The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (45 page)

Bigger windows, & a panorama—light, buildings & people in street air

Wish my teeth were white and sparkled

Wish my legs were not where they are—where they are

I wish the days warmly cool & clothes I like to be inside of

Wish I were walking around in Chelsea (NY) & it was 5:15 a.m., the

sun coming up, alone, you asleep at home

I wish red rage came easier

I wish death, but not just now

I wish I were driving alone across America in a gold Cadillac

toward California, & my best friend

I wish I were in love, & you here

ripped

out of her mind

a marvelous construction

thinking

no place; & you

not once properly handled

Ophelia

&

you can’t handle yourself

feeling

no inclination

toward that

solitude,

love

by yourself

Ophelia

& feeling free                        you drift

far more beautifully

than we

As one now understands

He never did see           you

you moving so                while talking flashed

& failed

to let you go

Ophelia

FOR PAT

November, dancing, or

Going to the store in the country,

Where green changes itself into
LIFE
,

MOVING ON
, Jockey Shorts, Katzenmiaou

A Chesterfield King & the blue book

IN OLD SOUTHAMPTON
,

you make my days special

You do Jimmy’s, & Alice’s,

Phoebe’s, Linda’s,

Lewis’ & Joanne’s, too. . .

& Kathy’s (a friend who is new). . .

& Gram’s . . .

who loved you,

like I do

once . . .

& who surely does so since

that 4th of July last,

a Saturday,

a day that left her free

to be with & love you

(& me)

(all of us)

just purely;

clean;

& selflessly;

no thoughts

Just, It’s true. As I would be

& as I am, to you

this

November.

Crash

Take Valium                  Sleep

Dream &,

forget it.

Wake up now & strange

displaced

at home.

Read The Providence Evening Bulletin

No one you knew

got married

had children

got divorced

died

got born

tho many familiar names flicker &

disappear.

Sit

watch TV

draw blanks

swallow

pepsi

meatballs

. . .

give yourself the needle:

“Shit! There’s gotta be something

to do

here!”

JOURNEY
to    Seven young men on horses, leaving Texas.

SHILOH
:       They’ve got to do what’s right! So, after

a long trip, they’ll fight for the South in the War.

No war in Texas, but they’ve heard about it, & they want

to fight for their country. Have some adventures & make

their folks proud! Two hours later all are dead;

one by one they died, stupidly, & they never did find out

why! There were no niggers in South Texas! Only

the leader,

with one arm shot off, survives to head back for Texas:

all his friends behind him, dead. What will happen?

Watching him, I cry big tears. His friends

were beautiful, with boyish American good manners,

cowboys!

Telephone New York: “hello!”

“Hello! I’m drunk! &

I have no clothes on!”

“My goodness,” I say.

“See you tomorrow.”

Wide awake all night reading:
The Life of Turner

(“He first saw the light in Maiden Lane”)

A. C. Becker: Wholesale Jewels

Catalogue 1912

The Book of Marvels, 1934:

The year I was born.

No mention of my birth in here.    Hmmm.

Saturday The Rabbi Stayed Home

(that way he got to solve the murder)

LIFE
on the Moon   by
LIFE
Magazine.

My mother wakes up, 4 a.m.: Someone to talk with!

Over coffee we chat, two grownups

I have two children, I’m an adult now, too.

Now we are two people talking who have known each other

a long time,

Like Edwin & Rudy. Our talk is a great pleasure: my mother

a spunky woman. Her name was Peggy Dugan when she was young.

Now, 61 years old, she blushes to tell me I was conceived

before the wedding! “I’ve always been embarrassed about telling you

til now,” she says. “I didn’t know what you might think!”

“I think it’s really sweet,” I say. “It means I’m really

a love child.” She too was conceived before her mother’s wedding,

I know. We talk, daylight comes, & the Providence Morning Journal.

My mother leaves for work. I’m still here.