Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 90
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the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little weed in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.
December 1965
Continuation of a Long Poem of These States
S.F. Southward
Stage-lit streets
Downtown Frisco whizzing past, buildings
ranked by Freeway balconies
Bright Johnnie Walker neon
sign Christmastrees
And Christmas and its eves
in the midst of the same deep wood
as every sad Christmas before, surrounded
by forests of stars—
Metal columns, smoke pouring cloudward,
yellow-lamp horizon
warplants move, tiny
planes lie in Avionic fields—
Meanwhile Working Girls sort mail into the red slot
Rivers of newsprint to soldiers’ Vietnam
Infantry Journal, Kanackee
Social Register, Wichita Star
And Postoffice Christmas the same brown place
mailhandlers’ black fingers
dusty mailbags filled
1948 N.Y. Eighth Avenue was
when Peter drove the mailtruck 1955
from Rincon Annex—
Bright lights’ windshield flash,
adrenalin shiver in shoulders
Around the curve
crawling a long truck
3 bright green signals on forehead
Jeweled Bayshore passing the Coast Range
one architect’s house light on hill crest
……………… negro voices rejoice over radio
Moonlit sticks of tea
Moss Landing Power Plant
shooting its cannon smoke
across the highway, Red taillight
speeding the white line and a mile away
Orion’s muzzle
raised up
to the center of Heaven.
December 18, 1965
These States: into L.A.
Organs and War News
Radio static from Saigon
“And the Glory of the Lord”
Newscaster Voice thru Aether—
The Truce—
12 hours, 30 hours?
Thirty Days, said Mansfield.
Cars roll right lane,
bridge lights
rising & falling on night-slope—
headlights cross speeding reflectors
Handel rejoicing
chorus whine Requiem, roar in yr Auto
window shoulders
Memories of Christmas—
and the deep Christmas begins:
U.S. 101 South
The President at home
in his swinging chair on the porch
listening to Christmas Carols
Vice-President returning from Far East
“Check into yourself that you are wrong—
You may be the Wrong” says Pope His
Christmas Message—
Overpopulation, overpopulation
Give me 3 acres of land
Give my brother how much?
Each man have fine estate?
settle giant Communes?
LSD Shakti-snake settles like gas into Consciousness
—Brightest Venus I’ve ever seen
Canyon-floor road, near
bursting tides
& caves they’d slept in earlier years
covered with green water
height of a man.
A stranger walked that ground.
Five years ago we picnicked
in this place.
Auto track by a mud log, Bixby Creek
wove channels
thru the shifting sands.
I saw the ghost of Neal
pass by, Ferlinghetti’s ghost
The ghost of Homer roaring at the surf
barking & wagging his tail
My own footprint at the sea’s lips
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