名人诗歌|Death & Fame

When I die

I don't care what happens to my body

throw ashes in the air, scatter^{1 'em in East River}

bury an urn^{2 in Elizabeth New Jersey3, B'nai Israel Cemetery4}

But l want a big funeral

St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in

Manhattan

First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged^{5 Edith stepmother}

96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,

Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene^{6 one eyed one ear'd, sister-}

in-law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers sisters

their grandchildren,

companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal Hale, Bill Morgan

Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya's ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,

there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting

America, Satchitananda Swami

Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,

Katagiri Suzuki Roshi's phantoms⁷

Baker^{8, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail9 White-haired Kapleau}

Roshis, Lama Tarchen

Then, most important, lovers over half-century

Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald rich

young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each

other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories

He taught me to meditate^{10, now I'm an old veteran of the thousand}

day retreat

I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he

loved me

I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone

We'd lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug kiss belly^{11 to belly}

arms round each other

I'd always get into his bed with underwear on by morning my

skivvies would be on the floor

Japanese, always wanted take it up my bum^{12 with a master}

We'd talk all night about Kerouac Cassady sit Buddhalike then

sleep in his captain's bed.

He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy

I was lonely never in bed nude^{13 with anyone before, he was so gentle my}

stomach

shuddered^{14 when he traced his finger along my abdomen15 nipple to hips}

All I did was lay back eyes closed, he'd bring me to come with mouth

fingers along my waist

He gave great head

So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commin-

gling with flesh and youthful blood of 1997

and surprise You too？ But I thought you were straight！

I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me.

I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender

and affectionate to be kissed on the TOP of my head,

my forehead throat heart solar plexus, mid-belly. on my prick^16,

tickled^{17 with his tongue my behind}

I loved the way he'd recite 'But at my back allways hear/ time's winged

chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a

pillow

Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear

I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his

walk-up flat,

seduced^{18 me didn't want to, made me come, went home, never saw him}

again never wanted to

He couldn't get it up but loved me, A clean old man. He made

sure I came first

This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor

Then poets musicians college boys' grunge bands age-old rock

star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical con-

ductors, unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trum-

peters, bowed bass french horn black geniuses, folksinger

fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin auto-

harp pennywhistles kazoos

Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60's India,

Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman Massa-

chusets surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty

sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American

provinces

Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate biblio-

philes, sex liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either sex

I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved

him anyway, true artist

Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me

from suicide hospitals

Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my

studio guest a week in Budapest

Thousands of readers, Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois

I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet

He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas

City

Kaddish made me weep for myself father alive in Nevada City

Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982

I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized

others like me out there

Deaf Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures

Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists photo-

graphy aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural

historians come to witness the historic funeral

Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks Deadheads, autograph-

hunters, distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers

Everyone knew they were part of 'History except the deceased

who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive

February 22, 1997