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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=401441" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>America Politica Historia, In Spontaneity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O this political air so heavy with the bells <br>and motors of a slow night, and no place to rest <br>but rain to walk—How it rings the Washington streets! <br>The umbrella’d congressmen; the rapping tires <br>of big black cars, the shoulders of lobbyists <br>caught under canopies and in doorways, <br>and it rains, it will not let up, <br>and meanwhile lame futurists weep into Spengler’s <br>prophecy, will the world be over before the races blend color? <br>All color must be one or let the world be done— <br>There’ll be a chance, we’ll all be orange! <br>I don’t want to be orange! <br>Nothing about God’s color to complain; <br>and there is a beauty in yellow, the old Lama <br>in his robe the color of Cathay; <br>in black a strong & vital beauty, <br>Thelonious Monk in his robe of Norman charcoal— <br>And if Western Civilization comes to an end <br>(though I doubt it, for the prophet has not <br>executed his prophecy) surely the Eastern child <br>will sit by a window, and wonder <br>the old statues, the ornamented doors; <br>the decorated banquet of the West— <br>Inflamed by futurists I too weep in rain at night <br>at the midnight of Western Civilization; <br>Dante’s step into Hell will never be forgotten by Hell; <br>the Gods’ adoption of Homer will never be forgotten by the Gods; <br>the books of France are on God’s bookshelf; <br>no civil war will take place on the fields of God; <br>and I don’t doubt the egg of the East its glory— <br>Yet it rains and the motors go <br>and continued when I slept by that wall in Washington <br>which separated the motors in the death-parlor <br>where Joe McCarthy lay, lean and stilled, <br>ten blocks from the Capitol— <br>I could never understand Uncle Sam <br>his red & white striped pants his funny whiskers his starry hat: <br>how surreal Yankee Doodle Dandy, goof! <br>American history has a way of making you feel <br>George Washington is still around, that is <br>when I think of Washington I do not think of Death— <br>Of all Presidents I have been under <br>Hoover is the most unreal <br>and FDR is the most President-looking <br>and Truman the most Jewish-looking <br>and Eisenhower the miscast of Time into Space— <br>Hoover is another America, Mr. 1930 <br>and what must he be thinking now? <br>FDR was my youth, and how strange to still see <br>his wife around. <br>Truman is still in Presidential time. <br>I saw Eisenhower helicopter over Athens <br>and he looked at the Acropolis like only Zeus could. <br>OF THE PEOPLE is fortunate and select. <br>FOR THE PEOPLE has never happened in America or elsewhere. <br>BY THE PEOPLE is the sadness of America. <br>I am not politic. <br>I am not patriotic. <br>I am nationalistic! <br>I boast well the beauty of America to all the people in Europe. <br>In me they do not see their vision of America. <br>O whenever I pass an American Embassy I don’t know what to feel! <br>Sometimes I want to rush in and scream: “I’m American!” <br>but instead go a few paces down to the American Bar <br>get drunk and cry: “I’m no American!” <br>The men of politics I love are but youth’s fantasy: <br>The fine profile of Washington on coins stamps & tobacco wraps <br>The handsomeness and death-in-the-snow of Hamilton. <br>The eyeglasses shoe-buckles kites & keys of Ben Franklin. <br>The sweet melancholy of Lincoln. <br>The way I see Christ, as something romantic & unreal, is the way I see them. <br>An American is unique among peoples. <br>He looks and acts like a boyman. <br>He never looks cruel in uniform. <br>He is rednecked portly rich and jolly. <br>White-haired serious Harvard, kind and wry. <br>A convention man a family man a rotary man & practical joker. <br>He is moonfaced cunning well-meaning & righteously mean. <br>He is Madison Avenue, handsome, in-the-know, and superstitious. <br>He is odd, happy, quicker than light, shameless, and heroic <br>Great yawn of youth! <br>The young don’t seem interested in politics anymore. <br>Politics has lost its romance! <br>The “bloody kitchen” has drowned! <br>And all that is left are those granite <br>façades of Pentagon, Justice, and Department— <br>Politicians do not know youth! <br>They depend on the old <br>and the old depend on them <br>and lo! this has given youth a chance <br>to think of heaven in their independence. <br>No need to give them liberty or freedom <br>where they’re at— <br>When Stevenson in 1956 came to San Francisco <br>he campaigned in what he thought was an Italian section! <br>He spoke of Italy and Joe DiMaggio and spaghetti, <br>but all who were there, all for him, <br>were young beatniks! and when his car drove off <br>Ginsberg & I ran up to him and yelled: <br>“When are you going to free the poets from their attics!” <br>Great yawn of youth! <br>Mad beautiful oldyoung America has no candidate <br>the craziest wildest greatest country of them all! <br>and not one candidate— <br>Nixon arrives ever so temporal, self-made, <br>frontways sideways and backways, <br>could he be America’s against? Detour to vehicle? <br>Mast to wind? Shore to sea? Death to life? <br>The last President?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gregory+Corso">Gregory Corso</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=401441" data-title="America Politica Historia, In Spontaneity de Gregory Corso" data-description="O this political air so heavy with the bells 
and motors of a slow night, and no place to rest 
but rain to walk—How it rings the Washington streets! 
The umbrella’d congressmen; the rapping tires 
of big black cars, the shoulders of lobbyists..."></div>
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