我领悟了草坪，我领悟了山坡，我领悟了高速公路群，
我领悟了泥路，我领悟了在停车场路上的汽车，
我领悟了售票员，我领悟了现金和支票以及卡片，
我领悟了公共汽车群，我领悟了哀悼者，我领悟了他们
的穿红色连衣裙的孩子们，
我领悟了高速公路，领悟了别墅，领悟了旗帜…
领悟了信徒们，领悟了他们的卡车和面包车，领悟了穿
着卡其布制服的保卫员
我领悟了人群，领悟了有薄雾的天空，领悟了所有的弥
漫着的笑容和虚无的眼睛
我领悟了枕头，着着红色与籄E色的，方的枕头和圆的……
我领悟了拱门，领悟了弓，领悟了男人和女人的游行，领
悟了前进，领悟了风笛，领悟了鼓、喇叭，领悟了
高的头饰和番红的长袍，领悟了整套西装……
我领悟了花骄，领悟了雨伞，领悟了塔
领悟了绘制过的手饰，四个方向的颜色
领悟了代表慷慨大方的琥珀色，领悟了代表因果报应规
律的绿色，
领悟了代表佛祖的白色，领悟了代表心的红色……
我领悟了塔上的十三个世界，领悟了铃把和伞，领悟了
空心的铃
领悟了那将装入铃心的尸体
领悟了那些正在吟唱着的僧侣，喇叭在我们的耳朵里，烟
雾从防火砖的空心铃的头上升起
领悟了人群的沉默，领悟了智利的诗人，领悟了彩虹，
我领悟了死了的印度教首领，我领悟了他裸体胸部的老
师在看着一个在塔内燃烧的尸体，领悟了哀悼的学生
在他们的书前盘腿地坐，诵唱着忠诚的经，
我领悟了用他们的手指表现着的神秘的手势，领悟了在
他们手中的铃和铜的闪电
我领悟了从旗和电线和伞和漆着枯黄之柱子上升起的火焰
我领悟了天空，领悟了太阳，围绕着太阳的彩虹
我领悟了薄雾之云过这太阳……
我领悟了自己心灵的跳动，我的呼吸穿过着我的鼻孔
我的脚走着，我的眼看着，我的脑子领悟着从被尸体燃
烧的纪念碑上升起的烟雾
我领悟了下山的小路，我领悟了向公共汽车移动着的人群
我领悟了食品，莴苣沙拉，我领悟了老师缺席了，
我领悟了我的朋友们，我领悟了我们的瑞典汽车蓝色的，
我领悟了一个抓住我手的年青小伙子
我领悟了我们的在汽车旅馆门锁里的钥匙，我领悟了黑
暗，我领悟了一个梦，就忘了
我领悟了在早餐上的桔子和柠檬和鱼子酱，
我领悟了高速公路，我的疲倦，我的关于作业的观念，小
伙子的在微风中的有乳头的胸部
当汽车开下山迫穿过绿色的树林驶向水，
我领悟了屋群，晒台眺望着有薄雾的地平线，海岸和老
化的石头在沙子中
我领悟了海，我领悟了音乐，我想跳舞。

1987年5月23日

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by 

madness, starving hysterical naked, 

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn 

looking for an angry fix, 

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly 

connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, 

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat 

up smoking in the supernatural darkness of 

cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities 

contemplating jazz, 

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and 

saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, 

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes 

hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy 

among the scholars of war, 

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & 

publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, 

burning their money in wastebaskets and listening 

to the Terror through the wall, 

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through 

Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, 

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in 

Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their 

torsos night after night 

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares,

alcohol and cock and endless balls, 

incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and 

lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,

illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, 

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery 

dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, 

storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon 

blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree 

vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,

ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, 

who chained themselves to subways for the endless 

ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine 

until the noise of wheels and children brought 

them down shuddering mouth-wracked and 

battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance 

in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's 

floated out and sat through the stale beer after

noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack 

of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, 

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to 

pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, 

lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping 

down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills 

off Empire State out of the moon, 

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts 

and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks 

and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, 

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days 

and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the 

Synagogue cast on the pavement, 

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a 

trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, 

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-ings and 

migraines of China under junk-with-drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room, 

who wandered around and around at midnight in the 

railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, 

leaving no broken hearts, 

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing 

through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-father night, 

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy 

and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively 

vibrated at their feet in Kansas, 

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary 

indian angels who were visionary indian angels, 

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore 

gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, 

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight street

light smalltown rain, 

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston 

seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the 

brilliant Spaniard to converse about America 

and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, 

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving 

behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees 

and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, 

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the 

F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist 

eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, 

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting 

the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, 

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union 

Square weeping and undressing while the sirens 

of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed 

down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, 

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked 

and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, 

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight 

in policecars for committing no crime but their 

own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, 

who howled on their knees in the subway and were 

dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, 

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly 

motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, 

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, 

the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, 

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose

gardens and the grass of public parks and 

cemeteries scattering their semen freely to 

whomever come who may, 

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up 

with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath 

when the blond & naked angel came to pierce 

them with a sword, 

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate 

the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar 

the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb 

and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but 

sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden 

threads of the craftsman's loom, 

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of 

beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along 

the floor and down the hall and ended fainting 

on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and 

come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, 

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling 

in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning 

but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun

rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, 

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad 

stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these 

poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy 

to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls 

in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' 

 rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with 

gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station 

solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, 

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in 

dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and 

picked themselves up out of basements hung

over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third 

Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, 

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on 

the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the 

East River to open to a room full of steamheat and opium, 

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment 

cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime 

blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall 

be crowned with laurel in oblivion, 

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested 

the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, 

who wept at the romance of the streets with their 

pushcarts full of onions and bad music, 

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the 

bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, 

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned 

with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded 

by orange crates of theology, 

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty 

incantations which in the yellow morning were 

stanzas of gibberish, 

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht 

& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, 

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, 

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot 

for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks 

fell on their heads every day for the next decade, 

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique 

stores where they thought they were growing 

old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits 

on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse 

& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments 

of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the 

fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the 

drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, 

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten 

into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley

ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, 

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of 

the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, 

cried all over the street, 

danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed 

phonograph records of nostalgic European 

1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and 

threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans 

in their ears and the blast of colossal steam whistles, 

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying 

to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude 

watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, 

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out 

if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had 

a vision to find out Eternity, 

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who 

came back to Denver & waited in vain, who 

watched over Denver & brooded & loned in 

Denver and finally went away to find out the 

Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying 

for each other's salvation and light and breasts, 

until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, 

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for 

impossible criminals with golden heads and the 

charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet 

blues to Alcatraz, 

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky 

Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys 

or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or 

Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the 

daisychain or grave, 

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp

notism & were left with their insanity & their 

hands & a hung jury, 

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism 

and subsequently presented themselves on the 

granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads 

and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, 

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin 

Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational 

therapy pingpong & amnesia, 

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic 

pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of 

blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad

man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, 

Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid 

halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, 

rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench 

dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, 

bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, 

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book 

flung out of the tenement window, and the last 

door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone 

slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room 

emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, 

a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, 

and even that imaginary, 

nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and 

now you're really in the total animal soup of time

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed 

with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use 

of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space 

through images juxtaposed, and trapped the 

archangel of the soul between 2 visual images 

and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun 

and dash of consciousness together jumping 

with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus 

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human 

prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent 

and shaking with shame, 

rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm 

of thought in his naked and endless head, 

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, 

yet putting down here what might be left to say 

in time come after death, 

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in 

the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the 

suffering of America's naked mind for love into 

an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone 

cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio 

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered 

out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open 

their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? 

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob

tainable dollars! Children screaming under the 

stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men 

weeping in the parks! 

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the 

loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy 

judger of men! 

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the 

crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of 

sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! 

Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! 

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose 

blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers 

are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! 

Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! 

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! 

Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long 

streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories 

dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose 

smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch 

whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch 

whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch 

whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! 

Moloch whose name is the Mind! 

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream 

Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in 

Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! 

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom 

I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch 

who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! 

Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! 

Light streaming out of the sky! 

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! 

skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic 

industries! spectral nations! invincible mad 

houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! 

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave-

ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to 

Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! 

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! 

gone down the American river! 

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole 

boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! 

gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! 

Ten years' animal screams and suicides! 

Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on 

the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the 

wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! 

They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! 

carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland 

where you're madder than I am 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you must feel very strange 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you imitate the shade of my mother 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you've murdered your twelve secretaries 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you laugh at this invisible humor 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where your condition has become serious and 

is reported on the radio 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit 

the worms of the senses 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the 

spinsters of Utica 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the 

harpies of the Bronx 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you scream in a straightjacket that you're 

losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul 

is innocent and immortal it should never die 

ungodly in an armed madhouse 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where fifty more shocks will never return your 

soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a 

cross in the void 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and 

plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the 

fascist national Golgotha 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where you will split the heavens of Long Island 

and resurrect your living human Jesus from the 

superhuman tomb 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com-

rades all together singing the final stanzas of 

the Internationale 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where we hug and kiss the United States under 

our bedsheets the United States that coughs all 

night and won't let us sleep 

I'm with you in Rockland 

where we wake up electrified out of the coma 

by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the 

roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the 

hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse 

O skinny legions run outside O starry

spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is 

here O victory forget your underwear we're free 

I'm with you in Rockland 

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-

journey on the highway across America in tears 

to the door of my cottage in the Western night

【注释】

嚎叫：原诗分三部，这里译载了第一部，并作了些删节。标点分行按原诗排照（译者）。
希普斯特：美国存在主义者的一种称号。
仙人掌素，苯甲胺：均为幻觉剂。
普罗提纳斯：埃及新柏拉图主义哲学家（公元205-270）。
坡：美国诗人、小说家（1809-1849）。诗风神秘怪诞，首创推理小说，现代派文学远祖之一。
圣约翰：西班牙神学博士、著名抒情诗人（1542-1591）。曾因改革神学而惨遭迫害，其诗作以抒情和神秘为特色。
阿尔卡特拉兹：一所联邦监狱。
普鲁士：哀怨的爵士歌曲。

"Howl" is a poem written by Allen Ginsberg in 1955 and published as part of his 1956 collection of poetry titled Howl and Other Poems. The poem is considered to be one of the great works of the Beat Generation, along with Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (1957) and William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch (1959). "Howl" was written as a performance piece and later published by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti of City Lights Books. Upon its release, Ferlinghetti and the bookstore's manager, Shigeyoshi Murao, were charged with disseminating obscene literature, and both were arrested. On October 3, 1957, Judge Clayton W. Horn ruled that the poem was not obscene, and "Howl" went on to become the most popular poem of the Beat Generation.

美国，我已经将一切交给你，现在我一无所有。
 
美国，两块两毛七分，1956年1月17日
 
我无法忍受我自己的思想。
 
美国，我们几时才能结束这人类的战争？
 
去你*，你那原子弹
 
我不舒服，别惹我
 
我非到脑子正常了无法写诗，
 
美国，你什么时候能象天使一样？
 
你什么时候剥去你的衣裳？
 
你什么时候透过坟墓看你自己？
 
你什么时候才对得起你那百万托派分子？
 
美国，为什么你的图书馆充满了眼泪？
 
美国，你什么时候将鸡蛋送往印度？
 
我厌倦你那疯狂的要求
 
什么时候我能到超级市场
 
凭我的美貌来买我的必需品？
 
归根结底，美国，是你和我美好，而非来生
 
你的机械太过分了．我无法接受
 
你使我想当一个圣人
 
总该有些什么别的方法解决这场争论
 
波锐斯在坦泽尔．我想他不会回来
 
这是阴暗的，你是否阴暗，还是这是一种具体的玩笑？
 
我想说到点子上
 
我拒绝放弃我的顽念
 
美国别强迫我，我知道该干什么
 
美国，梅花落了
 
我几个月都不读报了，每天有人因谋杀罪受审
 
美国，我对华伯莱斯抱有感伤的感情
 
美国，当我是个孩子时我曾是*
 
我不后悔。
 
我一有机会就吸大麻叶
 
我一连几天在屋里静坐．瞧看壁橱中的玫瑰
 
当我去唐人街时我喝得大醉．但从不去睡觉。
 
我相信就会发生麻倾
 
你应当看看我念马克思
 
我的心理医生相信我一切正常
 
我拒绝祈祷
 
我有神秘的幻觉和宇宙的震波
 
美国．我还没有告诉你，马格斯叔叔
 
从俄国回来后，你怎样对待他
 

我是向你说话．
 
你是想让时代杂志控制你的感情生活吧
 
我被时代杂志控制着
 
我每周都在读它
 
每次我悄悄走过街角的糖果铺
 
时代杂志的封面总在瞪着我
 
我在伯克菜公共图书馆的地下室读它
 
它总向我说责任。买卖人是严肃的
 
电影商是严肃的，人人，除了我，是严肃的。
 
它使我想到我是美国
 
我又对自己喃喃自语了。
 
亚洲起来反对我，
 
我没有一个中国人那样的机会。
 
我最好考虑自己民族的资源
 
我的民族资源包括两家大麻烟馆，几百万
 
生殖器官，一部未出版的私人作品，它
 
每小时传播一千四百迈，
 
和两万五千个神经病院
 
我还没有提我的监狱和几百万受歧视的人们
 
他们活在我的花盆里在五百个太阳的照耀下，
 
我废除了法国的妓院，下一个是但泽尔
 
我的志愿是要当总统，虽说我是天主教徒
 

美国，在你这傻瓜情调中我怎能写一曲神圣祷歌
 
我将继续下去 亨利福特我的诗节是有特性的
 
正象他的汽车，更甚者，它们有不同的性别
 
美国我把诗节卖结你，一节2500元，将你
 
的老诗节减价500元，
 
美国释放了汤姆，慕尼
 
美国解救了西班牙的忠诚党
 
美国沙可与范参替不能死，
 
美国我是斯葛斯郡的孩子们
 
美国，当我七岁时，妈妈带我去*的
 
密室会议，他们卖给我们毛豆
 
一张票一把毛豆
 
一张 一分镍币
 
讲演白听，人人象天使一样
 
人人对工人怀着深情
 
一切如比真诚
 
你不知在1835党有多好
 
期葛德尼林是一个了不起的好老人
 
一个真正的负责明理的人
 
布鲁尔妈妈让我落泪
 
我一次清楚看到以色列阿姆特
 
大概每个人那是一个间谍
 
美国，你不会真的想打仗
 
美国，这都怪那坏俄国人
 
那些俄国人，那些俄国人，还有中国人
 
俄国要把我们活吞，俄国是权力狂，
 
她要将我们的汽车从车库枪走
 
她要抢走芝加哥，她需要一个红色的
 
读者文摘
 
她要我们的汽车厂在西伯利亚
 
她的大官僚主义统治我们的加油站
 
这可不好，哦，她让印第安人学会识字
 
她需要黑人大个子，哦，她让我们人人每
 
天工作十六小时，救命啊
 
美国，这可是件严重的事
 
美国，这是我看电视时所得到的印象
 
美团，这些是真的吗？
 
我最好立刻处理这件事，
 
我确实不愿去参军，或在精密零件工厂开
 
车床，我近视，而且心理有病
 
美国，我是将我的古怪的肩膀靠在轮子上。

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.

America two dollars and twentyseven cents January

17, 1956.

I can't stand my own mind.

America when will we end the human war?

Go * yourself with your atom bomb.

I don't feel good don't bother me.

I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.

America when will you be angelic?

When will you take off your clothes?

When will you look at yourself through the grave?

When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?

America why are your libraries full of tears?

America when will you send your eggs to India?

I'm sick of your insane demands.

When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I

need with my good looks?

America after all it is you and I who are perfect not

the next world.

Your machinery is too much for me.

You made me want to be a saint.

There must be some other way to settle this argument.

Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back

it's sinister.

Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical

joke?

I'm trying to come to the point.

I refuse to give up my obsession.

America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.

America the plum blossoms are falling.

I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday

somebody goes on trial for murder.

America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.

America I used to be a communist when I was a kid

I'm not sorry.

I smoke marijuana every chance I get.

I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses

in the closet.

When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.

My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.

You should have seen me reading Marx.

My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.

I won't say the Lord's Prayer.

I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.

America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle

Max after he came over from Russia.
 

I'm addressing you.

Are you going to let your emotional life be run by

Time Magazine?

I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.

I read it every week.

Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner

candystore.

I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.

It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-

men are serious. Movie producers are serious.

Everybody's serious but me.

It occurs to me that I am America.

I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.

I haven't got a chinaman's chance.

I'd better consider my national resources.

My national resources consist of two joints of

marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable

private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour

and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.

I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of

underprivileged who live in my flowerpots

under the light of five hundred suns.

I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers

is the next to go.

My ambition is to be President despite the fact that

I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly

mood?

I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as

individual as his automobiles more so they're

all different *es.

America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500

down on your old strophe

America free Tom Mooney

America save the Spanish Loyalists

America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die

America I am the Scottsboro boys.

America when I was seven momma took me to Com-

munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a

handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the

speeches were free everybody was angelic and

sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-

cere you have no idea what a good thing the

party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand

old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me

cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody

must have been a spy.

America you don't really want to go to war.

America it's them bad Russians.

Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.

And them Russians.

The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power

mad. She wants to take our cars from out our

garages.

Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'

Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.

Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-

tions.

That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.

Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us

all work sixteen hours a day. Help.

America this is quite serious.

America this is the impression I get from looking in

the television set.

America is this correct?

I'd better get right down to the job.

It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes

in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and

psychopathic anyway.

America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

当我死后，
 
我不在乎我的尸体如何被处置，
 
把骨灰抛向天空，一部分扔向东河，
 
把骨灰瓮埋在新泽西州伊丽莎伯布莱犹太人墓地。
 
不过，我希望举行一次盛大的葬礼
 
在圣帕特里克教堂，圣马克教堂，以及曼哈顿最大的犹太教堂，
 
出席者首先是我的家人，我哥哥，侄子外甥，９６岁高龄的继母埃迪丝精力仍充沛，
 
还有亨妮姨妈，从纽瓦克赶来
 
还有乔依医生，堂弟朱迪，哥哥尤金，他一只耳聋，一只眼失明。
 
嫂子布隆德康尼，还有五个侄子，继母方面的兄弟姐妹以及他们的孙儿女，
 
我的伴侣彼得奥洛夫斯基，管家人罗森塔尔以及赫尔，比尔莫金
 
然后，是我的宗师金刚大师宗喀巴的灵魂，格勒克活佛，萨康雍法师
 
某喇嘛的紧急悼念信，他正巧来美国访问，还有萨齐担南塔斯瓦米
 
希瓦南塔，德霍拉哈瓦巴巴，喀玛巴十六世，降魔法师ｋａｔａｇｉｖｉ以及铃木罗什的幻影
 
贝克，华伦，戴多路里，翁，已经老迈，白发苍苍的卡普洛罗希以及圆彻喇嘛，
 
当然最重要的有我半世纪以来所有热爱过的人，
 
数十个，上百，也许还要更多，那些老伙计们头已经光秃，而满头浓发
 
的年轻人不久前还在床上赤裸相遇，这么多人相互聚会真不胜惊异，口若悬河，
 
亲切无拘无束，勾起无限回忆，
 
“他教我冥思，这不，我现在可是一个老资格闭门一千天的冥思者……”
 
“我总爱在地铁站台上弹奏乐器，我很直率爱他他也爱我。”
 
“我们躺在一起盖着被聊天，读我的诗，拥抱亲吻。”
 
“我常常穿着内衣上了他的床，次日早晨我的内衣裤全都扔在地板上。”
 
“我们整夜谈论着克鲁亚克和卡塞迪，不睡觉坐在他的大床上像佛陀。”
 
“他似乎需要更多的爱，真惭愧没能使他快活。”
 
“我以前从没有单独同谁在床上赤裸，他真可爱我的肚子震颤不已当他的手指在我的乳头上抚摸……”
 
“我什么也不想只是躺下闭着眼任凭他的嘴唇和手指沿伸滑向我的胸脯听凭他随心所欲。”
 
瞧，就是这样一些闲聊交织着１９４８年的爱，尼尔卡塞迪的亡魂
 
与１９９７年年轻的肌肤与激情，
 
于是随之而来的是惊讶“你们也这么干过，可我认为你们挺正常的，”
 
“我倒是，可金斯伯格却是例外，他总有理由来令我开心，”
 
“我不记得我是否算是个真格的男同性恋者，尽管可怪或可笑，我
 
只感到他温柔深情的吻仍在我的头顶停留……
 
在我的前额，脖子、胸膛和太阳神经上，腹中部，用他的舌头从后舔我。”
 
“我喜欢他朗读，可在我身后，我常常听见时间带翼的轻车紧紧追来时的神态，
 
头靠着头，双目相视，倚在枕头……”
 
在这众多的伙伴中跚跚来迟的是一个英俊年轻的小伙儿，
 
“十七岁时，我选修他的诗歌课，总爱找些缘由跑上他居住的没有电梯的公寓大楼，
 
挑逗没有兴致的我，让我再去，后来我回了家，从此再也没见过他，也没了那心思………
 
“他总是力不从心，可他喜欢我，…‘一个可爱的老头，…‘他总让我最先冲动兴奋。”
 
参加追悼仪式的公众最出乎意料而且夸夸其谈的莫过于这些往事……
 
悼念者还有诗人和音乐家大学生乐队老资格的摇滚明星，
 
披头士，吉它演奏者多午来始终不渝，男同性恋者，古典音乐指挥，默默无闻的流行爵士乐
 
作曲家，身上散发着怪味的号手，吹奏低音乐器和法国小号的黑人精英，民歌手，
 
小提琴手，伴随着手鼓、口琴曼陀林，自动竖琴，袖珍口哨以及玩具小笛中发出的乐声，
 
当然，也还会有艺术家，意大利浪漫主义现实主义作家，六十年代曾到过神秘印度求学
 
后期野兽派画家诗人，古典作品绘制者麻塞诸塞州超现实顽童派还有来自欧洲大陆
 
的夫人儿童。从边远各地赶来的穷愁潦倒的素描画油画水彩石粉画家。
 
最后还有高级中学教师，生性孤寂的爱尔兰图书管理员，考究优雅的藏书家，
 
参加性解放运动的群众，不，岂止群众，简直就是一支大军，女士们的性别难以区分
 
“我见过他十数次，可他一直没能记住我的名字，不管怎么样，我喜欢他，他是个真正的艺术家。”
 
“绝经期间我精神不振，是他诗歌的幽默感拯救了我没在医院自杀。”
 
“他真有魅力，才华横溢而且彬彬有礼，在布达佩斯我的居室作客一周，还亲自在洗涤槽里清洗餐具。”
 
啊，到场的还会有众多读者，“《嚎叫》改变了我在伊利诺州利伯蒂维尔城的生活。”
 
“我最先在蒙特克莱尔州立师范学院听他朗诵诗，从此也立志要成为诗人”
 
“他使我恍然大悟，我在汽车修理厂干活时便开始热衷于滚石音乐，在堪萨斯城演唱过我
 
写作的歌曲。”
 
“《卡第绪》使我为我自己以及在内华达城的父亲而哭泣。”
 
“我妹妹１９８２年在波士顿去世时是《父亲之死》这首诗给予我安慰。”
 
“我在一家新闻杂志上读到他的文章，豁然开朗明白了某些人的处境同我一样。”
 
甚至还来了一些诗人歌手虽又聋又哑可他们用手势代替诗歌语言歌唱。
 
也来了新闻记者，编辑部秘书，经纪人，摄影迷，摇滚乐批评家，有教养的劳工，
 
文化历史学家也来参加这有历史的葬礼充当见证人
 
还有超级诗歌迷，自以为是的诗人，上了年纪当年的“垮掉”分子和曾免费搭车的人，
 
热衷于搜集手稿亲笔签名的人，不惜一切手段以图声名的自由摄影师，
 
智力不俗站在那儿呆呆地观看的人
 
每个人都已明白他们已成为“历史”的一部分，除了被悼念者，
 
可这正发生的一切我真是一无所知，尽管我仍活在这人世。
 

１９９７年２月２２日

When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in
Manhattan
First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sister-
 in-law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters
their grandchildren,
companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan--
Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya's ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,
there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting
America, Satchitananda Swami
Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,
Katagiri & Suzuki Roshi's phantoms
Baker, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau
Roshis, Lama Tarchen --
Then, most important, lovers over half-century
Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich
young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each
other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories
"He taught me to meditate, now I'm an old veteran of the thousand
 day retreat --"
"I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he
loved me"
"I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone"
"We'd lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug & kiss belly to belly
arms round each other"
"I'd always get into his bed with underwear on & by morning my
skivvies would be on the floor"
"Japanese, always wanted take it up my bum with a master"
"We'd talk all night about Kerouac & Cassady sit Buddhalike then
sleep in his captain's bed."
"He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy"
"I was lonely never in bed nude with anyone before, he was so gentle my
stomach
shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen nipple to hips-- "
"All I did was lay back eyes closed, he'd bring me to come with mouth
& fingers along my waist"
"He gave great head"
So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commin-
 gling with flesh and youthful blood of 1997
and surprise -- "You too? But I thought you were straight!"
"I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me."
"I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender
and affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,
my forehead throat heart & solar plexus, mid-belly. on my prick,
tickled with his tongue my behind"
"I loved the way he'd recite 'But at my back allways hear/ time's winged
chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a
pillow --"
Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear
"I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his
walk-up flat,
seduced me didn't want to, made me come, went home, never saw him
again never wanted to... "
"He couldn't get it up but loved me," "A clean old man." "He made
sure I came first"
This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor--
Then poets & musicians -- college boys' grunge bands -- age-old rock
star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical con-
 ductors, unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trum-
 peters, bowed bass & french horn black geniuses, folksinger
fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin auto-
 harp pennywhistles & kazoos
Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60's India,
Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman Massa-
 chusets surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty
sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American
provinces
Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate biblio-
 philes, sex liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either sex
"I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved
him anyway, true artist"
"Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me
from suicide hospitals"
"Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my
studio guest a week in Budapest"
Thousands of readers, "Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois"
"I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet-- "
"He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas
City"
"Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City"
"Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982"
"I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized
others like me out there"
Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures
Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists & photo-
 graphy aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural
historians come to witness the historic funeral
Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks & Deadheads, autograph-
 hunters, distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers
Everyone knew they were part of 'History" except the deceased
who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive

 February 22, 1997