09-28-2013, 02:09 AM
Is that you, Walt Whitman,
walking hand in hand with the Resurrected Christ?
..I'd thought you'd come back,
...like you said you would.
I've been burned by things
like no man has known since the first ever person
..to die of electrocution;
...and I'm not talking about lightning.
No prophet ever dreamt this power of electricity,
..now I've felt it: and—Oh! what a shock!
..........Things unlike it, I have felt,
..........rather.—Walt Whitman,
...did we ever establish that is even you?
...People say I'm mad;
...these days that makes me sound angry;
......no, they say I'm crazy, Walt Whitman:
..........but I am Artaud, sane.
I cannot talk directly to Christ,
so I speak to him through you, dear Walt.
I'm not a shy of pedestery,
...one reason of my madness, per se,
.if it so fits you, dear Walt.
.....Lord knows, I've tried.
Which brings me back to electricity:
..Hey, Immortal Walt, not so immortal,
say, you died. But,
..Walt Whitman has return.
...This must only be the doing of Christ.
................page two
......You set my mind free, Walt Whitman;
......unlike John Lennon did.
.Unlike Catcher in the Rye did for Mike Chapman:
For I, Walt Whitman, sing
..........the body.
...My body, oh!
The mind is a mad thing, not angry.
Let me start again.
You set my mind free, Walt Whitman;
...Mike Chapman translated Homer
...in that poem by Keats,
.in which, Walt Whitman, he made a mistake,
.........do you ever make a mistake?
You set my mind free,
.....................no man has a captain!
....................Oh, but what Christ had done for my soul,
.................you have done for my mind and the mind of my
..................................................................................verse;
......my soul was set free long before I was born
...but thank you for relieving me of my mind,
.....................................and my verse,
O Walt Whitman!
.................page three
This is the part of my story where I say, His story.
I break often, at night, alone.
I break apart inside—my mental landscape
needs to be mowed. Hi Ho!
Let them say what they will;
I have had coitus twice:
once with my great uncle, Sam.
Oh, Sam, I am,
Sam I Come;
And twice, sixpence, and naught,
I made the love man and woman style
with Gretchen from Faust,
can't say I was her first.
But I, mad men, please,
don't spill my ink
or rip my sole and only paper,
please,
it's my one and odd notebook.
Back off!
Too close for comfort.
Let me begin fresh.
When I reached these American shores,
my education long lost at sea,
I was such given some other chores
so that you can't sure recognise me.
How
Ever
Long
People
Might
Endeaovour to hole me here against my will,
my mind is free,
my soul was freed long ago.
So long,
in fact,
I have never experienced what the doctors once said
of soul struggles.
...I don't know what you're talking about.
.........page four
So let us wander, Walt Whitman,
...through the streets of this and that;
Where the ladies sing the songs
...of tit and tat.
Let me break, not what yonder wilderness wants;
like no bird, beast or flower,
have me not yonder wander far and wide,
since my body is not free:
You have set my soul free, Christ,
You have set my mind free, Wit Man.
Now I am a man of wit;
the other patients laugh at me.
Hi Ho! For I am a busyman,
a businessman, a Wednesday Man;
O Walt Whitman, rock!
I am Wotan on his Saturn trip,
I am Hercules with no soul, no mind.
....I is free!
When I was taken from West to East,
..like my 19th century counterpart
In a motion picture I saw one night,
..I saw all the white people, the same,
Moved from place to place before I arrived.
I could not understand
...how whole cities of white men
had been moved around so quickly.
—And when they come,
the alien race,
to hold us down
and prove us, peace.
Let me tell you about Southern Radio . . .
Oh, the radio. O . . .
............page five
William Blake,
did I perchance call you Walter, wit.
O!
I, and all's I know, flips and flops
on yonder waves
of similar valiant seas.
Oh, William Blake,
O Walter Whitman;
fault!
Come fly with me,
so I can play amongst the stars.
I am so afflight, in this resting room
...after my electro shock,
.that I can't pray for relaxation.
What not could I plead for,
oh, have thou
..........not
weighed
....the
...weighty price
of law.
I not not believe in LAW!
The law is just something someone
made up.
But I have seen such scenes
...that you people will not believe in.
...Like a candle in rain.
My body is a profound burning.
Bushes is holy.
Everything is holy!
........page six
My body is a profound boring;
come what may, oh Contrary.
Mother Contrary!
In yon early evening walks,
hast thou not,
ah, green tree, amphibian!
caught what yonder disease
I call,
...home?
Ye gods,
you call me mad.
But look at you,
Harold Bloom.
I read you in my last English class,
before this whole shithouse went up in flames.
Wallace Stevens,
aught you be deads, too?
...................page seven
Yeats.
I am the great great grandshild o' Crazy Jne.
I dn't the veil trmbl.
All! mine 21th Century life,
I hast not, ah ye thou!
Can I faery, what!
Can that there fisherman catch
yon hindered fish.
Hoot! Hoot!
...OWL said: HOOT!
Forgive them, said somebody in the bible,
they know naught what they do . . .
.......page eight
Oh, I say to you,
in these CAP-ital waste lands
of defeat;
this clandestine
capitolisation of the SAME.
I am a defaeted one,
a cross pulled up from its roots.
No dot cast your win crest wand of success
o'er what failure I tallied up
from my Walt Whitman ghost-
ago-go
whipoorwell, alright.
All right!
I not so!
Sleep not when you think it's time
to sleep;
only when your body
..falls
......otherwise,
sleep alone.
I do!
O! I Do, too!
.............page nine
Now,
Marianne Moore and Hilda Doolittle,
I have seen photographs of you when you were young,
and how I could use those photos now
hung as Genet wallpaper:
Marianne, my flower-girl,
H.D., my smooth stone.
I've spent long in Eve's dark cave,
employed by a raven's minor injunctions.
A tale is told with one hand held firmly
behind your back;
so, please, don't shy away, shy away.
I'm sorry, I was interrupted.
I am the one that troubles yer sleep!
I am the American public undiscipline!
Art not to speak to me of Mammon for I will not hear it!
What they say of me, they say of everything,
so I best not let it bother me.
They say that of all the hypocrites;
blush not, pale reader! As if that
counts for blood.
I am man young and old
with baggy pants and no teeth missing.
Dance, Mr. Bojangles! Dance.
I'm caught up in a whirlwind trip of reason;
I have photos of Marianne Moore and Hilda Doolittle
...from when they were young
hung up in my mind like wallpaper.
I have lots of hang-ups.
Ups and downs.
...........page ten
When I was young!
I was the worst for it!
This is a fascist place
is why I can stay here!
Contrariwise, I break out!
My soul and mind is free.
I am the old man, young;
Artaud, sane; a poet never dies.
I went down to Hades for my Euridices,
but Euridices didn't want me.
I once wrote on golden fleece and Oriented scrolls
when youth was a banquet, and feasts were long and dripped,
lasting long into the St. Petersburg nights.
Before Leningrad spoiled my appetite, and the much lauded
Fuhrer Hitler granted my southern people a bad name.
O, my comrades, men . . . and women, though;
you locked me up henceforth, an old spoiled bugger that doesn't die.
I used to write on golden scrolls of youth, and even
the youth of old age, once.
—Now my poetry is written with blood.
Do you know my Cantos?
................page eleven
I make this pact with you, Walt Whitman.
I harrie forth to be your comrade, too.
You returned as Christ, my Lord, once told:
I, cruel luck, hath never died.
I was one of the lone ones
to become a wolf
when Wolf-bane blooms . . .
when the autumn moon is bright.
I do not think I was one
.that said his prayers by night . . .
I tally forth with you, Walt Whitman;
William Blake of a vulgar age.
They were not ready for our innovations.
So I remain so old.
........page twelve
There we were all in one place,
..a generation lost in space:
I do not think I was one
.that said his prayers by night.
I was born in the '70s:
After the hippies boomed the state to pop culture theatre.
The '80s struggled to arrive at gloss,
the '90s slacked, the '00s struck Nimrodian silver and gold
with the Internet.
That's not what I meant to say:
I was struck foolish when I arrived at the profoundest
conclusion of that line,
so long, long ago.
I'm destined to survive till I find it.
Though having read my fate,
I know I'm destined never to find it.
And they say this is no tragic age.
Everything is pop culture.
When your grandma dies on the 31st of July,
that's pop culture.
I'm not a nihilist;
there's nothing to believe
but I believe in something anyway.
But I am locked in this place . . .
Do you know my poetry?
I am not who I think I am.
I am nobody.
I'm not mad.
walking hand in hand with the Resurrected Christ?
..I'd thought you'd come back,
...like you said you would.
I've been burned by things
like no man has known since the first ever person
..to die of electrocution;
...and I'm not talking about lightning.
No prophet ever dreamt this power of electricity,
..now I've felt it: and—Oh! what a shock!
..........Things unlike it, I have felt,
..........rather.—Walt Whitman,
...did we ever establish that is even you?
...People say I'm mad;
...these days that makes me sound angry;
......no, they say I'm crazy, Walt Whitman:
..........but I am Artaud, sane.
I cannot talk directly to Christ,
so I speak to him through you, dear Walt.
I'm not a shy of pedestery,
...one reason of my madness, per se,
.if it so fits you, dear Walt.
.....Lord knows, I've tried.
Which brings me back to electricity:
..Hey, Immortal Walt, not so immortal,
say, you died. But,
..Walt Whitman has return.
...This must only be the doing of Christ.
................page two
......You set my mind free, Walt Whitman;
......unlike John Lennon did.
.Unlike Catcher in the Rye did for Mike Chapman:
For I, Walt Whitman, sing
..........the body.
...My body, oh!
The mind is a mad thing, not angry.
Let me start again.
You set my mind free, Walt Whitman;
...Mike Chapman translated Homer
...in that poem by Keats,
.in which, Walt Whitman, he made a mistake,
.........do you ever make a mistake?
You set my mind free,
.....................no man has a captain!
....................Oh, but what Christ had done for my soul,
.................you have done for my mind and the mind of my
..................................................................................verse;
......my soul was set free long before I was born
...but thank you for relieving me of my mind,
.....................................and my verse,
O Walt Whitman!
.................page three
This is the part of my story where I say, His story.
I break often, at night, alone.
I break apart inside—my mental landscape
needs to be mowed. Hi Ho!
Let them say what they will;
I have had coitus twice:
once with my great uncle, Sam.
Oh, Sam, I am,
Sam I Come;
And twice, sixpence, and naught,
I made the love man and woman style
with Gretchen from Faust,
can't say I was her first.
But I, mad men, please,
don't spill my ink
or rip my sole and only paper,
please,
it's my one and odd notebook.
Back off!
Too close for comfort.
Let me begin fresh.
When I reached these American shores,
my education long lost at sea,
I was such given some other chores
so that you can't sure recognise me.
How
Ever
Long
People
Might
Endeaovour to hole me here against my will,
my mind is free,
my soul was freed long ago.
So long,
in fact,
I have never experienced what the doctors once said
of soul struggles.
...I don't know what you're talking about.
.........page four
So let us wander, Walt Whitman,
...through the streets of this and that;
Where the ladies sing the songs
...of tit and tat.
Let me break, not what yonder wilderness wants;
like no bird, beast or flower,
have me not yonder wander far and wide,
since my body is not free:
You have set my soul free, Christ,
You have set my mind free, Wit Man.
Now I am a man of wit;
the other patients laugh at me.
Hi Ho! For I am a busyman,
a businessman, a Wednesday Man;
O Walt Whitman, rock!
I am Wotan on his Saturn trip,
I am Hercules with no soul, no mind.
....I is free!
When I was taken from West to East,
..like my 19th century counterpart
In a motion picture I saw one night,
..I saw all the white people, the same,
Moved from place to place before I arrived.
I could not understand
...how whole cities of white men
had been moved around so quickly.
—And when they come,
the alien race,
to hold us down
and prove us, peace.
Let me tell you about Southern Radio . . .
Oh, the radio. O . . .
............page five
William Blake,
did I perchance call you Walter, wit.
O!
I, and all's I know, flips and flops
on yonder waves
of similar valiant seas.
Oh, William Blake,
O Walter Whitman;
fault!
Come fly with me,
so I can play amongst the stars.
I am so afflight, in this resting room
...after my electro shock,
.that I can't pray for relaxation.
What not could I plead for,
oh, have thou
..........not
weighed
....the
...weighty price
of law.
I not not believe in LAW!
The law is just something someone
made up.
But I have seen such scenes
...that you people will not believe in.
...Like a candle in rain.
My body is a profound burning.
Bushes is holy.
Everything is holy!
........page six
My body is a profound boring;
come what may, oh Contrary.
Mother Contrary!
In yon early evening walks,
hast thou not,
ah, green tree, amphibian!
caught what yonder disease
I call,
...home?
Ye gods,
you call me mad.
But look at you,
Harold Bloom.
I read you in my last English class,
before this whole shithouse went up in flames.
Wallace Stevens,
aught you be deads, too?
...................page seven
Yeats.
I am the great great grandshild o' Crazy Jne.
I dn't the veil trmbl.
All! mine 21th Century life,
I hast not, ah ye thou!
Can I faery, what!
Can that there fisherman catch
yon hindered fish.
Hoot! Hoot!
...OWL said: HOOT!
Forgive them, said somebody in the bible,
they know naught what they do . . .
.......page eight
Oh, I say to you,
in these CAP-ital waste lands
of defeat;
this clandestine
capitolisation of the SAME.
I am a defaeted one,
a cross pulled up from its roots.
No dot cast your win crest wand of success
o'er what failure I tallied up
from my Walt Whitman ghost-
ago-go
whipoorwell, alright.
All right!
I not so!
Sleep not when you think it's time
to sleep;
only when your body
..falls
......otherwise,
sleep alone.
I do!
O! I Do, too!
.............page nine
Now,
Marianne Moore and Hilda Doolittle,
I have seen photographs of you when you were young,
and how I could use those photos now
hung as Genet wallpaper:
Marianne, my flower-girl,
H.D., my smooth stone.
I've spent long in Eve's dark cave,
employed by a raven's minor injunctions.
A tale is told with one hand held firmly
behind your back;
so, please, don't shy away, shy away.
I'm sorry, I was interrupted.
I am the one that troubles yer sleep!
I am the American public undiscipline!
Art not to speak to me of Mammon for I will not hear it!
What they say of me, they say of everything,
so I best not let it bother me.
They say that of all the hypocrites;
blush not, pale reader! As if that
counts for blood.
I am man young and old
with baggy pants and no teeth missing.
Dance, Mr. Bojangles! Dance.
I'm caught up in a whirlwind trip of reason;
I have photos of Marianne Moore and Hilda Doolittle
...from when they were young
hung up in my mind like wallpaper.
I have lots of hang-ups.
Ups and downs.
...........page ten
When I was young!
I was the worst for it!
This is a fascist place
is why I can stay here!
Contrariwise, I break out!
My soul and mind is free.
I am the old man, young;
Artaud, sane; a poet never dies.
I went down to Hades for my Euridices,
but Euridices didn't want me.
I once wrote on golden fleece and Oriented scrolls
when youth was a banquet, and feasts were long and dripped,
lasting long into the St. Petersburg nights.
Before Leningrad spoiled my appetite, and the much lauded
Fuhrer Hitler granted my southern people a bad name.
O, my comrades, men . . . and women, though;
you locked me up henceforth, an old spoiled bugger that doesn't die.
I used to write on golden scrolls of youth, and even
the youth of old age, once.
—Now my poetry is written with blood.
Do you know my Cantos?
................page eleven
I make this pact with you, Walt Whitman.
I harrie forth to be your comrade, too.
You returned as Christ, my Lord, once told:
I, cruel luck, hath never died.
I was one of the lone ones
to become a wolf
when Wolf-bane blooms . . .
when the autumn moon is bright.
I do not think I was one
.that said his prayers by night . . .
I tally forth with you, Walt Whitman;
William Blake of a vulgar age.
They were not ready for our innovations.
So I remain so old.
........page twelve
There we were all in one place,
..a generation lost in space:
I do not think I was one
.that said his prayers by night.
I was born in the '70s:
After the hippies boomed the state to pop culture theatre.
The '80s struggled to arrive at gloss,
the '90s slacked, the '00s struck Nimrodian silver and gold
with the Internet.
That's not what I meant to say:
I was struck foolish when I arrived at the profoundest
conclusion of that line,
so long, long ago.
I'm destined to survive till I find it.
Though having read my fate,
I know I'm destined never to find it.
And they say this is no tragic age.
Everything is pop culture.
When your grandma dies on the 31st of July,
that's pop culture.
I'm not a nihilist;
there's nothing to believe
but I believe in something anyway.
But I am locked in this place . . .
Do you know my poetry?
I am not who I think I am.
I am nobody.
I'm not mad.
