Allen Ginzberg. Stihi v perevodah Mihaila Gunina

Allen Ginzberg v perevodah Mihaila Gunina (gunin@mv.ru)




O dorogaya milaya roza
  nedostupnoe zhelanie
...kak zhal', nikak
  ne izmenit' bezumnyj
kul'turnyj zlatocvet,
  dostupnuyu real'nost'...

i list'ya epidermy
  uzhasayut - kak vdohnovleny
oni tak lgat', lezha
  v gostinoj p'yanymi, nagimi
i mechtaya v otsutstvii
  elektrichestva...
snova i snova pozhiraya toshchij koren'
  zlatocveta,
unylaya sud'ba...

  sobranie pokoleniya
na cvetastom lozhe
  kak na beregu v Ardene -
sejchas moya edinstvennaya roza -
  radost' sobstvennoj nagoty.

Osen' 1953




Bremya mira -
  lyubov'.
Pod noshej
  odinochestva,
pod noshej
  nedovol'stva

  bremya,
bremya, chto nesem my -
  lyubov'.

Kto otricaet?
  Vo sne
ona kasaetsya
  tela,
v myslyah
  sooruzhaet
chudo,
  v fantaziyah
stradaet,
  poka ne rozhdena
v cheloveke -
smotrit iz serdca,
  gorit neporochno -
ved' bremya zhizni -
  lyubov',

no my nesem eto bremya
  ustalo,
i dolzhny najti pokoj
  v ob®yat'yah lyubvi,
  v konce koncov,
najti pokoj
  v ob®yat'yah lyubvi

Net pokoya
  bez lyubvi,
net sna
  bez snovidenij
o lyubvi -
  bezumstvuj ili bud' holodnym,
presleduemym angelami
  ili mashinami,
poslednee zhelanie -
  lyubov'
- ne mozhet byt' gor'kim,
  nel'zya otricat'
i nevozmozhno skryt'
  pri otricanii:

  gruz slishkom tyazhel

  - nuzhno otdat'
bezvozvratno,
     kak mysl',
prishedshuyu
  v odinochestve,
vo vsem bleske
  ee izlishestva.

Teplye tela
  siyayut vmeste
v temnote,
  ruka dvizhetsya
k centru
  ploti,
kozha trepeshchet
  ot schast'ya,
i dusha radostno
  prihodit v glaza -

da, da,
  vot chego
ya hotel,
  ya vsegda hotel,
ya vsegda hotel
  vernut'sya
v telo,
  gde ya byl rozhden.

San-Hose, 1954




  P'yu svoj chaj
Bez sahara -
  Bezrazlichno.

Vorobej gadit
  vverh nogami
- a! moj mozg i yajca.

Golova Majya tiha
Na drevesnom stvole
- Odnazhdy stanu zhit' v N'yu-Jorke.

Oglyadyvayus' cherez plecho -
moj zad ukryt
vishnevymi cvetami.



YA ne znal imen
cvetov - teper'
moj sad ischez.

YA hlopnul komara
i promahnulsya.
CHto zastavilo menya?

CHitaya hajku,
ya neschastliv
v toske po Bezymyannomu.

Lyagushka plavaet
v aptechnoj banke:
letnij dozhd' na seryh mostovyh.

Ctoyu na balkone
v odnih trusah;
svet far pod dozhdem.

Proshel eshche
odin god -
mir ne izmenilsya.

Pervoe, chto ya iskal
v moem starom sadu -
Vishnevoe Derevo.

Moj staryj stol:
pervoe, chto ya iskal
v moem dome.

Moj staryj dnevnik:
pervoe, chto ya nashel
v moem starom stole.

Duh moej materi:
pervoe, chto ya nashel
v gostinoj.

YA konchil brit'sya,
no glaza, smotrevshie na menya,
ostalis' v zerkale.

Bezumec
vyhodit iz kinoteatra:
ulica v obedennyj pereryv.

Goroda parnej
v svoih mogilah,
i v etom gorode...

Lezhu na boku
v pustote:
Dyshu cherez nos.

Na pyatnadcatom etazhe
Pes obgladyvaet kost' -
Vizg shin taksi.

|rekciya v N'yu-Jorke,
mal'chik
V San-Francisko.

Luna nad kryshej,
chervi v sadu.
YA snimayu etot dom.

     Berkli, 1955




Proshloj noch'yu mne snilsya T. S. |liot
on zval menya s soboyu v carstvo grez
Krovati divany tuman nad Angliej
CHaj v ego dome raduga v CHelsi
SHtory na oknah, dym podnimaetsya
vverh po trube, a v tihom i teplom dome
neveroyatno milyj kryuchkonosyj
|liot lyubil menya, priyutil menya,
predlozhil lech' na divan i pospat',
byl ochen' vezhliv i slushal ser'ezno
sprosil moe mnenie o Mayakovskom
ya chital emu Korso Krili Keruaka
sovetoval Berrouza Olsona Hanke
borodataya ledi v zooparke
mudraya puma v Mehiko Siti
shestero mal'chikov iz hora v Zanzibare
izmuchenno peli na raznyh yazykah
suahili i pul'siruyushchij ritm
Ma Rejni i Rejchel Lindsej.
Na Korolevskom ostrove
my veli dolguyu vechernyuyu besedu
Potom on nakryl menya,
lezhashchego v krasnyh semejnyh trusah
na divane u kamina,
myagkim shelkovym odeyalom
otdal mne nedokurennuyu trubku
i s grust'yu otpravilsya v postel',
Skazav ah Ginzberg ya tak rad
vstretit' takogo chudesnogo yunoshu, kak Vy.
Potom ya prosnulsya, stydyas' za sebya.
Tak li on dobr i horosh? Tak li velik ya?
S chego eto ya vdrug mechtayu
o manne nebesnoj? Kogo vo vsej Anglii
hotel porazit' ya? CHto ya sdelal ne tak,
chtoby stat' sovershennym prorokom?
Mne snitsya moya dobrota k T. S. |liotu
ved' ya zhelayu byt' chast'yu istorii
i vladet' chast'yu ego voobrazheniya -
ambicioznaya mechta ekscentrichnogo mal'chishki.
Bozhe, pust' ne sbudutsya moi zlye mechty.
Proshloj noch'yu mne snilsya Allen Ginzberg.
T. S. |liotu ne bylo by stydno za menya.





Pod mirom mnogo zadnic i dyrok,
mnogo rtov i chlenov,
mnogo spermy i mnogo slyuny, tekushchej ruch'yami,
Mnogo der'ma, tekushchego rekami pod gorodami,
mnogo mochi struitsya pod mirom,
mnogo soplej v industrial'nyh nozdryah mira, pota  pod  zheleznoj rukoj  mira,
krovi,
hleshchushchej iz grudi mira,
beskonechnye ozera slez, morya boleznennoj rvoty, nesushchejsya mezhdu polushariyami,
plyvushchej  k Sargassovu moryu, starye zhirnye  lohmot'ya i  tormoznaya  zhidkost',
gazolin -
Pod mirom est' bol', perelomannye  bedra, napalm,  goryashchij v chernyh volosah,
fosfor, raz®edayushchij lokti do kostej,
insekticidy,  zagryaznyayushchie   okeany,  plastmassovye  kukly,  plyvushchie  cherez
Atlantiku,
Igrushechnye  soldaty,  tolpyashchiesya  u  Tihogo  okeana,  bombardirovshchiki  B-52,
zasorivshie vozduh dzhunglej sledami vyhlopa i yarkimi vspyshkami,
Bespilotnye roboty, pronosyashchiesya  nad  polyami  risa, sbrasyvaya pachki granat,
plastikovaya drob' pronzaet telo, protivotankovye miny
i ogni napalma padayut na solomennye kryshi i bujvolov v vode,
oskolochnye  bomby,   sverlyashchie  lachugi  v   derevnyah,  transhei,  napolnennye
benzinom-gazom-yadovitoj vzryvchatkoj -
Pod mirom  est' prolomlennye  cherepa, razdroblennye nogi,  vyrezannye glaza,
otrublennye pal'cy, razorvannye rty,
Dizenteriya, milliony bezdomnyh, izmuchennye serdca, opustoshennye dushi.

Aprel' 1973




Sfera zakata, kak apel'sin bez kozhury, osveshchaet palisadniki,
golye tesnyashchiesya vetvi rastut iz bolot -
N'yu-Dzhersi, moj otec vedet mashinu
po shosse k N'yuarkskomu aeroportu - shpil' |mpajr Stejt,
ostrokonechnye vershiny zdanij, Manhetten vozvyshaetsya,
kak v glazah U. S. Uil'yamsa, nad liniyami elektroperedach -
shestikolesnye gruzoviki razmerenno dvizhutsya mimo,
proezd mimo N'yu-Jorka - ya zdes',
kroshechnyj pod solncem v beskonechnom belom nebe,
glazeyu na karkasy novyh zdanij,
i prosypayus' s karandashom v ruke...

11 dekabrya 1974




Kogo bombyat?
My ih bombim!
Kogo bombyat?
My ih bombim!
Kogo bombyat?
My ih bombim!
Kogo bombyat?
My ih bombim!

Kogo bombyat?
Bombish' sebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Bombish' sebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Bombish' sebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Bombish' sebya!

CHto delaem?
Kogo bombim?
CHto delaem?
Kogo bombim?
CHto delaem?
Kogo bombim?
CHto delaem?
Kogo bombim?

CHto delaem?
Da ty ih! Ty bombish'!
CHto delaem?
Da ty ih! Ty bombish'!
CHto delaem?
Da my ih! My bombim!
CHto delaem?
Da my ih! My bombim!

Kogo bombyat?
Da my tebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Da my tebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Da ty sebya!
Kogo bombyat?
Da ty sebya!

16 iyunya 1984




V shest'desyat shest' tol'ko uchus' zabotit'sya o svoem tele,
Bodro vstayu v 8 utra, pishu v tetradi,
vstayu s posteli obnazhennym, ostavlyaya gologo mal'chika spat' u steny,
smeshivayu myaso, griby, luk i zimu v kashu - zavtrak,
Proveryayu sahar,  akkuratno chishchu zuby, shchetka,  zubochistka, nit', zhidkost' dlya
rta,
mazhu nogi, odevayu beluyu rubashku, trusy i noski,
odinoko sizhu pered rakovinoj,
prezhde, chem prichesat'sya, schastliv eshche
ne byt' trupom.

1992




Kogda umru ya

Mne plevat', chto budet s moim telom

brosajte pepel v vozduh, rassyp'te vdol' Ist River

pohoronite urnu v |lizabet, N'yu Dzhersi, na kladbishche B'nej Israel

No ya hochu bol'shie pohorony

Sobor Svyatogo Patrika, cerkov' Svyatogo Marka, bol'shaya sinagoga na Manhettene

Prezhde vsego  sem'ya, moj brat,  plemyanniki,  bodraya staraya |dit,  macheha, ej
devyanosto shest',
i tetya.

I milaya iz starogo N'yuarka,

Kuzina Mindi, Doktor Dzhoel, bratec Dzhin, odnoglazyj, odnouhij,
i nevestka

Blondinka Konni, pyat' plemyannikov, svodnye brat'ya, sestry i ih vnuki,

moj kompan'on Piter Orlovski, zabotlivye Rozental' i Hel, Bill Morgan -

Zatem, duh moego uchitelya Trungpy Vadzhrachar'i, Gelek Rinposh, potom Sak'eng.

Mifam, bditel'nyj  Dalaj  Lama, vozmozhnost' posetit'  Ameriku,  SHatchitananda
Svami

SHivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudzhom Rinpoche, duhi Katagiri

i Sudzuki Roshi

Bejker, Ualen,  Dejdo Luri, Kvong, Frejl Belogolovyj Keplyu Roshi, Lama Tarchen
-

I glavnoe, potom, lyubovniki za vse polveka

Dyuzhiny, sotnya i bol'she, starye parni, s den'gami i lysye

mal'chiki,  nedavno  vstrechennye v  posteli,  tolpy udivlennyh  uvidet'  drug
druga,

neschetnye, intimnyj obmen vospominaniyami

"On uchil menya meditirovat', teper' ya staryj veteran tysyachednevnogo uedineniya
-"

"YA igral muzyku na platformah v metro, ya getero no lyubil ego on lyubil menya"

"YA poluchil ot nego bol'she lyubvi v 19, chem potom ot kogo-to eshche"

"My  lezhali pod odeyalami, boltali, chitali moi stihi, obnimalis' i celovalis'
zhivot k zhivotu
obhvativ rukami drug druga"

"YA vsegda zalezal k nemu v krovat' v trusah, a utrom oni uzhe lezhali na polu"

"YAponec, vsegda hotel pristroit' k masteru moyu zadnicu"

"Byvalo, govorili s nim vsyu noch' o Kessidi i Keruake, sideli  v pozah Buddy,
a posle spali
v posteli geniya-poeta."

"Emu,  pohozhe,  bylo  nuzhno  stol'ko   lyubvi,  tak  stydno  ne  sdelat'  ego
schastlivym"

"YA byl odinok,  nikogda ran'she  ne byl golym v posteli  s kem-nibud', on byl
tak nezhen,
moj zhivot trepetal, kogda on provodil po nemu pal'cem, spuskayas' k bedram -"

"YA prosto lezhal  na  spine s zakrytymi glazami,  on dovodil menya do  orgazma
rtom,
pal'cami obnyav menya za taliyu"

"On zdorovo sosal"

I budut sluhi ot lyubovnikov iz 1948-go, duh Nila Kessidi soedinitsya s plot'yu
i yunoj krov'yu 1997-go

kakoj syurpriz - "Ty tozhe? YA dumal, ty ne goluboj!"

"Da, no Ginzberg - isklyuchenie, mne pochemu-to s nim bylo horosho"

"YA zabyval, byl ya getero, geem, zabavnym ili strannym, ya byl soboj, nezhnym
i lyubil, kogda menya celuyut v makushku,
moj lob, gorlo i serdce i solnechnoe spletenie, pupok, moj chlen, moj
zad, kotoryj on shchekotal yazykom"

"Mne  nravilos', kak on citiroval : 'No pozadi vsegda ya  slyshu/kak kolesnica
vremeni mne v spinu dyshit,'
golovy lezhat ryadom, glaza v glaza, na podushke -"

Sredi lyubovnikov odin yunyj krasavec brodit szadi

"YA poseshchal ego  uroki poezii 17-letnim parnem, begal po porucheniyam v ego dom
bez lifta,
soblaznil menya, ya  ne hotel, zastavil menya  konchit', ushel domoj, nikogda  ne
videl ego bol'she,
nikogda ne hotel... "

"U  nego  ne  vstaval,  no  on  lyubil menya,"  "CHistyj  staryj chelovek."  "On
ubezhdalsya, chto ya konchil pervym"

Skoplenie udivlennyh i gordyh na pochetnom meste ceremonii.

Potom poety i muzykanty -  grandzhevye  gruppy parnej  iz  kolledzha  - zvezdy
staroj epohi "Bitlz",

chestnye trudyagi-gitaristy, golubye dirizhery klassiki,

neizvestnye  kompozitory   vysokogo  Dzhaza,   fanki-trubachi,   chernye  genii
izognutogo basa i valtorny,

skripachi-fol'kloristy i domry tamburiny garmoniki mandoliny

arfy svistul'ki i kazu

Zatem, hudozhniki  Ital'yancy  romantiki realisty obuchennye mistike v Indii  v
60-e,
Pozdnie lyubimcy

|trusskie hudozhniki-poety, Klassiki-hudozhniki Massachusets syurrealisty nahaly

s evropejskimi zhenami, skudnye al'bomy gips maslo akvarel'
mastera iz amerikanskih provincij

Potom, shkol'nye uchitelya, odinokie irlandcy-bibliotekari,
utonchennye bibliofily, net dvizheniyu za svobodu seksa

armii, damy oboih polov

"YA videl ego desyatki raz on nikogda ne pomnil moego imeni ya lyubil ego
kak by to ni bylo, nastoyashchij hudozhnik"

"Nervnyj  sryv posle  menopauzy, yumor  v ego stihah spas menya ot bol'nic dlya
samoubijc"

"CHarodej, genij sderzhannyh maner, umyvalsya, obedal v moej studii
gostil nedelyu v Budapeshte"

Tysyachi chitatelej, "'Voj' izmenil moyu zhizn' v Libertville, Illinojs"

"YA videl, kak on chital Monklera v peduchilishche, reshil stat' poetom -"

"On zavel menya, ya nachinal garazhnym rokerom, pel v Kanzas Siti"

"Posle 'Kaddisha' ya plakal o sebe i ob otce, togda eshche zhivom, v Nevade"

"'Cmert' otca' uteshila menya, kogda sestra umerla v Bostone v 1982-m"

"YA uvidel ego  slova v zhurnale,  mne stalo  tak  svetlo,  ya ponyal, chto  est'
drugie lyudi,
takie zhe, kak ya"

Gluhonemye bardy poyut pri pomoshchi ruk, bystrye blestyashchie zhesty

Potom ZHurnalisty, sekretari redaktorov, agenty, portretisty i fotografy
revnostnye poklonniki, rok-kritiki, kul'turnye trudyagi, istoriki kul'tury
prihodyat licezret' istoricheskie pohorony

Superfany,  grafomany,   stareyushchie   Bitniki  i   Primykaly,   ohotniki   za
avtografami,
bespokojnye paparacci, intelligenty-prostofili

Vse znali, chto oni byli chast'yu "Istorii", krome pokojnogo,

kotoryj nikogda tochno ne znal, chto proishodit, dazhe kogda ya byl zhiv

1997








     O dear sweet rosy
          unattainable desire
     . . .how sad, no way
          to change the mad
     cultivated asphodel, the
          visible reality. . .
     and skin's appalling
          petals-- how inspired
     to be so Iying in the living
          room drunk naked
     and dreaming, in the absence
          of electricity . . .
     over and over eating the low root
          of the asphodel,
     gray fate . . .
          rolling in generation
     on the flowery couch
          as on a bank in Arden--
     my only rose tonite's the treat
          of my own nudity.


     The weight of the world
          is love.
     Under the burden
          of solitude,
     under the burden
          of dissatisfaction
          the weight,
     the weight we carry
          is love.
     Who can deny?
          In dreams
     it touches
          the body,
     in thought
          constructs
     a miracle,
          in imagination
     anguishes
          till born
     in human--
     looks out of the heart
          burning with purity--
     for the burden of life
          is love,
     but we carry the weight
          wearily,
     and so must rest
     in the arms of love
          at last,
     must rest in the arms
          of love.
     No rest
          without love,
     no sleep
          without dreams
     of love--
          be mad or chill
     obsessed with angels
          or machines,
     the final wish
          is love
     -- cannot be bitter,
          cannot deny,
     cannot withhold
          if denied:
     the weight is too heavy
          -- must give
     for no return
          as thought
     is given
          in solitude
     in all the excellence
          of its excess.
     The warm bodies
          shine together
     in the darkness,
          the hand moves
     to the center
          of the flesh,
     the skin trembles
          in happiness
     and the soul comes
          joyful to the eye--
     yes, yes,
          that's what
     I wanted,
          I always wanted,
     I always wanted,
          to return
     to the body
          where I was born.


     Drinking my tea Without sugar-
     No difference.
The sparrow shits
     upside down -ah! my brain & eggs
Mayan head in a Pacific driftwood bole -Someday I'll live in N.Y.
Looking over my shoulder my behind was covered with cherry blossoms.
 Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names of the flowers-now my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito and missed. What made me do that?
Reading haiku I am unhappy, longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating in the drugstore jar: summer rain on grey pavements.
On the porch in my shorts; auto lights in the rain.
Another year has past-the world is no different.
The first thing I looked for in my old garden was The Cherry Tree.
My old desk: the first thing I looked for in my house.
My early journal: the first thing I found in my old desk.
My mother's ghost: the first thing I found in the living room.
I quit shaving but the eyes that glanced at me remained in the mirror.
The madman emerges from the movies: the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys are in their graves, and in this town...
Lying on my side in the void: the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor the dog chews a bone- Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York, a boy in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof, worms in the garden. I rent this house.


Last nite I dreamed  of T.S.  Eliot welcoming me to the land of dream  Sofas
couches fog  in England  Tea  in his  digs Chelsea rainbows  curtains on his
windows, fog seeping in the chimney but a nice warm house and an  incredibly
sweet hooknosed  Eliot he loved me,  put me up, gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious asked my opinion on Mayakovsky I  read him
Corso Creeley Kerouac advised Burroughs Olson Huncke the bearded lady in the
Zoo,  the intelligent puma in  Mexico  City 6 chorus boys  from Zanzibar who
chanted in wornout  polygot Swahili,  and the  rippling rhythms of Ma Rainey
and  Rachel  Lindsay. On  the  Isle  of  the Queen  we had a  long evening's
conversation  Then  he tucked me in  my long  red underwear  under a  silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa gave me English dottle and went off sadly to
his bed, Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad to have met a fine young man like you.
At last,  I  woke  ashamed of myself.  Is he  that good and kind? Am  I that
great? What's my motive  dreaming  his manna? What  English Department would
that impress? What failure to be perfect prophet's made up here? I  dream of
my kindness to T.S. Eliot wanting  to be a historical  poet and share in his
finance of Imagery- overambitious dream of eccentric boy. God forbid my evil
dreams come true. Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg. T.S. Eliot would've
been ashamed of me.


a lot of mouths and cocks, under the world there's a lot of come, and  a lot
of  saliva  dripping into  brooks, There's a lot of  Shit  under  the world,
flowing beneath cities into rivers, a lot of urine floating under the world,
a lot  of snot in the world's  industrial nostrils, sweat under world's iron
arm, blood gushing out of  the world's breast, endless lakes  of tears, seas
of sick vomit rushing between the hemispheres floating towards Sargasso, old
oily  rags and brake fluids, human gasoline-- Under the world there's  pain,
fractured  thighs, napalm burning in black hair, phosphorus eating elbows to
bone  insectiside  contaminating oceantide, plastic  dolls  floating  across
Atlantic, Toy soldiers crowding the Pacific, B-52 bombers choking jungle air
 with vaportrails and brilliant flares
Robot drones careening over rice terraces dropping cluster grenades,
 plastic pellets spray into flesh,
dragontooth mines & jellied fires  fall on  straw roofs and water  buffalos,
perforating  village huts  with  barbed  shrapnel,  trenchpits  filled  with
fuel-gas-poisen'd explosive powders-- Under the world there's broken skulls,
crushed feet, cut eyeballs,
 severed fingers, slashed jaws,
Dysentry, homeless millions, tortured hearts, empty souls.


Dawn's orb orange-raw shining over Palisades bare  crowded branches bush  up
from marshes-- New Jersey with my father riding automobile highway to Newark
Airport-- Empire State's spire, horned buildingtops, Manhattan rising as  in
W.  C. Williams'  eyes  between  wire  trestles-- trucks  sixwheeled  steady
rolling overpass  beside New York-- I am here tiny under sun rising  in vast
white sky, staring thru skeleton new buildings, with pen in hand awake ...


Whom bomb?  We bomb them! Whom bomb? We  bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them!
Whom bomb? We bomb them!
Whom bomb? You bomb you!  Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You  bomb you!
Whom bomb? You bomb you!
What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do?
Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb?
What do we do? You  bomb! You bomb them!  What do we  do? You bomb! You bomb
them! What do we  do? We bomb! We bomb them! What do we do? We bomb! We bomb
them!
Whom  bomb? We  bomb you! Whom bomb? We  bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb  you!
Whom bomb? You bomb you!


At  66,  just learning how  to take care of my body  Wake cheerful 8 a.m.  &
write in a notebook rising from my bed side naked leaving a naked boy asleep
by  the  wall  mix miso  mushroom leeks  &  winter  squash  breakfast, Check
bloodsugar, clean teeth  exactly, brush, toothpick, floss, mouthwash oil  my
feet,  put on white shirt white  pants white sox sit solitary by the sink  a
moment before brushing my hair, happy not yet to be a corpse.


When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  St.  Mark's  Church,  the  largest synagogue  in
Manhattan
First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother 96, Aunt
Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sister-in-law
blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters their grandchildren,
companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan--
Next,  teacher Trungpa  Vajracharya's  ghost  mind,  Gelek  Rinpoche,  there
Sakyong
Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting America, Satchitananda Swami
Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche, Katagiri &
Suzuki Roshi's phantoms
Baker, Whalen, Daido  Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau Roshis, Lama
Tarchen --
Then, most important, lovers over half-century
Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich
young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each other,
innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories
"He taught  me  to meditate,  now  I'm an  old  veteran of the  thousand day
retreat -- "
"I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he loved me"
"I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone"
"We'd lie  under covers gossip, read my  poetry, hug & kiss  belly to  belly
arms round each other"
"I'd  always get  into his bed  with underwear on  &  by morning my skivvies
would be on the floor"
"Japanese, always wanted take it up my bum with a master"
"We'd talk all night about Kerouac  & Cassady  sit Buddhalike then  sleep in
his captain's bed."
"He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy"
"I  was lonely never in  bed  nude with anyone  before, he  was so gentle my
stomach
shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen nipple to hips-- "
"All  I  did was lay back  eyes closed,  he'd bring me to come  with mouth &
fingers along my waist"
"He gave great head"
So there be  gossip  from  loves of 1948, ghost of  Neal Cassady commingling
with flesh and youthful blood of 1997
and surprise -- "You too? But I thought you were straight!"
"I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me."
"I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender and
affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,
my forehead throat heart  &  solar plexus, mid-belly. on my  prick,  tickled
with his
tongue my behind"
"l loved the way he'd  recite  'But at my back allways  hear/ time's  winged
chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a pillow -- "
Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear
"I  studied  his  poetry  class, 17 year-old kid,  ran some errands  to  his
walk-up flat,
seduced me didn't  want to, made  me  come,  went home, never saw  him again
never wanted to... "
"He  couldn't  get it up but  loved me,"  "A clean old man." "He made sure I
came first"
This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor--
Then poets  & musicians -- college boys'  grunge bands --  age-old rock star
Beatles,
faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical conductors, unknown high Jazz
music composers, funky trumpeters, bowed bass & french horn black
geniuses, folksinger fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin
autoharp pennywhistles & kazoos
Next, artist Italian romantic  realists schooled in mystic 60's  India, Late
fauve
Tuscan painter-poets, Classicdraftsman Massachusets surreal jackanapes
with continental wives, poverty sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from
American provinces
Then highschool  teachers, lonely Irish  librarians,  delicate bibliophiles,
sex liberation troops nay
armies, ladies of either sex
"I met him dozens of times  he never  remembered my name I loved him anyway,
true artist"
"Nervous  breakdown after menopause,  his poetry humor saved me from suicide
hospitals"
"Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my studio guest a
week
in Budapest"
Thousands of readers, "Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois"
"I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet-- "
"He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas City"
"Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City"
"Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982"
"I read what  he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized others  like
me out there"
Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures
Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists & photography
aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural historians come to
witness the historic funeral
Super-fans,  poetasters,  aging Beatnicks  &  Deadheads,  autograph-hunters,
distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers
Everyone knew they were part of 'History" except the deceased
who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive



Last-modified: Fri, 16 Aug 2002 15:49:03 GMT