Num acto plenamente tresloucado, resolvi prometer uma apresentação da Beat generation para alunos de secundário.
Do outro lado da minha conversa recebi um sorriso de genuíno espanto de quem me respondeu: Já estive na City Lights (olhar nostálgico que foi progressivamente evoluindo para um tremendo vazio profundo apenas quebrado por nova vaga de palavras ) Se acha que consegue, então força. Haja quem acredite nisso.
Ao ouvir estas últimas palavras e ainda amedrontado pela profundeza do vazio, regressei plenamente desmoralizado ao meu pouco sombrio local de trabalho.
É então que, depois de muito chá e profundas golfadas de ar puro nos meus pulmões, recuperei o optimismo e entusiasmo inicial.
Mas como?, perguntar-se-ão. Será possível?
Diga-me o leitor:


I Am 25

With a love a madness for Shelley
Chatterton Rimbaudand the needy-yap of my youth
has gone from ear to ear:
I HATE OLD POETMEN!
Especially old poetmen who retract
who consult other old poetmen
who speak their youth in whispers,saying:-
-I did those then
but that was then
that was then-
-O I would quiet old mensay to them:-
-I am your friend
what you once were, thru me
you'll be again-
-Then at night in the confidence of their homes
rip out their apology-tongues
and steal their poems.

Gregory Corso

também por causa deste:


Bowery Blues

The story of man
Makes me sick
Inside,
outside,
I don't know why
Something so conditional
And all talk
Should hurt me so.
I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I don't know
Where to turn
In the Void
And when
To cutOut
For no Church told me
No Guru holds me
No advice
Just stone
Of New York
And on the cafeteria
We hear
The saxophone
O dead Ruby
Died of Shot
In Thirty Two,
Sounding like old times
And de bombed
Empty decapitated
Murder by the clock.
And I see Shadows
Dancing into Doom
In love, holding
Tight the lovely asses
Of the little girls
In love with sex
Showing themselves
In white undergarments
At elevated windows
Hoping for the Worst.
I can't take it
Anymore
If I can't hold
My little behind
To me in my room
Then it's goodbye
Sangsara
For me
Besides
Girls aren't as good
As they look
And Samad
hiIs better
Than you think
When it starts in
Hitting your head
In with Buzz
Of glitter
gold
Heaven's AngelsWailing
Saying
We've been waiting for you
Since Morning, Jack
Why were you so long
Dallying in the sooty room?
This transcendental Brilliance
Is the better part
(of Nothingness
I sing) Okay.
Quit.
Mad.
Stop.

Jack Kerouac

Etiquetas: Poesia