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
From
These are my Rivers
New and Selected Poems 55-93
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
step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying
leap
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
