The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan Page 17
Head of lettuce, glass of chocolate milk
“I wonder if people talk about me, secretly?”
Guess I’ll call up Bernadette today, & Dick
The Swedish Policeman in the next room, the Knife
Fighter. Why are my hands shaking? I usually think
Something like The Williamsburg Bridge watching the sun come
Up, wetly round my ears,
Hatless in the white & shining air. Throbbing
Aeroplanes zoom in at us from out there; redder
For what happens there. Yes
It’s a big world,
It has a band-aid on it, & under it
TRUE LOVE,
in a manner of speaking.
Poem
of morning, Iowa City, blue
gray & green out the window . . .
A mountain, blotchy pink & white
is rising, breathing, smoke
Now, lumbering, an Elephant, on
crutches, is sailing; down
Capitol, down Court, across
Madison & down College, cold
clear air
pouring in
Now those crutches
are being tossed aside; the
Elephant is beginning to rise
into the warm regulated air
of another altitude
That air is you, your breathing
Thanks for it, & thanks a lot
for Pasternak: The Poems of Yurii Zhivago
& Mayakovsky: Poems.
They were great.
Now it’s me.
Train Ride
FEBRUARY 18TH, 1971
FOR JOE
Here comes the Man!
He’s talking a lot.
New York to Providence
&
I’ve got a ticket to ride!
SMOKING PERMITTED
The seats are blue
I’m sitting with MYSELF
A long naked pair of legs,
about 17 yrs old
stare at me
across the linoleum
aisle
I’m a mild Sex Fiend!
But you can’t fuck
here
& what could you say
to smooth 17 year old
faces?
NOTHING!!
So, they lose out.
What can you say
at all?
NOTHING
However, it’s easy to keep
talking
if
it’s what you do. . . .
MEN WOMEN
SPEED
What I like is
ASTERISKS
They’re so
Bold, confident, like you
have a plan, you’re in
control, you’ll be back
in a minute.
“Man, you’ve got to do
something about that handwriting!
It’s Terrible!”
Lorenzo Thomas
Said That
to me
in 1962.
I didn’t.
It’s ME.
Now I read a sex book
from the Library of
JIMMY SCHUYLER.
“He loves ’em.”
(JOE BRAINARD)
Out the Window
is
Out to Lunch!!
Some people one should only
fuck once.
Others one should not fuck
at all unless there is an
affair.
Then there are those one should
not fuck, under almost any
circumstances (tho lapses are
forgiveable)
Let me see: I’ve fucked in
Rhode Island
Maine
Vermont
New York
Florida
Texas
Oklahoma
New Mexico
Colorado
California
Michigan
Iowa
Pennsylvania
Kansas
Connecticut
Japan
&
Korea
And
In beds
On floors
In Bathrooms at Parties
In Hallways
In Cars
On Rooftops
Window-Sills
&
At a bus Stop
Never did fuck any boys
(I think)
or
get fucked by any
Tho a few blow-jobs
for curiosity
or
because someone really
wanted to.
Oops! Add
“In Life-raft
on Lake”
Always wanted to fuck in Air-Planes
& On Trains
Maybe later
I sort of hate to be on the
Make
Like to have some-one
on the Make
for me
&
then
Take Over
Last time I counted I think
It was about
50
The number of people,
I mean
Only about 10 were once.
No, maybe 15.
& that’s counting
Japan
&
Korea
Many of them, those girls,
& me,
we still do it when we
get a chance.
One, at least, is dead.
I wish one that’s alive
were here.
Or Anne,
who is
dead.
I’m sure she’d love to fuck
on a train
Remember the night we did
it in your house,
Joe?
(Me and Anne, that is)
It was Nice
I guess I’d fuck anyone
who thinks I’m
terrific!
Tho you never can
tell.
“All I really want to do is
have my back
rubbed.”
—Anne Waldman
I just remembered:
Add: ENGLAND
Now we’re passing thru
NEW LONDON
Sailors are probably
fucking each other
here
right now.
“I’m laying there, & some
guy comes up &
hits me with
a Billy Club!”
—The fat guy across the aisle
just said
that.
Once, while a girl was giving me
a glorious blow-job behind a curtain,
my room-mate, across the room, was studying
CALCULUS!
(Tony Powers was
the room-mate)
Once a girl & I got into an automobile
accident
in her car, so
we decided to fuck
(later)
Once I tried to fuck a little girl
8 years old, when I was also 8 years old,
but I don’t think I knew how.
I can’t quite
remember.
The long legs just got up
& got off
(New London)
Now I’ll read this queer sex book
some more.
It says,
“Jean Cocteau had no heart.”
That’s strange.
I think he probably did.
I probably have one, so
Cocteau probably had one.
Right?
Right.
This book seems to have 1,000,000 pages.
No one can think about Fucking
for that long.
I may have to turn back
into
my “well-rounded self”
in order to finish.
My “well-rounded self”
is not always
interesting,
but does manage
to get through.
Now, we ride across the river,
and past auto-parts
made of NEON.
I just saw a blue
electric
A
which I thought
at first
was a beautiful evening slipper.
This is a blue train-ride.
I don’t feel blue, but
I can see it.
A man name of
Lloyd Calvin Shippey
is sitting
next to me.
He says, “Who are you
supposed to be
in that hair?”
I say, “Uh, Ted Berrigan.”
He says, “I thought,
Ben Franklin!”
I forget about him, so
he is no longer there.
Nor here.
This queer sex book is not
very dirty.
Not even very queer.
Not even here,
Now.
I am dead; and I am now in
The After-life. Here you do
just what you do in Life, but
it’s never quite real, nor fun.
It isn’t boring tho, but it is
sort of pointless.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been
dead, but I’d say it is since about
1962.
Once in a while I’m alive for a few minutes
. . . . . . probably just dreams
or very real deja-vus.
Maybe it’s age, & you come alive
in a different way maybe next
year, or some time.
It isn’t any big thing,
anyway.
I mean, you can’t go around
worrying about it.
I do nothing for a while,
&
I don’t remember
what nothing.
Maybe I will fuck
this trip.
She’s in Boston.
I would like to be elected a SENATOR.
I don’t think I’m suited
for any other job, &
I think my poetry
would be exciting to write
if I were a
Senator.
I’d be a terrific Senator
because I’d love it.
I really like to be alone, if
I don’t have to be.
I like to come & go.
What I don’t like is how money is involved
in everything.
I like to give people
money.
I hate to be given money. It’s embarrassing!
I do like
to get money in the mail.
& I like to get paid lots of money
for doing something like reading, talking, or
publishing.
How come I can’t get paid
just for writing?
I do like to get presents
spontaneously given,
or just for me.
But it’s socially awkward that
some people for almost no reason
have money, & some don’t.
Anyway, money is
very perplexing,
& I don’t understand it.
I like Credit Cards.
Alas, I can’t pay the bills,
but I always spend with the Credit Card
in a terrific way!!
I take people to terrific
Restaurants!
I go to England!
I buy somebody their
return ticket, because they’re
broke.
I buy a couple of terrific
shirts.
& a pair of pants.
I rent a car & drive it to Wales, & Liverpool,
with
Lewis Warsh,
on Acid!
I bump into other
cars!!
I buy a de Kooning!
I buy the NY Times, &
do the Crossword Puzzle
I buy some money & give it to
my Mother
so she won’t worry!
She only needs $300 to make
her Summer Worry-free.
I buy lots of pills
&
I give you
lots of pills.
I even get to shop, on Carnaby Street,
in a Children’s Boutique
for terrific boots & cowboy jackets
for David!
& sharp clothes for
Kate!
I buy a train ticket
to SING-SING
I rent a cell for 20
Years,
because
I don’t pay my bills!
Then I write terrific Prison Poems,
& get lots of mail!
Then I don’t know what I
do then.
You don’t get to fuck much, in
SING-SING,
if you’re straight.
I don’t know how I got
to be straight,
since I didn’t try
for it.
I’m sure it’s just like being queer,
only different.
For example, Edwin is
the straightest person I
know,
& he’s been queer forever.
while Rudy is just like
Edwin,
& he’s straight.
Queer is a pretty queer
word.
“I’m a queer.”
Ha-ha!
How about
“I’m a straight.”
Unbelievable!
“I’m an American.”
O.K.
“I’m a Christian.”
Yes, I suppose
you must be.
“I’m a Poet.”
That must be an
interesting job.
“I’m a pill-addict.”
You are?
“I’m a grown-up, now.”
Ha-ha.
“I’m a father.”
That’s good.
“I’m a long-haired Weirdo.”
You seem perfectly normal
to me.
“I’m a great guy.”
Well, you are in a manner
of speaking.
“I’m a fucking monster!”
“I’m part elephant, Part Tiger, part
Nag, Part bore.”
You might say that.
“I’m an ordinary person.”
Yes you are.
“I’m a passenger.”
That’s absolutely true.
Now, tell me about You?
(this space for you
to do so)
& this
& this
That’s enough.
Now what shall we talk
about?
We could
bitch all our mutual
friends!!
Good Idea,
as we pull into
Providence,
R. I.
OUR FRIENDS
Ron: the tight-ass
Dick: the insignificant
Pat: the dowdy old lady
Anne: the superficial
sentimentalist
Bill: the spoiled snoot
Kenward: the Elephant with
the soul of a Butterfly &
the temper of a Scorpion.
George: the bad painter
Michael: the Self Important
Fuss-budget
The grotesque John Ashbery of
the bad character
The silly boring Kenneth Koch
The frumpy Jane Freilicher
The Pain-in-the-Ass Larry
Fagin
The whining Jim Carroll
&
nbsp; The Snake in the grass Lewis Warsh
The slick easy poet,
Tom Clark
Jimmy Schuyler who has no stamina
The Asinine baby Tom Veitch
etc.
etc.
(Now You do some)
Yes, but what about us?
The Insufferable
Ted Berrigan:
He’s so fucking
Heavy!
What a tiresome
person!
So Presumptuous!
Self-Important!
Repetitious!
Never Shuts Up!
Too fucking Bossy!
Who does he think he is???
Fat-Ass!
Those Teeth!
Mean to his wife!!
Boring Poet!!
Who Cares!!
Why doesn’t he run for Pope
& get it over with!!
He thinks he knows
it All!!
etc.
etc.
& That Joe Brainard!!
He likes the boring Supremes!
Why doesn’t he be great,
like de Kooning?
Why doesn’t he button
that shirt?
Cook?
Be poor again & do great
Masterpieces?
Stop Tom-catting
around?
He makes everyone Nervous!!
He dresses funny!!
His apartment is weird!!
He’s compulsive!