Allen Ginsberg: Все стихи поэта

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Song

The weight of the world

is love.

Under the burden

of solitude,

under the burden

of dissatisfaction

the weight,

the weight we carry

by Allen Ginsberg

In The Baggage Room At Greyhound

In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal

sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky

waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart

worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in

the night-time red downtown heaven

staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering

these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty

by Allen Ginsberg

September On Jessore Road

Millions of babies watching the skies

Bellies swollen, with big round eyes

On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts

No place to shit but sand channel ruts

Millions of fathers in rain

Millions of mothers in pain

Millions of brothers in woe

Millions of sisters nowhere to go

by Allen Ginsberg

When The Light Appears

You'll bare your bones you'll grow you'll pray you'll only know

When the light appears, boy, when the light appears

You'll sing & you'll love you'll praise blue heavens above

When the light appears, boy, when the light appears

You'll whimper & you'll cry you'll get yourself sick and sigh

You'll sleep & you'll dream you'll only know what you mean

When the light appears, boy, when the light appears

You'll come & you'll go, you'll wander to and fro

by Allen Ginsberg

The Terms In Which I Think Of Reality

Reality is a question

of realizing how real

the world is already.

Time is Eternity,

ultimate and immovable;

everyone's an angel.

by Allen Ginsberg

Understand That This Is A Dream

Real as a dream

What shall I do with this great opportunity to fly?

What is the interpretation of this planet, this moon?

if I can dream that I dream / and dream anything dreamable / can I dream

I am awake / and why do that?

When I dream in a dream that I wake / up what

happens when I try to move?

I dream that I move

by Allen Ginsberg

Velocity Of Money

I’m delighted by the velocity of money as it whistles through the windows

of Lower East Side

Delighted by skyscrapers rising the old grungy apartments falling on

84th Street

Delighted by inflation that drives me out on the street

After all what good’s the family farm, why eat turkey by thousands every

Thanksgiving?

Why not have Star Wars? Why have the same old America?!?

by Allen Ginsberg

First Party At Ken Kesey's With Hell's Angels

Cool black night thru redwoods

cars parked outside in shade

behind the gate, stars dim above

the ravine, a fire burning by the side

porch and a few tired souls hunched over

in black leather jackets. In the huge

wooden house, a yellow chandelier

at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers

by Allen Ginsberg

A Supermarket In California

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I

walked down the streets 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

by Allen Ginsberg

America

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.

America two dollars and twentyseven cents January

17, 1956.

I can't stand my own mind.

America when will we end the human war?

Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.

I don't feel good don't bother me.

I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.

by Allen Ginsberg

Footnote To Howl

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!

The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand

and asshole holy!

Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is

holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an

angel!

by Allen Ginsberg

Sunflower Sutra

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and

sat down under the huge shade of a Southern

Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the

box house hills and cry.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron

pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts

of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed,

surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of

by Allen Ginsberg