Free The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan by Alice Notley Page A

city        Louis Sullivan
    is dead       whose grief I would most assuage
    “He Shot Me” is still my favorite poem, and
    “I Don’t See Any Anchor Tied To Your Ass”
LXXXI
    Musick strides through these poems
    just as it strides through me! The red block
    Dream of Hans Hofmann keeps going away and
    Coming back to me. He is not “The Poems.”
    (my dream a drink with Lonnie Johnson we
    discuss the code of the west)
    How strange to be gone
    in a minute!
    too soon for the broken arm. Ripeness begins corrupting every
    tree
    Each strong morning         in air we get our feet wet
    (my dream
    a crumpled horn)         it hurts.         Huddie Ledbetter is dead
    whose griefs I would most assuage       Sing I must         And
    with Musick I must rage
    Against those whose griefs I would most assuage
    (my dream
    “ DEAR CHRIS , hello. It is 3:17 a.m.
LXXXII
    my dream a drink with Lonnie Johnson we discuss the code
    of the west
    The red block dream of Hans Hofmann keeps going away and
    coming back to me
    my dream a crumpled horn
    my dream DEAR CHRIS , hello. It is 5:15 a.m.
    The academy of my dreams is opening its doors
    Ford Madox Ford is not a dream.
    The only travelled sea that I still dream of is a cold black pond
    where once on a fragrant evening fraught with sadness
    I launched a boat frail as a butterfly
    Southwest lost doubloons rest, no comforts drift on dream smoke
    down the sooted fog ravine
    My dream a drink with Richard Gallup we discuss the code of
    the west
    my dream a drink with Henry Miller
    “The Poems” is not a dream.
    Vast orange dreams wed to wakefulness: icy girls finger thighs
    bellies apples in my dream the big gunfire sequence for
    the Jay Kenneth Koch movie,
Phooey!
    My dream a drink with Ira Hayes we discuss the code of the west
LXXXIII
    Woman is singing the song and summer
    Only to others, meaning poems. Because everything
    Sorry about West Point. But where else was one to go,
    Southwest lost doubloons rest, no comforts drift on dream smoke
    Against whose griefs I would most assuage
    (A cast-off emotion) A hard core is “formed.”
    Musick strides through these poems just as it strides thru me
    my dream a drink with Lonnie Johnson we discuss the code of
    the west
    After Ticonderoga.         Beware of Benjamin Franklin, he is
    totally lacking in grace
    What else. Because he tended to think of truth as “The King’s
    Birthday List”
    This is called “Black Nausea” by seers.
    My dream DEAR CHRIS hello. It is 3:17 a.m.
    Your name is now a household name, as is mine. And in any case,
    although I failed, now we need never be rivals
LXXXIV
    Dear Ron: hello. Your name is now a household name,
    As is mine. We, too, suffer black spells. This is called
    “Black Nausea” by seers, only to others, meaning poems.
    In every way now we are equal. Except one.
    Ford Madox Ford is not a dream.        (my dream a drink
    with Henry Miller) we discuss the code of the west.
    He is not “The Poems.”
    “He Shot Me” was once my favorite
    Cast-off emotion. Now I rage in a blue shirt at a brown desk
    In a bright room. In Tulsa Chris has said goodbye to Bernie.
    I never beat people up. The academy of my dreams
    is opening its doors / a fat black woman is singing a song and
    Summer is the subject matter. Next to her his nose couldn’t grow
    Even if it does choke you up, and these marvelous tears
    keep appearing
LXXXV
    They basted his caption on top of the fat sheriff, “The Pig.”
    Cowboys       and banging on my sorrow with books
    No lady dream around in any bad exposure
    The dust fissure drains the gay dance
    Joyful ants nest in the roof of my tree
    absence of passion, principles, love. She murmurs
    is not genuine. it shines forth from the faces
    And each sleeping son is broke-backed and dumb.
    Davy Crockett was nothing like Jesse James
    The most elegant present I could get!
    But blood is still blood and tall as a mountain