domingo, novembro 11, 2007

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
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!

- Berkeley, 1955


10 comentários:

Bandida disse...

America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven 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.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I’m a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they’re all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don’re really want to go to war.
America it’s them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader’s Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I’m nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

Allen Ginsberg


Anónimo disse...



(assaranpantada) de esparantantada. aqui. outra vez.

eu disse...

Sra. D. Bandida, vim agora de visitar o Capitão Haddock e vi que a senhora esteve lá minutos antes de mim. Não nos encontrámos por um triz.
Olhe deixe que lhe diga que também o seu post é excelente. N verdade, como também a ele eu disse, gente culta é outra coisa.
E, sendo assim, um beijinho para si.

jorge vicente disse...

a música. as palavras. a tristeza.

e um dos teus melhores posts

um beijo

intruso disse...

America this is quite serious

[kindness of the soul...
é isso...]

um beijo

Haddock disse...


os sarilhos que nos arranjas...

sobrolho carregado, punho a sustentar a pesada testa e mais um cigarro desperdiçado a fumegar no cinzeiro (e ao preço a que estão!!)...

é que, perante isto, temos de (pare)ser eruditos!!

(... pois não chega o "belo post!" ou o wikipedial "um dos nossos poetas favoritos da geração beat!")

... só que, tristemente - e com imenso pesar o confessamos -, não somos.

kerouac, assim como ginsberg, passaram-nos ao largo.

da importância deles sabemos; mas ler - LER!!-, não lemos!!
estão ambos ali, empoeirados na prateleira, deixados provavelmente por outrem.
conhecemos extractos; e, com (ridícula) sorte, talvez os mais representativos; e até já tínhamos passado os olhos pelo "howl".

mas pouco mais...

homenagem aos inconformistas, arrivistas e james dean's das letras!!

e ao jim morrison, claro!

as velas ardem ate ao fim disse...

Jim Morrison sempre mas mesmo sempre.

bjo B

merdinhas disse...

Digamos que prefiro o Ginsberg ao Kerouac.
E digamos que prefiro o Bourroughs ao Ginsberg.


E talvez essa seja a música de Morrison que prefiro.

merdinhas disse...

"A contemporary adaptation of Allen Ginsberg's famous 1956 poem "America," featuring works by Francis Ford Copolla, Martin Scorsese, D.A. Pennebaker, Jim Morrison & The Doors and Mark Isham..."

....não connhecia a adptação. Vou rever com mais atenção.

merdinhas disse...

"A contemporary adaptation of Allen Ginsberg's famous 1956 poem "America," featuring works by Francis Ford Copolla, Martin Scorsese, D.A. Pennebaker, Jim Morrison & The Doors and Mark Isham..."

....não connhecia a adptação. Vou rever com mais atenção.