The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (69 page)

FOR TOM CAREY

They have bent.

They cling.

They attack & capture.

It is a treat, a nightmare, a punch in the face.

He wanders by himself.

He lingers. He idles

In his little house.

He absorbs, and is absorbed.

He begins to bear down on what he sees:

Young faces, puzzling argot, meat, or “the postulant”:

You nod and scrunch up your face and chuckle.

Let me out of here you silently shriek.

“I’ve got to hang up now, a man is yelling at me.”

A pill always seems to be about something.

“Ah Fitz but we are profound

chaps—we word lads.”

“We ride in our round paper boats

From Ireland and Israel & Iceland without

coats. We feed our slaves

Locusts, our kids Moths & oats; and we starve

our cave-painters because they are sloths!” Love,

Mr. P. F. C. Hemingstein

You don’t have to be Marie Curie

or even Simone de Beauvoir already

to write your memoirs, you know? after

all, we
all
have a polymorphous perverse

first person singular, don’t we? . . . .

If you don’t want to see & hear, don’t feel

like it, say . . . maybe wd rather worry, or

sulk. . . . Still you do have to remember, there’s

no way to put blinders on one’s insides, you

know . . . or do you? Sure you can.

Every day back & forth

The exquisite daughter of the Sultan walked

At evening by the fountain,

Where the white water splashes.

Every day the young slave

Stood at evening by the fountain,

Where the white water splashes;

Every day he grew pale, and paler.

Then, one evening, the Princess, turning

Came up to him with these words:

Thy name will I know! thy

Country! thy Kin!

And the slave spoke: I am called

Mohamet. I am from Yemen.

And my people are the Asra

who die, when they love.

HEINRICH HEINE

(RANS. TED BERRIGAN & GORDON BROTHERSTON)

I had this dream

I was supposed

to get married

to a sensitive prince, &

together

we wd score for hash

from our maid-of-honor, Sancho Panza—

A choir of Windmills in their cassocks & surplices

were going to surround us in song for

the rest of our lives,

beautiful boy sopranos, singing with aching purity, the

only song they know:
THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY
.

my whole life? I hid myself beside a burning

bush,

My verdant response

to monogamy

in Spring. And

The sea was tumbling in harness

As I sailed out to die.

You took me

for everything

I have

I had it

Thanks

for that

You

Why don’t we

call up

David

Hockney &

ask him for

a thousand?

FOR ERJE AYDEN

I never said I was right, or wrong.

I said I was lucky. I waved a leg

in the air. First, I’m going to eat this,

Then I’m going to eat you! Just two

High livers, stretched-out on the Elephant grass,

mouths dripping with blood, & wheezing like fire-sirens,

We passed our long love’s morn:

So ends my song, like a pair of she-lions.

That’s all

one life needs—

Two serious ladies.

Talking

To Charlie on the stoop

Wearing asbestos suit

I see the really horrible fly

On top of the yellow rose—I

Can’t believe it, it’s so ugly

I just don’t have much conversation

to give, these days, now I’ve sung my ABC’s:

(next time won’t you sing with me?): She

sang beside herself, beyond

The genius of the Sea.

FOR BILL BERKSON

I stand at the dock in judgement

literally already condemned

but also am here to be informed,

as my illustrious colleagues Anselm Hollo,

Lorenzo Thomas, and Kathy Acker

have done before me.

I am pleased and flattered

to be joined in such Noble

Company, & only wish that I too might spark

giant & seething controversies & provoke angry

exchanges & bloody fistfights; but, like Anselm Hollo

I am merely a National Treasure, so, what I am

going to do is talk, which is what I do, plus read my poems.

Bill Berkson will take care of the rest, the doing what must

be done part.

So, let us begin. I’m about to do so, I will offer you this

one word of advice, in front.

Duck.

*
“(He had a way of wearing very casual clothes.)”

Like the philosopher Thales

who thought all things water

and fell into a well . . . trying to

find a car key . . . (“it can’t be here . . .”)

We rest from all discussion,

drinking, smoking, pills . . .

want nothing

but to be old, do nothing, type & think. . . .

But in new December’s air

I could not sleep, I could not write my name—

Luck, we’ve had it; our character’s gone public—

We could have done worse. I hope we did.

FOR BERNADETTE & LEWIS

Gay doormen face a severe shortage of cocaine

The White House announced today.

The crisis

Which could blow the lid off

Of Boys Town

is a result of Latest Great Depression

Brought on by

Savage game of “Go Fish”

In Congress

On the street where you live.

Citizens are being asked

To tie up their children

And to walk their clones

In groups of five

At 55 mph

Police said today.

2.

The President said

When Mars squares Saturn

With a trained squirrel

He will burn whale blubber

& is contemplating

The return of Billy,

Suicide,

3-Mile Island,

Unleashing “The Hammer”

Running naked

To breathe

Evacuate

Phone Grandma, if necessary

During “60 Minutes”

On television.

3.

At reduced temperatures

During months having an “R” in them

Wander lonely as a cloud

Crawl on all fours when it’s time.

4. (Coda)

Enraged Shepherd

Tears up his
EXXON
card

Admits he is a droid

Has his teeth bronzed

Redesigns his novel

Dies Early

Bye-bye.

FOR SUSAN CATALDO

“I never shut my mouth, in case

I have to yawn.”

Too Late

The boat has left.

ARGENTINA

Don’t cry, Argentina.

TED                    RON

BERRIGAN   &   PADGETT

“Flow gently, sweet Thames,

  ’til I end yr song.

fire-hydrant

censored

12TH NIGHT

“I will go.”

CITY MONEY

In God we trust because she got

something stuck in her throat

and bent their ears.

THE OLD ONE

is Ted Berrigan.

Caesar’s ghost must be above suspicion.

I’m sorry for your trouble

Jacques.

I’m very sorry

for your trouble.

Oh, Mrs. Gabriele Picabia-Buffet,

why did they want so badly to be

like us, those wonderful jack-offs of yesterday?

And where have they gone? Where are they now? those jack-offs

of yesterday?

FOR ANNE WALDMAN

Virtue, Honor, Beauty, Kind gestures

Sweet words have reached the high branches

wherein my heart is warmly entwined.

Then lead the person to the unmade bed.

1327, at daybreak,

on the 6th of April,

entered the labyrinth;

no exit have I found.

So, old friend, not dead, don’t lead me on.

“Only the guilty need money.”

I am ambiguity.

(FOR ED FOSTER)

FOR: BOB HOLMAN
OR ED FRIEDMAN

Good Evening, ladies, and all you hungry children in Asia,” A very funny thing happened to me on my way over here from a tough Italian Neighborhood, where I just bought this suit made out of recycled lint. Any other paisanos out there? (Gives them the finger). A bum came up and asked me to call him a Taxi, so I did my impression of Richard Nixon, which goes something like this: (Gives audience the finger). But seriously, my friends, I just arrived in your fine city after three wonderful weeks of playing Sammy Davis Senior. During that engagement I ran into an old high school classmate who set off an alarm clock so everybody can wake up and go home, so I bit him.