Sunday, 25 March 2012

Lawrence Ferlinghetti (b. 24/3/19) - Sometime During Eternity/ Constantly Risking Absurdity.

Mr Ferlinghetti 93 years young, yesterday....... so belated birthday greetings to this beat icon.
A heretic, rebel, civil libertarian, painter , poet , publisher...... who is still writing, painting,plain speaking, travelling widely.
I thank him for  his huge wonderful contribution to the world of literature.
As I post this I realise I am baking, it's a rather balmy , beautiful spring day over here in my little corner, so in a minute, gathering up some of his books and finding a quiet spot somewhere, to bathe a while in some of his thoughts, and enjoy some moments of peace.

Sometime During Eternity

                         Sometime during eternity
                                                              some gus show up
and one of them
                         who shows up real late
                                                            is a kind of carpenter
from some square-type place
                                           like Galilee
 and he starts wailing
                               and claiming he is hip
  to who made heaven
                                 and earth
                                       and that the cat
   who really laid it on us
                            is his Dad
And moreover
  he adds
              It's all writ down
                                     on some scroll-type parchments
which some henchmen
          leave lying around the Dead Sea somewheres
     a long time ago
                           and which you won't even find
for a coupla thousand years or so
                                                  or at least for
       nineteen hundred and fortyseven
                                                      of them
                        to be exact
                                        and even then
     nobody really believes them
                                               or me
                                                        for that matter

    You're hot
     they tell him
     And they cool him
     They stretch him on the Tree to cool
           And everybody after that
                                                 is always making models
                      of this Tree
                                      with Him hung up
and always crooning his name
                                             and calling Him to come down
                            and sit in
                                         on their combo
            as if he is the king cat
                                           who's got to blow
  or they can't quite make it
  Only he don't come down
                                       from His Tree
Him just hang there
                             on His Tree
                                              looking real Petered out
                                 and real cool
                                                   and also
 according to a roundup
                                    of late world news
from the usual unreliable sources
                                                real dead

These are my Rivers
New and Selected Poems 55-93

New Directions Press

Constantly Risking Absurdity

                Constantly risking absurdity
                                                         and death
                         whenever he performs
                                                      above the heads
                                                                            of his audience
     the    poet   like an acrobat
                                                  climbs on rime
                                                    to a high wire of his own making
 and  balancing on eyebeams
                                                       above a sea of faces
                paces his way
                                   to the other side of the day
    performing entrechats
                                and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
                               and all without mistaking
                  any thing
                                for what it may not be
      For he's the super realist
                                       who must perforce percieve
                taut truth
                                      before the taking of each stance or
  in his supposed advance
                                     toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
                                          with gravity
                                                    to start her death-defying
          And he
                    a little charleychaplin man
                                                who may or may not catch
                    her fair external form
                                               spreadeagled in the empty air
                         of   existence

Reprinted from
A Coney Island of the Mind
New Direction Press

Ferlinghetti ' Trailor'

Ferlinghetti by Ferlinghetti



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