What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe? Berkeley, 1955 --Allen Ginsberg
Walt Whitman was the subject of a previous Poetry Blog.
/ˈɡɪnzbərɡ/; June 3, 1926 – April 5, 1997) was an American poet who vigorously opposed militarism, materialism and sexual repression. In the 1950s, Ginsberg was a leading figure of the Beat Generation. Ginsberg's epic poem "Howl", in which he celebrates his fellow "angel-headed hipsters" and excoriates what he saw as the destructive forces of capitalism and conformity in the United States, is one of the classic poems of the Beat Generation.[1] The poem, dedicated to writer Carl Solomon, has the opening:I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix...[2]"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allen_Ginsberg
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3 comments:
I've heard of Ginsberg. He was a prime mover in the hippie culture in the'60's. I have a lot a respect for his views.
He and Jack Kerouac, my all time favorite author, were best friends during the early years of the Beat movement. Although they remained friends until Kerouac died, Jack didn't share Ginsberg's radicalism or penchant for political activism.
In the 60's, Ginsberg and some friends visited Kerouac at his Florida home, where he lived with his wife and mother. Kerouac was already in the waning years of his life, ravaged by alcoholism. Ginsberg and company showed up and draped an American flag over Kerouac's shoulders as they spoke with him. Jack stood up, took off the flag, folded it properly, and set it down.
Thank goodness for those who pioneered the fight against destructive forces of capitalism and conformity! We could use some more lately... it seems to be sneaking back.
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