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