Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen. Страница 250

Armageddon for the mob

Gog & Magog Gog & Magog

Armageddon for the mob

Gog & Magog Gog & Magog

Gog Magog Gog Magog

Gog & Magog Gog & Magog

Gog Magog Gog Magog

Ginsberg says Gog & Magog

Armageddon did the job.

February-June 1991

Supplication for the Rebirth of the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche

Dear Lord Guru who pervades the space of my mind

permeates the universe of my consciousness,

still empties my balding head and’s stabilized my wand’ring thought

to average equanimity in Manhattan & Boulder

Return return reborn in spirit & knowledge in human body

my own or others as continual Teacher of chaotic peace,

Return according to your vow to pacify magnetize enrich destroy

grasping angry stupidity in me my family friends & Sangha

Return in body speech & mind to enlighten my labors

& the labors of your meditators, thousands from L.A. to Halifax

to relieve sufferings of our brothers, lovers

family, friends, fellow citizens, nations and planet.

Remember your vow to be with us on our deathbeds

in living worlds where we dwell in your tender perspective

breathe with your conscious breath, catch ourselves thinking

& dissolve bomb dream, fear of our own skin & yelling argument

in the sky of your mind

Bend your efforts to regroup our community within your thought-body

& mind-space, the effects of your non-thought,

Turbulent ease of your spontaneous word & picture

nonmeditative compassion your original mind

These slogans were writ on the second day of June 1991

a sleepless night my brother’s 70th birthday on Long Island

my own sixty-fifth year in the human realm visiting his house

by the Vajra Poet Allen Ginsberg supplicating protection of his

Vajra Guru Chogyam Trungpa

June 2, 1991, 2:05 A.M.

After the Big Parade

Millions of people cheering and waving flags for joy in Manhattan

Yesterday’ve returned to their jobs and arthritis now Tuesday—

What made them want so much passion at last, such mutual delight—

Will they ever regain these hours of confetti’d ecstasy again?

Have they forgotten the Corridors of Death that gave such victory?

Will another hundred thousand desert deaths across the world be

cause for the next rejoicing?

June 11, 1991, 2:30 P.M.

Big Eats

Big deal bargains TV meat stock market news paper headlines love life Metropolis

Float thru air like thought forms float thru the skull, check the headlines catch the boyish ass that walks

Before you fall in bed blood sugar high blood pressure lower, lower, your lips grow cold.

Sooner or later let go what you loved hated or shrugged off, you walk in the park

You look at the sky, sit on a pillow, count up the stars in your head, get up and eat.

August 20, 1991

Not Dead Yet

Huffing puffing upstairs downstairs telephone

office mail checks secretary revolt—

The Soviet Legislative Communist bloc

inspired Gorbachev’s wife and Yeltsin

to shut up in terror or stand on a tank

in front of White House denouncing Putschists—

September breezes sway branches & leaves in

a calm schoolyard under humid grey sky,

Drink your decaf Ginsberg old communist New

York Times addict, be glad you’re not Trotsky.

September 16, 1991

Yiddishe Kopf

I’m Jewish because love my family matzoh ball soup.

I’m Jewish because my fathers mothers uncles grandmothers said “Jewish,” all the way back to Vitebsk & Kaminetz-Podolska via Lvov.

Jewish because reading Dostoyevsky at 13 I write poems at restaurant tables Lower East Side, perfect delicatessen intellectual.

Jewish because violent Zionists make my blood boil, Progressive indignation.

Jewish because Buddhist, my anger’s transparent hot air, I shrug my shoulders.

Jewish because monotheist Jews Catholics Moslems’re intolerable intolerant—

Blake sd. “6000 years of sleep” since antique Nobodaddy Adonai’s mind trap—Oy! such Meshuggeneh absolutes—

Senior Citizen Jewish paid my dues got half-fare card buses subways, discount movies—

Can’t imagine how these young people make a life, make a living.

How can they stand it, going out in the world with only $10 and a hydrogen bomb?

October 1991

John

No one liked my hair

Mother pulled it toward the movies

Father hit the top of my head

Street gangs set it afire

My dry hair, my

short hair, black hair, drab hair

my stupid hair—frizzled!

Till I met John,

John loved my hair

Twined his fingers in my delicate curly locks

Told me let it grow

John buried his face in my hair

kissed my hair

Murmured endearments “Oh oh oh” to the top of my skull

Patted me on the head