The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (44 page)

around, between and over your many new pimples.

Cut away pieces of bad flesh.

Discuss mother’s promiscuity

Sense the presence of danger at the movies

Reveal

get tough

turn queer

9.

In the Winter, switch to heroin, so you won’t catch pneumonia.

In the Spring, go back to speed.

San Gabriel

Placer, Nevada. New York:

Buffalo. 24 Huntington, just off of Main.

$12.95 takes you

where you want to go

quick; & quickly do you go.

$.30 will bring you back

sweating, worn out. Twice

as fast (as when you went) is

slow.

TO RICHARD TAYLOR

Goodbye House, 24 Huntington, one block past Hertel on the downtown side of Main, second house on the left. Your good spirit kept me cool this summer, your ample space.

Goodbye house.

Goodbye our room, on the third floor. Your beds were much appreciated; We used them gratefully & well, me & Alice. & Alice’s yellow blanket spread across to the yellow slanted ceiling to make a lovely light, Buffalo mornings. There we talked, O did we ever! Goodbye, our

Third floor room.

& Goodbye other room across the hall. Typewriter music filled my heart. Buffalo nights as I read on my bed while Alice wrote unseen. Her Buffalo poems were terrific, & they were even about me! Some had you in them, too! So,

Goodbye room.

Goodbye second floor. Your bathroom’s character one could grow to understand. I liked the sexy closed door of Chris’s room, & light showing under the master’s door at night; a good omen to me, always! Even your unused office offered us its ironing board, by moonlight.

You were friendly. Goodbye second floor of Richard’s house.

Goodbye stairs. Alice knew you well.

& Goodbye first floor. Goodbye kitchen, you were a delight; you fed us morning, noon & night; I liked your weird yellow light, & your wall clock was out of sight! Meals we shared with Richard were gentle & polite; we liked them; we liked those times a lot.

Goodbye kitchen, you’ll not be forgot.

& Goodbye Arboretum. (I mean TV room) Mornings, alone, I loved to sit in you, to read the news from the world of sports, as light poured into & through the house. Mornings were quiet pepsis. Nights I’d talk with Richard over beers. Good manners had some meaning here; I learned better ones with great delight. Goodbye

TV room. Thanks for your mornings and nights.

Goodbye vast dining hall, where we three & three dogs often ate of beef & drank red wine. Your table was long, & your chandelier a sight. Richard ate quickly, as did Alice, while I took my time, talking beneath your light. May we dine thusly many a night, days

To come. Goodbye dining room, & dogs who ate our bones with delight.

Goodbye Thelonius. Only Allen Ginsberg, for beauty, matches you. & Goodbye Ishmael. I liked your ghastly rough-house ways. You were the love/hate delight of Alice’s days & nights. Many a fond lick you lolled her way, each of her trips. Goodbye Ishmael. Goodbye Oliver. You didn’t say much, but you were always there, calling “Hey, wait for me!” like in those movies I used to like the best. When you three ate Bobby Dylan’s
SELF PORTRAIT
, it put our friendship to the test. But it survived. & so,

Goodbye Ishmael, Thelonius, Oliver; friends, my brothers, dogs.

& Richard, goodbye, too, to you. You were the best of all our Buffalo life. Sharing with you made it
be
a life. We were at home in your house, because it’s yours. It was a great pleasure, to come & go through your doors. Nothing gets lost, in anyone’s life; I’m glad of that. We three had our summer, which will last. Poems last (like this one has); and so do memories. They last in poems, & in the people in them (who are us). So, although this morning under the sky, we go, Alice & I, you’ll be flying with us as we fly. You come to visit, where we go, & we’ll sometimes visit you in

Buffalo. Bring the dogs, too. & until then, our love to you, Richard.

Goodbye.

1.

In The Early Morning Rain

To my family & friends             “Hello”

And money. With something inside us we float up

On this electric chair each breath nearer the last

Now is spinning

Seven thousand feet over / The American Midwest

Gus walked up under the arc light as far as the first person

the part that goes over the fence last

And down into a green forest ravine             near to “her”

Winds in the stratosphere

Apologise to the malcontents

Downstairs. The black bag & the wise man may be found

in the brain-room.

what sky out there                    Take it away

& it’s off

one foot

is expressing itself as continuum

the other, sock

2.

Tomorrow.               I need to kill

Blank mind part                                    Confusions of the cloth

White snow whirls everywhere.               Across the fields

in the sky the

Soft, loose

stars swarm. Nature makes my teeth “to hurt”

shivering now                on 32nd Street                in my face & in my head

does Bobby Dylan ever come around here?                       listen

it’s alive                where exposed nerve jangles

& I               looming over Jap’s American flag

In Public, In Private                 The Sky Pilot In No Man’s Land

The World Number 14                 is tipsy as pinballs on the ocean

We are bored through . . . through . . . with our professionalism

Outside her

Windows

3.

I’m amazed to be here

A man who can do the average thing

when everybody else is

going crazy                Lord I wonder just exactly what can happen

my heart is filled (filling)            with light

& there’s a breeze                & I’m going

way over

the white             skyline              do what I want to

Fuck it
.

Tied up wit

Tie with red roses          The war of the Roses, &

War is shit.               White man, tomorrow you die!

Tomorrow means
now
.        “You kidding me?” now.

Light up                      you will be great

It’s a complication.              Thanksgiving, 1970, Fall.

CODA
:

Being a new day my heart

is confirmed in its pure Buddhahood

activity under the clear blue sky

The front is hiding the rear (not)

which means we have (not) “protected ourselves”

by forgetting all we were dealt

I love all the nuts I’ve been in bed (with)

hope to go everywhere in good time

like, Africa: it would be tremendous (or not)

to drink up rivers. Be seeing
you

to ride the river (with)                 heads riding gently

its personal place         feet doing their stuff           up in the air

Where someone (J.) dies, so that we can be rude to friends

While you find me right here coming through again.

There’s a strange lady in my front yard

She’s wearing blue slacks & a white car-coat

& “C’mon!” she’s snarling at a little boy

He isn’t old enough to snarl, so he’s whining

On the string as first she & then he disappear

Into (or is it behind) the Rivers’ garage.

That’s 11 a.m.

In the country. “Everything is really golden,”

Alice, in bed, says. I look, & out the window, see

Three shades of green; & the sky, not so high,

So blue & white. “You’re right, it really is!”

Black brothers to get happy

The Puerto Ricans to say hello

The old folks to take it easy &

as it comes

The United States to get straight

Power to butt out

Money to fuck off

Business with honor

Religion

&

Art

Love

A home

A typewriter

A GUN.

Nancy, Jimmy, Larry, Frank, & Berdie

George & Bill

Dagwood Bumstead

Donna, Joe, & Phil

Making shapes this place

so rightly ours

to fill

as we wish,

& Andy’s flowers too, do.

I’ve been sitting, looking

thinking sounds of pictures

names

of you

of how I smile now

&

Let It Be.

& now I think to add

“steel teeth”

“sucking cigarette”

“A photograph of Bad.”

Everything you are gone slightly mad.

America.

Green
TIDE
; behind, pink against blue

Blue
CHEER
; an expectorant,
Moving On

Gun in hand, shooting down

Anyone who comes to mind

IN OLD SOUTHAMPTON
, blue, shooting up

THE SCRIPTURE OF THE GOLDEN ETERNITY

A new sharpness, peel apart to open, bloody water

& Alice is putting her panties on, taking off

A flowery dress for London’s purple one

It seems to be getting longer, the robot

Keeps punching, opening up

A bit at a time. Up above

Spread atop the bed a red head sees

Two hands, one writing, one holding on.

My body heavy with poverty (starch)

It uses up my sexual energy

constantly, &

I feel constantly crowded

On the other hand,
One

Day In The Afternoon of

The World

Pervaded my life with a

heavy grace

today

I’ll never smile again

Bad Teeth

But

I’m dancing with tears in my eyes

(I can’t help myself!)    Tom

writes he loves Alice’s sonnets,

takes four, I’d love

to be more attentive to her, more

here.

The situation having become intolerable

the only alternatives are:

Murder & Suicide.

They are too dumb! So, one

becomes a goof. Raindrops

start falling on my roof. I say

Hooray! Then I say, I’m going out

At the drugstore I say, Gimme some pills!

Charge ’em! They say

Sure. I say See you later.

Read the paper. Talk to Alice.

She laughs to hear

Hokusai had 947 changes of address

In his life. Ha-ha. Plus everything

else in the world

going on here.

Now I wish I were asleep, to see my dreams taking place

I wish I were more awake

I wish a sweet rush of tears to my eyes

Wish a nose like an eagle

I wish blue sky in the afternoon