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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342345" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Kaddish, Part I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on<br> the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.<br>downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,<br> talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues<br> shout blind on the phonograph<br>the rhythm the rhythm--and your memory in my head three years after--<br> And read Adonais' last triumphant stanzas aloud--wept, realizing<br> how we suffer--<br>And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember,<br> prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of An-<br> swers--and my own imagination of a withered leaf--at dawn--<br>Dreaming back thru life, Your time--and mine accelerating toward Apoca-<br> lypse,<br>the final moment--the flower burning in the Day--and what comes after, <br>looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city<br>a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom<br> Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed--<br>like a poem in the dark--escaped back to Oblivion--<br>No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream,<br> trapped in its disappearance,<br>sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worship-<br> ping each other,<br>worshipping the God included in it all--longing or inevitability?--while it<br> lasts, a Vision--anything more?<br>It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder,<br> Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shoul-<br> dering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant--and<br> the sky above--an old blue place.<br>or down the Avenue to the south, to--as I walk toward the Lower East Side<br> --where you walked 50 years ago, little girl--from Russia, eating the<br> first poisonous tomatoes of America frightened on the dock <br>then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?--toward<br> Newark--<br>toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice <br> cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards--<br>Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school,<br> and learning to be mad, in a dream--what is this life?<br>Toward the Key in the window--and the great Key lays its head of light<br> on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the<br> sidewalk--in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward<br> the Yiddish Theater--and the place of poverty<br>you knew, and I know, but without caring now--Strange to have moved<br> thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again,<br>with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstops doors and dark boys on<br> the street, firs escapes old as you<br>--Tho you're not old now, that's left here with me--<br>Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe--and I guess that dies with<br> us--enough to cancel all that comes--What came is gone forever<br> every time--<br>That's good!That leaves it open for no regret--no fear radiators, lacklove,<br> torture even toothache in the end--<br>Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul--and the lamb, the soul,<br> in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change's fierce hunger--hair <br> and teeth--and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin,<br> braintricked Implacability.<br>Ai! ai!we do worse! We are in a fix!And you're out, Death let you out,<br> Death had the Mercy, you're done with your century, done with <br> God, done with the path thru it--Done with yourself at last--Pure<br> --Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all--before the<br> world--<br>There, rest.No more suffering for you.I know where you've gone, it's good.<br>No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more <br> fear of Louis,<br>and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts,<br> loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands--<br>No more of sister Elanor,--she gone before you--we kept it secret you<br> killed her--or she killed herself to bear with you--an arthritic heart<br> --But Death's killed you both--No matter--<br>Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and<br> weeks--forgetting, agrieve watching Marie Dressler address human-<br> ity, Chaplin dance in youth,<br>or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin's at the Met, halling his voice of a weeping Czar<br> --by standing room with Elanor & Max--watching also the Capital <br> ists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds,<br>with the YPSL's hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts<br> pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and<br> laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920<br>all girls grown old, or dead now, and that long hair in the grave--lucky to<br> have husbands later--<br>You made it--I came too--Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and<br> will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer--or kill<br> --later perhaps--soon he will think--)<br>And it's the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now<br> --tho not you<br>I didn't foresee what you felt--what more hideous gape of bad mouth came <br> first--to you--and were you prepared?<br>To go where?In that Dark--that--in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the <br> Void?Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream?Adonoi at last, with<br> you?<br>Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull<br> in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon--Deaths-<br> head with Halo?can you believe it?<br>Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence,<br> than none ever was?<br>Nothing beyond what we have--what you had--that so pitiful--yet Tri-<br> umph,<br>to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower--fed to the <br> ground--but made, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, <br> shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth<br> wrapped, sore--freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless.<br>No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the<br> knife--lost<br>Cut down by an idiot Snowman's icy--even in the Spring--strange ghost <br> thought some--Death--Sharp icicle in his hand--crowned with old<br> roses--a dog for his eyes--cock of a sweatshop--heart of electric<br> irons.<br>All the accumulations of life, that wear us out--clocks, bodies, consciousness,<br> shoes, breasts--begotten sons--your Communism--'Paranoia' into<br> hospitals.<br>You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later.You of <br> stroke.Asleep?within a year, the two of you, sisters in death.Is<br> Elanor happy?<br>Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over<br> midnight Accountings, not sure.His life passes--as he sees--and<br> what does he doubt now?Still dream of making money, or that might <br> have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Im-<br> mortality, Naomi?<br>I'll see him soon.Now I've got to cut through to talk to you as I didn't<br> when you had a mouth.<br>Forever.And we're bound for that, Forever like Emily Dickinson's horses<br> --headed to the End.<br>They know the way--These Steeds--run faster than we think--it's our own<br> life they cross--and take with them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, mar-<br>ried dreamed, mortal changed--Ass and face done with murder.<br> In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under<br>pine, almed in Earth, blamed in Lone, Jehovah, accept.<br> Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless,<br>Father in death.Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I'm<br>hymnless, I'm Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore<br> Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not<br>light or darkness, Dayless Eternity--<br> Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some<br>of my Time, now given to Nothing--to praise Thee--But Death<br> This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Won-<br>derer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping<br>--page beyond Psalm--Last change of mine and Naomi--to God's perfect<br>Darkness--Death, stay thy phantoms!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II<br> Over and over--refrain--of the Hospitals--still haven't written your<br>history--leave it abstract--a few images<br> run thru the mind--like the saxophone chorus of houses and years--<br>remembrance of electrical shocks.<br> By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your<br>nervousness--you were fat--your next move--<br> By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you--<br>once and for all--when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my<br>opinion of the cosmos, I was lost--<br> By my later burden--vow to illuminate mankind--this is release of<br>particulars--(mad as you)--(sanity a trick of agreement)--<br> But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and<br>spied a mystical assassin from Newark,<br> So phoned the Doctor--'OK go way for a rest'--so I put on my coat<br>and walked you downstreet--On the way a grammarschool boy screamed,<br>unaccountably--'Where you goin Lady to Death'? I shuddered--<br> and you covered your nose with motheaten fur collar, gas mask<br>against poison sneaked into downtown atmosphere, sprayed by Grandma--<br> And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of <br>the gang?You shuddered at his face, I could hardly get you on--to New<br>York, very Times Square, to grab another Greyhound--</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Allen+Ginsberg">Allen Ginsberg</a><div class=q>
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 the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,
 talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray C..."></div>
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