The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (37 page)

She is a muse

gone but not forgotten

50
STATES

state of grace

the milk state

Oregon

stateroom

state of anxiety

hazy state

estate

statement

Rugby Kissick state

Florida

the empire state

disaster state

the lightbulb state

soup state

Statue of Liberty

state of no return

the White Bear state

doped state

recoil state

Please state your name, address, occupation

the German shepherd state

bent on destruction

state

the farmer state

state of no more parades

the tobacco state

statesman

stately

state prison

stasis

status

static

station wagon

State Flower

state of innocence

ambition state

North Carolina

Jasper’s state

the united state

big state

state your cause

income state

jump the gun state

Roman nose state

manic depression state

hospital state

speed state

calculated state

gone forever state

the body state

the death body state

In New York State

in ‘Winter in The Country’

at night you write

while someone

(Alice) sometimes sleeps & dreams;

awake she writes

22.

I dreamed you brought home a baby

Solid girl, could already walk

In blue corduroy overalls

Nice & strange, baby to keep close

I hadn’t thought of it before

She & I waited for you out by the door

Of building, went in

Got you from painting

Blue & white watercolor swatches

We got on a bus, city bus

One row of seats lining it & poles

It went through the California desert

Blue bright desert day

In the country of old men I said

pretty good

& tho I live there

no more

“you can say that again.”

Pretty good
.

It takes your best shot,

to knock off whatever,

so, we take our best shots,

it gives us a boot or two

we just do it

we wouldn’t know what to tell you

       if our lives depended upon it!

       Anne?

but Anne’s already talking

across from me                    across my life

across the mailman’s

locked box,

over the mailman

I mean

where a woman is alive

a mailman her friend

as you all know

having met the man at the Met

introduced by Vincent,

& loved by Joe:

Joe’s introductions go on,

the tongue, the ears burn             on Memorial Day

at Anne’s turn:

Dear Mr. Postman:

Please take this from me

to me.

I’m delivered without a hitch

to myself

I’m a woman in the Prime of Strife

I speak for all you crazy ladies

past & present

& I say,

NO MESSAGES

Nothing can be helped.           Nothing gets lost.

Blink

the eye is closed

& I am asleep

blink

the eye is open

& I am awake

in the
real
wide-eye world                 nothing gets lost