreading out in all directions simultaneously—

          I forgive both good & ill

& I seek nothing, like a painted savage with

spear crossed by orange black & white bands!

     ‘I found the Jivaros & was

     entrapped in their universe’

                         I’m scribbling nothings.

     Page upon page of profoundest nothing,

     as scribed the Ancient Hebe, when

          he wrote Adonoi Echad or One—

     all to amuse, make money, or deceive—

Let Wickedness be Me

     and this the worst of all

          the universes!

                         Not the worst! Not Flame!

     I can’t stand that—(Yes that’s

          for Somebody Else!

                         Yet I accept

O Catfaced God, whatever comes! It’s me!

I am the Flame, etc.

                    O Gawd!

                         Pistol shot! Crack!

                              Circusmaster’s whip—

          IMPERFECT!

                    and a soul is damned to

          HELL!

                    And the churchbell rings!

and there is melancholy, once again, throughout the realm.

               and I’m that soul, small as it is.)

                    HAVE FELT SAME BEFORE

The death of consciousness is terrible

     and yet! when all is ended

          what regret?

’S none left to remember or forget.

               And’s gone into the odd.

          The only thing I fear is the Last

Chance. I’ll see that last chance too

before I’m done, Old Mind. All them

old Last Chances that you knew before.

                         —someday thru the dream wall

     to nextdoor consciousness

          like thru this blue hotel wall

               —millions of hotel rooms fogging

                    the focus of my eyes—

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