A Letter to Lawrence Ferlinghetti - Who is not there
I was walking down Columbus, past Ohio,
looking for America and the Great City Lights;
“You owe me,” said ever poet ever made;
I trekked from the netherworld,
through to the underworld to shake your hand;
An army of cretins wait your command,
I met your henchmen, a pilgrim,
I stood on the doorstep of your ‘playpen,’
at the City Lights; Ominous Odin and Odysseus
Omnibus of old commands
While I stood facing them, I cried,
“Don’t let that horse eat that violin!”
So I followed Alexander to China - town,
far from the madding English - crowd, and found Chagall
locked up in some glass showcase in Berlin,
Some Hitler had kidnapped him;
“I’m off to find Lawrence of Arabia,” I cried;
I went to Dublin, but Lawrence had died;
I offered gold myrrh and frankincense,
But the king of Arabia just shook his head,
rolled his eyes, turned and walked away into the dark of immortality...
I came to thank you for my gift; I came and I left;
I meant to recite You’ll just have to ‘read it,’
like everyone else, if you’re still alive;
If every old man with every grey beard was a great institution,
Sailor boys would stand to attention and cross soldiers with our shoulders
To champion the phantom; Your priests and your scribes and
Those stompin ‘tom’ tribes of Israel,
Camus reviews the evidence over and over
This is The Fall; This poor woman the world passes over,
again and again, like some good Samaritan Jean-Baptiste Clamence
to become a man
And all the lost poets from thousands of years
all gather up here at the end of the pier
Here I go now to that Golden Gate
I saw the ships on the horizon waiting,
watching him,
a man on the bridge
watching the body swim,
Jean-Baptiste Clamence, into the bay and disappear ~psp
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Poet Who Nurtured the Beats, Died at 101 in 2021 r.i.p.
“Goya! Goya!
Oh Lawrence,
No angels dance on those bridges"
From: Michael McClure, For the Death of 100 Whales
dr. π (pi)
.
looking for America and the Great City Lights;
“You owe me,” said ever poet ever made;
I trekked from the netherworld,
through to the underworld to shake your hand;
An army of cretins wait your command,
I met your henchmen, a pilgrim,
I stood on the doorstep of your ‘playpen,’
at the City Lights; Ominous Odin and Odysseus
Omnibus of old commands
While I stood facing them, I cried,
“Don’t let that horse eat that violin!”
So I followed Alexander to China - town,
far from the madding English - crowd, and found Chagall
locked up in some glass showcase in Berlin,
Some Hitler had kidnapped him;
“I’m off to find Lawrence of Arabia,” I cried;
I went to Dublin, but Lawrence had died;
I offered gold myrrh and frankincense,
But the king of Arabia just shook his head,
rolled his eyes, turned and walked away into the dark of immortality...
I came to thank you for my gift; I came and I left;
I meant to recite You’ll just have to ‘read it,’
like everyone else, if you’re still alive;
If every old man with every grey beard was a great institution,
Sailor boys would stand to attention and cross soldiers with our shoulders
To champion the phantom; Your priests and your scribes and
Those stompin ‘tom’ tribes of Israel,
Camus reviews the evidence over and over
This is The Fall; This poor woman the world passes over,
again and again, like some good Samaritan Jean-Baptiste Clamence
to become a man
And all the lost poets from thousands of years
all gather up here at the end of the pier
Here I go now to that Golden Gate
I saw the ships on the horizon waiting,
watching him,
a man on the bridge
watching the body swim,
Jean-Baptiste Clamence, into the bay and disappear ~psp
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Poet Who Nurtured the Beats, Died at 101 in 2021 r.i.p.
“Goya! Goya!
Oh Lawrence,
No angels dance on those bridges"
From: Michael McClure, For the Death of 100 Whales
dr. π (pi)
.