Bomb

Bomb ~ by Gregory Corso, 1958

 

Budger of history       Break of time       You       Bomb

Toy of universe       Grandest of all snatch-ed sky       I cannot hate you

Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt       the jawbone of an ass

The bumpy club of One million B.C.       the mace       the flail       the axe

Catapult Da Vinci      tomahawk Cochise       flintlock Kidd       dagger Rathbone

Ah and the sad desperate gun of Verlaine       Pushkin       Dillinger       Bogart

And hath not St. Michael a burning sword       St. George a lance       David a sling

Bomb       you are not as cruel as man makes you       and you’re erueller than cancer

All man hates you       they’d rather die by car crash       lightning       drowning

Falling off a roof       electric-chair       heart-attack       old age       old age       O Bomb

They’d rather    die   by  anything  but you       Death’s finger is free lance

Not up to man whether you boom or not       Death has long since distributed its

categorical blue       I sing thee bomb       Death’s extravagance       Death’s jubilee

Gem of death’s supremest blue       The flyer will crash       his death will differ

with the climber who’ll fall       To die by cobra is not to do by bad pork

Some die by swamp       some by sea       and some by the bushy-haired man in the night

O there are like Witches of Arc        Scare-y deaths like Boris Karloff

No-feeling deaths like birth-death     sadless deaths like old pain Bowery

Abandoned deaths       like Capital Punishment       stately deaths, like senators

And unthinkable deaths like Harp Marx       girls on Vogue covers       my own

I do not know just how horrible Bomb-death is       I can only imagine

Yet no other death I know has so laughable a preview       I scope

a city       New York City       streaming       stark-eyed       subway shelter

Scores and scores       A fumble of humanity       High heels bend

Hats whelming away       Youth forgetting their combs

Ladies and knowing what to do       with their shopping bags

Unperturbed gum machines       Yet dangerous 3rd rail

Ritz Brothers      from the Bronx      caught in the A train

The smiling Schenley poster will always smile

Impish Death       Satyr Bomb       Bombdeath

Turtles exploding over Istanbul

The jaguar’s flying font

soon to sink in arctic snow

Penguins plunged against the Sphinx

The top of the Empire State

arrowed in a broccoli field in Sicily

Eiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia Gardens

St. Sophia peeling over Sudan

O athletic Death       Sportive Bomb

The temples of ancient times

their grand ruin erased

Electrons       Protons       Neutrons

gathering Hesperean hair

walking the dolorous gulf of Already

joining marble helmsmen

entering the final ampitheater

with a hymnody feeling of all Troys

heralding cypressean torches

racing plumes and banners

and yet knowing Homer with a step of grace

Lo the visiting team of Present

the home team of Past

Lyre and tuba together joined

Hark the hotdog soda olive grape

gala galaxy robbed and uniformed

commissary      O the happy stands

Ethereal root and cheer and boo

The billioned all-time attendance

the Zeusian pandemonium

Hermes racing Owens

the Spitball of Buddha

Christ striking out

Luther stealing third

Planetarium Death       Hosannah Bomb

Gush the final rose       O Spring bomb…

Come with thy gown of dynamite green

unmenace Nature’s inviolate eye

Before you the wimpled Past

behind you the hallooing Future       O Bomb

Bound in the grassy clarion air

like the fox of the tally-ho

thy field the universe thy hedge the geo

Leap Bomb       bound Bomb       frolic zig and zag

The stairs a swarm of bees in thy binging bag

Stick angels on your jubilee feet

wheels of rainlight on your bunky seat

You are due and behold you are due

and the heavens are with you

hosannah incalescent glorious liaison

BOMB o havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOM

 

 

To be Cont’d…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“For Amiri Baraka”

 ~ written by Diane Di Prima, January 10, 2014

 

amiri-baraka-290
Holding their daughter

 

don’ matter was it

yr left foot went bad

or yr right

don’ matter yr lungs

or yr heart

don’ matter if that

mass

on yr liver was

malignant

or what’s been wrong

so long

w/yr kidneys

don’t matter

drugs

or herbs

or acupuncture

or why you didn’t

go

to those appointments

don’t matter how much you drank

or if you drank

don’t matter you did or you didn’t

take drugs

meaning meds

or take drugs

meaning drugs

what matters now

what matters &

what’s gonna matter

a hundred

a thousand years

what matters when

what we wrote

what we thought

is lost

(& don’t kid yourself,

Ginsberg

it’s all of it

gonna be lost)

what matters:

every place

you read

every line

you wrote

every dog-eared book

or pamphlet

on somebody’s shelf

every skinny hopeful kid

you grinned that grin at

while they said

they thought they could write

they thought they could fight

they knew for sure

they could change the world

every human dream

you heard

or inspired

after the book-signing

after the reading

after one more

unspeakable

faculty dinner

after that god-awful flight

& the drive to the school

what matters:

the memory

of the poem

in thousands of minds

that quantum

of energy

passed over

passed

all the way over

to the other

to thousands

of others

what matters

Revolution

what matters

Revelation

what matters

the poem

taking root in

thousands

of minds …