Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen. Страница 233

“I’ve never been fucked”

he encourages, as my arm

reaches up his spine

passes down his back

presses into his open crack

He turns on his belly to try.

I enter slow, he’s soft

no pain, he raises his behind

no hard on, hips aloft

I push, he doesn’t mind.

My trouble is, I’m old

and tho this young kind boy

gives me a chance for joy

I’m not hard enough to be bold.

Yet I’m in, “How does it feel now?”

“It’s O.K., it’s kind of different.”

Ruddy face, eyes open on the pillow,

he lies before me prone, no effort—

I’m afraid to move, what’ll he say?

But he humps his rear up more

to take what’s in store,

I stick it in all the way.

Something is missing my hard on

But it’s what I have, it works

I pump him slowly, then start on

moving faster while he jerks

his buttocks up to help me come,

I ask permission, he says “yes,”

I pull his hips up, hold his breast,

spurt my loves deep in his bum

Next night we hugged and slept

Chaste again and affectionate

I answered the phone all day but kept

winding him in my mental net—

He wasn’t excited by my body

I couldn’t expect his sexual love

After this week would I approve

his visiting, if I had to sleep lonely?

March 24, 1985

After Antipater

I’ve climbed the Great Wall’s stone steep out of breath

sat on gray columns broken at Acropolis’ marble sill

brushed past morbid scented insect eating plants in Peten Rainforest

Eaten roastbeef with my mother’s cousins atop a World Trade Tower overhanging Hudson River

Slept under the dome echoing lament for Mumtaz Mahal’s white skull

Stood in Red Square snow across from the Kremlin wall-tomb of th’- assassin of millions

Climbed Seville’s gypsy balconies, Sagrada Familia’s crannied spires, gazed through my father’s eyes from San Marco’s high porch

tarried on Brooklyn bridge facing Manhattan dusk’s sparkling Towers, walked Golden Gate’s Pacific promenade

But when you lay on my bed, white sheet covering your loins, your eyes on mine

I forgot these marvels, my heart breathed open, I saw life’s glory look back at me naked.

March 26, 1985

Greek Anthology III, Book IX, Epigram 58, Loeb, p. 31.

Jumping the Gun on the Sun

Sincerity

is the key

to living

in Eternity

If you love

Heav’n above

Hold your ground,

Look around

Hear the sound

of television,

No derision,

Smell your blood

taste your good

bagels & lox

Wash your sox

& touch wood,

It’s understood

This is it

wild wit

Make your love

on earth above,

home of the brave,

Save yr grave

for future days

Present here

nothing to fear

No need to sigh

no need to die

before your time

mentally whine

stupidly dine

on your own meat

That’s what’s neat

Mortally great

Immortally sweet

Incredibly deep

makes you weep

Just this once

Don’t be a dunce

Take your cap

off Hear my rap

Sincerity

is the key

to living in

Eternity

Makes you wise

in your own eyes

makes the body

not seem shoddy

Makes your soul

completely whole

empty, final

indefinable

Mobile, totally

undeniable

Affirmative action

for no faction

for all men

women too,

mother brother,

even for you

Dead soul’d, sick

but really quick

with breath & thick

with blood in yr prick

Walking alive

on Riverside Drive

up on Broadway

shining gay

in New York

waving you dork

waving your mind

or living behind

your meaty masque

magnificent task