Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 95

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          blues his travelin’ baby.

T’other highschool smart

     wavy hair, unbeautiful, unbeautiful and gentle

          pinched pachuco face

     had ideas of his own philosophy—

          thumbing out of Albuquerque

                    To New Orleans Mardigras

$900 a week, working rolling drunks, or

     fixin signs with ladders and hammers

had spent 3 youth years in Siam,

               Champagne & Pussy 50?

                    kindly eyes

     “I love to eat, and I love girls.”

     Sang them Prajnaparamita Sutra

                    entering Panhandle,

     left them back at Tukumkarie—

     talking in the truckstop booth,

            fat truck drivers

               headed south.

On Radio entering Texas

     Please For Jesus!

     Grunts & Screams & Shouts,

          Shouts for the Poison Redeemer,

     Shouts for the Venomous Jesus of Kansas.

Onward to Wichita!

     Onward to the Vortex!

          To the Birchite Hate Riddles,

       cock-detesting, pussy-smearing

          dry ladies and evil Police

               of Central Plains State

     Where boredom & fury

          magick bars and sirens around

                    the innocent citykid eye

     & Vampire stake of politics Patriotism’s driven

   into the white breast of Teenage

     joyful murmurers

     in carpet livingrooms

          on sidestreets—

Beautiful children’ve been driven from Wichita

McClure & Branaman gone

     J. Alan White departed left no address

Charlie Plymell come Now to San Francisco

     Ann Buchanan passing thru,

Bruce Conners took his joke to another coast—

     in time the White Dove Review

          fluttered up from Tulsa

Flatland entering Great Plains

               Evil gathers in Cities,

               Eye mouth newspapers

     Television concentrates its blue

               flicker of death in the frontal lobe—

     Police department sirens wail,

               The Building Department inspector Negates

               What the Fire Department has failed to burn down—

     Students departing for Iowa & Chicago,

        New York beckoning at the end of the stage—

While Soviets have made soft landing on the moon

Today, be it rock or dust?

     Now’s Solar System born anew?

Red lights, red lights at highway end,

     glass reflectors,

                    there’s no one On the Road.

“… Don’t know what will happen to the proud

               American soldiers in Vietnam”

          said Ex Ambassador Ex General Taylor—

In this great space, Murchison & Hunt,

     Texas millionaires

          sit in Isolate skyscrapers

                    on flatland dotted with lights

or, from cities, isolate from fairies

and screaming european dowagers & sopranos,

               plot conspiracies against Communists,

send messages to New York, Austin, Wichita

          Vancouver, Seattle, to Los Angeles—

Radio programs about the Federal Octopus—

          Seraphs of Money Power on Texas plains

               huge fat-bellied power-men

               shoving piles of Capital

                         by train

                    across grasslands—

Shoving messages into myriad innocent-cleaned ears

     Spiritual messages about spiritual war—

          Come to Jesus

                where the money is!

               Texas voice

               singing Vietnam Blues

                    Twanging

“I don’t like to die / a man I ain’t about t’ crawl”

          In Vital-heart,

Big truck slowly lumbers through town—

Hotels raise signs, neon winks.

Liberal’s the beginning of Kansas

     Martial music filling airwaves—

only the last few weeks

     waves of military music

        drum taps drum beats trumpets

             pulsing thru radiostations

                  not even sad,

     bald Sopranos

     Sacred Tenors from 1920s

     Singing antique music style

What Patriot wrote that shit?

Something to drive out the Indian

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