I Saw Old Man Ginsberg On The Street!
I just saw old Ginsberg
walking on suburban footpath,
hunchbacked in red check shirt,
the profuse beard flying, sending
signals in grey ringlets
of spliff smoke, & he was
walking in slow
motion, walking & puffing &
puffing & walking, stooped like a
snail carrying his house of karmic
poetry on his back -
Oh downtrodden Ginsberg,
can you no longer stop
to meditate, old old age leaving you
so few energies to meld into words of
staccato consciousness talk poetry,
but you are dead and gone Ginsberg,
all your prophecies fulfilled, that
rotting nothing Ginsberg in the
mescaline mirror -
You are the Father Death for all
of us, you have great reserves of
chitta, dreaming cosmic dreams
of compassion in your death-state,
& this apparition so brutally forced
upon me, walking sodden suburban
footpath thru rainrivers midday
Saturday east of the city -
Or maybe this old old Ginsberg,
beard-dangler & smokechoker,
sentence-charmer & ass-poker,
maybe this man is my own
wistful projection –
But then you yourself proved
it was possible - via most thoughtful
thought - to bring up the spirit of
Walt Whitman in that fruity
supermarket in downtown
California –
And so I bring you here.
[ 30 December 2002: Message edited by: WordyOne ]
I just saw old Ginsberg
walking on suburban footpath,
hunchbacked in red check shirt,
the profuse beard flying, sending
signals in grey ringlets
of spliff smoke, & he was
walking in slow
motion, walking & puffing &
puffing & walking, stooped like a
snail carrying his house of karmic
poetry on his back -
Oh downtrodden Ginsberg,
can you no longer stop
to meditate, old old age leaving you
so few energies to meld into words of
staccato consciousness talk poetry,
but you are dead and gone Ginsberg,
all your prophecies fulfilled, that
rotting nothing Ginsberg in the
mescaline mirror -
You are the Father Death for all
of us, you have great reserves of
chitta, dreaming cosmic dreams
of compassion in your death-state,
& this apparition so brutally forced
upon me, walking sodden suburban
footpath thru rainrivers midday
Saturday east of the city -
Or maybe this old old Ginsberg,
beard-dangler & smokechoker,
sentence-charmer & ass-poker,
maybe this man is my own
wistful projection –
But then you yourself proved
it was possible - via most thoughtful
thought - to bring up the spirit of
Walt Whitman in that fruity
supermarket in downtown
California –
And so I bring you here.
[ 30 December 2002: Message edited by: WordyOne ]
a great tribute to a great man