Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen. Страница 169
to wakened eye, transfused into family meat.
Capitalism’s reckless industry cancers New Jersey.
New York, March 6, 1976
C’mon Jack
Turn me on your knees
Spank me & Fuck me
Hit my ass with your hand
Spank me and Fuck me
Hit my hole with your fingers
Hit my ass with your hand
Spank me and fuck me
Turn me on your knees
Ah Robertson it’s you
Yes hit my ass with your hand
real hard, ass on your knees
sticking up hard harder slap
Spank me and Fuck me
Got a hard on Spank me
When you get a hard on Fuck me.
March 29, 1976
Pussy Blues
for Anne Waldman
You said you got to go home & feed your pussycat
When I ast you to stay here tonight Where’s your pussy at?
Keep your pussy here Try our hot cat food
Yeah lotsa cats around here & they’s all half nude
Going home alone do your pussy no good
Hey it’s 4th of July Say it’s your U.S. birthday
Yeah stay out all night National Holiday
Tiger on your fence Don’t let him get away
Pussy pussy come home I’m gonna feed you fish
Yeah pussy pussy here come your big red dish
I’ll tickle your belly All the eats you wish
Hey there pussy Cantcha catch my mouse
Hey please pussy Play with my white mouse
You can stay all night You can clean my house
Boulder, Independence Day 1976, 1 A.M.
Don’t Grow Old
I
Old Poet, Poetry’s final subject glimmers months ahead
Tender mornings, Paterson roofs snowcovered
Vast
Sky over City Hall tower, Eastside Park’s grass terraces & tennis courts beside Passaic River
Parts of ourselves gone, sister Rose’s apartments, brown corridor’d high schools—
Too tired to go out for a walk, too tired to end the War
Too tired to save body
too tired to be heroic
The real close at hand as the stomach
liver pancreas rib
Coughing up gastric saliva
Marriages vanished in a cough
Hard to get up from the easy chair
Hands white feet speckled a blue toe stomach big breasts hanging thin
hair white on the chest
too tired to take off shoes and black sox
Paterson, January 12, 1976
II
He’ll see no more Times Square
honkytonk movie marquees, bus stations at midnight
Nor the orange sun ball
rising thru treetops east toward New York’s skyline
His velvet armchair facing the window will be empty
He won’t see the moon over house roofs
or sky over Paterson’s streets.
New York, February 26, 1976
III
Wasted arms, feeble knees
80 years old, hair thin and white
cheek bonier than I’d remembered—
head bowed on his neck, eyes opened
now and then, he listened—
I read my father Wordsworth’s Intimations of Immortality
“… trailing clouds of glory do we come
from God, who is our home …”
“That’s beautiful,” he said, “but it’s not true.”
“When I was a boy, we had a house
on Boyd Street, Newark—the backyard
was a big empty lot full of bushes and tall grass,
I always wondered what was behind those trees.
When I grew older, I walked around the block,
and found out what was back there—
it was a glue factory.”
May 18, 1976
IV
Will that happen to me?
Of course, it’ll happen to thee.
Will my arms wither away?
Yes yr arm hair will turn gray.
Will my knees grow weak & collapse?
Your knees will need crutches perhaps.
Will my chest get thin?
Your breasts will be hanging skin.
Where will go—my teeth?
You’ll keep the ones beneath.
What’ll happen to my bones?
They’ll get mixed up with stones.
June 1976
Father Death Blues
V
FATHER DEATH BLUES
Hey Father Death, I’m flying home
Hey poor man, you’re all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I’m going
Father Death, Don’t cry any more
Mama’s there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don’t hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts’ll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body’s gone
Father Death I’m coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you