The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (54 page)

It’s 5 units sunlight, 5 units

Cincinnati

One plus Zero

equals One

That’s it you

Now you’re talking!

& so, let me read to you this list

of the ten greatest books of all time:

Here they are

THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF ALL TIME

  1. Now in June                     by         Lao-Tree

  2. Sore Foot                    by        Larry Fagin

  3. Sleep & Dreams       by            Gay Luce & Julius Segal

  4. Rape                          by           Marcus van Heller

  5. Out of The Dead City      by          Chip Delaney

  6. Moth                          by        James M. Cain

  7. Letters for Origin (Proofs)        by          Charles Olson

  8. Classics Revisited              by           Kenneth Rexroth

  9. Pleasures of a Chinese Courtesan         by         Jonathan Payne

10. Letters to Georgian Friends           by           Boris Pasternak

10. Horse Under Water                    by         Len Deighton

10. Camp Concentration                  by         Tom Disch

&

breathing easier now

10.      The Quotations of Chairman Mao.

In the morning

Very bright the

not yellow

light

tough creamy air

it softens lightly

when you give

THE LOOK OF LOVE

having a good look

knowing / green

interesting manners

with

blackjack nuances.

Can you dig it (doing that) in the Michigan morning?

light

taking your glasses off

(clothes already off)

yellow pants

I should say gold

but gold isn’t really yellow

is it?

so I don’t

Joan Fagin’s brown shirt’s resting now

on the chair

brown

transparent, blue

buttons . . .

Some pop off

so do we all        some time.

Joan, with you,

“I do.”

&

Loving you

doesn’t really
have
to “do”

anything

but I do.

& doing ( . . . “anything” . . . ) turns you on, too.

doing a few

swirls

&

spinning

moving easily

& so firm

A just plain terrific face

two eyes        opening wide

with delight

that’s “doing it all” for me.

It’s a little scary                                     it, & you, too

white & not so

blue

now a slow pink flush

across the white rhythm

& the blue . . .

Coming together

or maybe not coming at all

or coming

at leisure

“Digging one’s own natural

savagery”

as the man says

is all there is

to do.

To eat ourselves

alive

& dig it.

 & having looked into “that”,                having
had
“it”

still having it

Now,

to look at it,

looking at it whenever

The right light appears

which is practically

anytime                     & especially,

“In the morning.”

2.

Looking at a cottage in the country,

Maine,

My main man’s desire shines through

“that’s tough!” you might say

but it’s civilized.

It’s terse, but fluid.   (It’s

a hard-nosed kike rap).

Round & round & round we go

There are trees, around

& green grass around

to stretch out

lay around

on.

Above blue sky

as clean as paint is

clear (thick & creamy

light.)

Now, that’s what I call Radiance.

All of it,

& you, really here

plus, friendly

shadows

talk

“do anything you want to.”

& so we did, all of it.

See that?

I’d like you to look at

& see it.

It’s beautiful!                      moving beautifully

in the morning

&

you can turn it on                                     you’re here

anytime                                            & it’s here

CODA
:
                       (to Alex Katz)

Being civilized about such things

is a great pleasure!

Wasn’t it, Alex?

It’s just like Real Life

(after the movies.)

You put it together

with your knife

punching it

into the sun

shining

Out of sight!

3.

Now, resting on the President’s chair, the center

head inside its hair, on the grass, the white

house right over there

a Chesterfield King

& there’s a light!

Clean White Smoke Wind Clear Air

me up here & you,

you up across & over there.

Between us, The United States

of Air

& Joan

still flying,

on this plane:

It’s taking Joan everywhere

she feels like going

& so she does

& so do we all

& so we do,

thanks to you,

light            radiance               air

Alex, Joan, my friends,

you were there.

AFTER LEWIS WARSH

Going up, slowly, I, slowly

Flashing insane (exciting) changes across each lady eye

Begin to soar. First the quiet

(trees) as Lewis and I lope none-too-gently by

Rush of light hitting walk, my

Tonight. The Pep Rally inflames the green sky

Feet crushing light, my walk lighting up

Forget them. They (I) shall return. It’s cool

October’s thickness (night). It needs girls

As well as well. I love these girls, & so

To cut through the dense talk growing light

I’m arriving soon. I am, & they laugh wisely

Along the diagonal: our sleep is but a birth

& a remembering, so forget all that came before.

There are girls laughing because they thought

Talk to him, he’s high in New York somewhere

Sometimes, when I think about where I am

Medicine gets me high. I

Do a few spins & laugh it off. Cough

After the first death there is plenty

Of Other but it’s true

There is no other, too. One staggers

Weakly between the two. What fun is that?

It’s no fun, that’s what. After the first

Sniff, you notice the typewriter’s been sharpened; you

Did it, so;

a, s, d, f, space . . . semi, l, k, j, space

Is it up & happy, this trip, like Merriweather Lewis

Whose California rides above the blue? or

Is it a down trip (John Keats)? I do love you:

“Down for you is up” when your head gets turned around

You look out the mirror at the self, & you preen,

You giggle because that it’s so unlike you.

So                                  sleeping & waking

every day

up

I live here                        I,

the great

mumbling

one

two             three              four

Laid out,                         voices                     living & dead

hovering

between

heart                 &

comfort.

up

now

taking chances

with silence. More & more

waiting

for day    . . .    light

over the house.

He is counting:             one              two

three              four

When we rise

the jungle

Moves What that means

grenades         come closer               white

lightning

clears the range

in the morning

paper              hangs on                     nothing

Nerve

That makes some human cry

float