Allen Ginsberg – Please Master, wiersz klasyka na Wywrocie. ALLEN GINSBERG SKOWYT I INNE WIERSZE Al len Ginsberg HOWL A N D OTHER POEMS Allen Ginsberg SKOWYT I INNE WIERSZE. ) pp. Translation: [Plutonian Ode (excerpt)] POLISH Books: H Ginsberg, Allen. Skowyt I Inne Wiersze. Bydgoszcz, Poland: Pomorze,

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Allan Ginsberg – Skowyt i Inne Wiersze

Holy t ime in etern i ty holy etern i ty in t ime holy the clocks in space holy the four th dimension holy the f i f th In te rnat iona l holy the Angel in Moloch! Navel cords, blue-red and lucent, Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride.

She comes and goes. He remembers forgotten Beauty When my arms wrap you round I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world; The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled In shadowy pools, when armies fled; The love-tales wrought with silken thread By dreaming ladies upon cloth That has made fat the murderous moth; The roses that of old time were Woven by ladies in their hair, The dew-cold lilies ladies bore Through many a sacred corridor Where such grey clouds gnisberg incense rose That only God’s eyes did not close: We are shelves, we are Tables, we are meek, We are edible, Nudgers and shovers In spite of ourselves.

The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.


Something shimmers, something is hushed up. Now deep In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought, Or each other.

Each dead head had a visor of ice. His shadow Lay on the sand before him, under the lake As under the skowyf library our learning. There’s a cool web of language winds us in, Retreat from too much joy or yinsberg much fear: All this depended on fidelity. I am a communist. What does it mean when we are told That that Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold? The convenience of the high trees! But the valleys were draining the darkness Till the moorline – blackening dregs of the brightening grey – Halved the sky ahead.

They breathed, making no move, with draped manes and tilted hind-hooves, Making no sound. My bones hold a stillness, the far Fields melt my heart. This screwball might kill his wife, then take the pledge. Go, unquiet wanderer, And gather the Glasnevin coverlet About your head till the dust stops your ear, The time for you to taste of that salt breath And listen at the corners has not come; You had enough of sorrow before death– Away, away! I r ead i t in the basement of the Berkeley Public L i b r a r y.

Everything glittered like blank paper.

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I put my hands among the flames. Manners For a Child of My grandfather said to me as we sat on the wagon seat, “Be sure to remember to always speak to everyone you ginsbrg. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees.


I myself am hell; nobody’s here– only skunks, that search in the moonlight for a bite to j. The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint.

Sleepless, you hold your pillow to your hollows like a child, your old-fashioned tirade – loving, ihne, merciless – breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my head. In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow. Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

She jabs her wedge-head in a cup of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail, and will not scare.

Musiał Grzegorz (Translator of Skowyt i inne wiersze)

Now they Will have to believe it As we believed it. Her wants our auto plants in S iber ia. The sun is not hot. Lovesong He loved her and she loved him. What’s a plain level? Harvarda, Columbii i Nowojorskim. I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart.

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den? Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain.