Sunday, June 03, 2012

Happy Birthday Allen Ginsberg !

Irwin Allen Ginsberg
Today is the birthday of an American poet and one of the leading figures of the Beat Generation in the 1950s Irwin Allen Ginsberg. Ginsberg (June 3, 1926 – April 5, 1997)  vigorously opposed militarism, materialism and sexual repression. He is best known for his epic poem "Howl", in which he celebrated his fellow "angel-headed hipsters" and harshly denounced what he saw as the destructive forces of capitalism and conformity in the United States. This poem is one of the classic poems of the Beat Generation and was dedicated to writer Carl Solomon. Presenting some poems : Being Poet

An Eastern Ballad

I speak of love that comes to mind: 
The moon is faithful, although blind; 
She moves in thought she cannot speak. 
Perfect care has made her bleak. 

I never dreamed the sea so deep, 
The earth so dark; so long my sleep, 
I have become another child. 
I wake to see the world go wild. 

In Back of the Real

railroad yard in San Jose 
I wandered desolate 
in front of a tank factory 
and sat on a bench 
near the switchman's shack. 

A flower lay on the hay on 
the asphalt highway 
--the dread hay flower 
I thought--It had a 
brittle black stem and 
corolla of yellowish dirty 
spikes like Jesus' inchlong 
crown, and a soiled 
dry center cotton tuft 
like a used shaving brush 
that's been lying under 
the garage for a year. 

Yellow, yellow flower, and 
flower of industry, 
tough spiky ugly flower, 
flower nonetheless, 
with the form of the great yellow 
Rose in your brain! 
This is the flower of the World. 
A Desolaltion
Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.

What have I done but
wander with my eyes
in the trees? So I
will build: wife,
family, and seek
for neighbors.

Or I
perish of lonesomeness
or want of food or
lightning or the bear
(must tame the hart
and wear the bear).

And maybe make an image
of my wandering, a little
image—shrine by the
roadside to signify
to traveler that I live
here in the wilderness
awake and at home. 

An Asphodel

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. 

Cezanne's Ports

In the foreground we see time and life
swept in a race
toward the left hand side of the picture
where shore meets shore.

But that meeting place
isn't represented;
it doesn't occur on the canvas.

For the other side of the bay
is Heaven and Eternity,
with a bleak white haze over its mountains.

And the immense water of L'Estaque is a go-between
for minute rowboats. 

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
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through

Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.