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21

      Heaven
                was only half as far that night
at the poetry recital
                    listening to the burnt phrases
When I heard the poet have
                                a rhyming erection
            then look away with a
                                      lost look
        'Every animal' he said at last
          'After intercourse is sad'
        But the back-row lovers
                                looked oblivious
                    and glad

21

      ÊÇÃäì
                ÍÂÙèËèÒ§ÍÍ¡ä»à¾Õ§¤ÃÖè§ã¹¤èӤ׹
áËè§¡ÒâѺ¢Ò¹º·¡ÇÕ
                    ¢³Ð¿Ñ§Ëéǧ¤Óá¼´à¼Ò
©Ñ¹ÂÔ¹¡ÇÕ
                                à¡Ô´µÑ駪ѹã¹ÊÑÁ¼ÑÊ
            áÅéÇàÁÔ¹ä»
                                      ´éÇÂÊÕ˹éÒÍéÒ§ÇéÒ§
        'ÊѵÇì·Ø¡µÑÇ' à¢Ò¡ÅèÒÇã¹·éÒ·ÕèÊØ´
          'àÈÃéÒã¨ËÅѧ¡ÒÃÃèÇÁ»ÃÐàdzÕ'
        áµè¤ÙèÃÑ¡ã¹á¶ÇËÅѧ
                                ´ÙÅ×ÁµÑÇ
                    áÅÐÂÔ¹´Õ


No one worth possessing can be quite possessed -- Teasdale

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI
 

à¿ÍÃìÅԹࡵµÕà»ç¹¡ÇÕ·ÕèÁÕº·ºÒ·ÊӤѭã¹Âؤ Beat Generation ¹Ñ¡à¢Õ¹ºÕ·àÃÔèÁ¨Ò¡à¾×è͹½Ù§¡ÅØèÁàÅç¡æ·Õè¾ÂÒÂÒÁµÕ¾ÔÁ¾ì˹ѧÊ×ͧ͢µÑÇàͧÍÂÙèËÅÒÂ»Õ ÁÕ᡹ËÅÑ¡àªè¹ Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsburg, Neal Cassiady à»ç¹µé¹ à¿ÍÃìÅԹࡵµÕà¡Ô´ã¹»Õ 1919 ã¹ÃѰ¹ÔÇÂÍÃì¡ ËÅѧ¨Ò¡à¡Ô´ä´éäÁè¹Ò¹ ÁÒôÒà¢Ò¶Ù¡Êè§µÑÇä»à¢éÒʶҹºÓºÑ´ÍÒ¡Ò÷ҧ¨Ôµ µÑÇà¢Ò¨Ö§ÂéÒÂä»ÍÂÙè㹤ÇÒÁ´ÙáŢͧ­ÒµÔ·Õè½ÃÑè§àÈÊ áÅСÅѺÁÒ·ÕèÍàÁÃԡҵ͹ËéҢǺ à¢ÒàÃÔèÁà¢Õ¹º·¡ÇÕ㹪èǧ»Õ·ÕèÍÂÙèâçàÃÕ¹»ÃШÓËÅѧ¨Ò¡¹Ñé¹¹Ñè¹àͧ

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à¿ÍÃìÅԹࡵµÕ¾ÔÁ¾ì˹ѧÊ×ͧ͢µ¹àͧáÅТͧ¡ÇÕ¤¹Í×è¹æ â´Â੾ÒÐ˹ѧÊ×ͪش Pocket Poet ·Õèà»ç¹Ë¹Ñ§Ê×ͺ·¡ÇÕàÅèÁàÅç¡ã¹ÃÒ¤ÒãË餹¾ÍËÒ«×éÍÍèÒ¹¡Ñ¹ä´é à¾×èÍà»Ô´âÍ¡ÒÊãËé¡ÇÕ˹éÒãËÁèä´éáÊ´§¼Å§Ò¹ ´Ñ§·Õèà¢Òä´éà¤Âà¢Õ¹äÇéÇèÒ "µÃҺ㴷ÕèÂѧÁÕº·¡ÇÕ µÃÒº¹Ñ鹡çÂѧÁÕ¡ÇÕ˹éÒãËÁè·ÕèÂѧäÁèà»ç¹·ÕèÃÙé¨Ñ¡" áÅÐã¹·Ò§¡ÅѺ¡Ñ¹¡çàªè¹¡Ñ¹ à¢ÒºÍ¡ÇèÒÈÔŻԹãËÁèæ¡ç¤×ͼÙé·Õè¨ÐÊÃéÒ§º·¡ÇÕµèÍä» ´Ñ§¹Ñé¹ "˹éÒ·Õè¢Í§Êӹѡ¾ÔÁ¾ìÍÔÊÃФ×Í¡Òä鹾º¡ÇÕ˹éÒãËÁèàËÅèÒ¹Ñé¹ ËÒãËéà¨ÍÊÓà¹Õ§ãËÁèæ¢Í§¾Ç¡à¢Ò áÅéÇãËéàÊÕ§á¡èà¢Ò ... áÅÐãËéÊӹѡ¾ÔÁ¾ìãË­èæä´é¾Ç¡à¢Òä»"

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à¿ÍÃìÅԹࡵµÕ·Ó§Ò¹à¢Õ¹µÅÍ´ÁÒ »Õ 1994 «Ò¹¿ÃÒ¹«ÔÊâ¡à»ÅÕ蹪×èͶ¹¹à»ç¹ª×èÍà¢Òà¾×èÍãËéà¡ÕÂÃµÔ »Õ 2000 à¢Òä´éÃѺÃÒ§ÇÑÅ lifetime achievemnt award ¨Ò¡ National Book Critics Circle »Ñ¨¨ØºÑ¹à¢Òà¢Õ¹¤ÍÅÑÁ¹ìÃÒÂÊÑ»´ÒËìŧ San Francisco Chronicle áÅÐÂѧä»Ãéҹ˹ѧÊ×ͫյÕéäÅ·Êì¢Í§à¢Òà»ç¹»ÃÐ¨Ó ¡ÒÃà¢Õ¹ÊÓËÃѺºÒ§¤¹áÅéÇäÁèãªèÍÒªÕ¾áµèà»ç¹ªÕÇÔµ ·Õè¤ÇÒÁÃѡ㹤ÓÍÇÅÍÂÙèã¹ÅÁËÒÂã¨áÅÐàÅ×Í´à¹×éÍ ¡ÒÃà¢Õ¹¡Çբͧà¿ÍÃìÅԹࡵµÕ¡ç¤§à»ç¹àªè¹¹Ñé¹
 
25

    The world is a beautiful place
                                    to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
                        not always being
                                          so very much fun
    if you don't mind a touch of hell
                                  now and then
            just when everything is fine
                                    because even in heaven
                    they don't sing
                          all the time
    The world is a beautiful place
                                    to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
                                            all the time
        or maybe only starving
                                    some of the time
      which isn't half as bad
                                if it isn't you
 

    Oh the world is a beautiful place
                                    to be born into
      if you don't much mind
                                a few dead minds
            in the higher places
                                      or a bomb or two
                now and then
                                in your upturned faces
  or such other improprieties
                                as our Name Brand society
                    is prey to
                            with its men of distinction
      and its men of extinction
                                  and its priests
            and other patrolmen
                                  and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
                                    and other comstipations
                that our fool flesh
                                  is heir to
 

    Yes the world is the best place of all
                                    for a lot of such things as
      making the fun scene
                            and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
          and singing low songs and having inspirations
    and walking around
              looking at everything
                                    and smelling flowers
  and goosing statues
              and even thinking
                                and kissing people and
      making babies and wearing pants
                                and waving hats and
                  dancing
                                  and going swimming in rivers
            on picnics
                in the middle of the summer
      and just generally
                'living it up'

  Yes
    but then right in the middle of it
                            comes the smiling
                      mortician


 

26

      Reading Yeats I do not think
                                      of Ireland
but of midsummer New York
                              and of myself back then
      reading that copy I found
                                on the Thirdavenue El
        the El
              with its flyhung fans
      and its signs reading
                          SPITTING IS FORBIDDEN

        the El
            careening thru its thirdstory world
    with its thirdstory people
                in their thirdstory doors
looking as if they had never heard
                                      of the ground

        an old dame
                watering her plant
or a joker in a straw
                putting a stickpin in his peppermint tie
and looking just like he had nowhere to go
                                but coneyisland

        or an undershirted guy
                        rocking in his rocker
watching the El pass by
                as if he expected it to be different
        each time

                Reading Yeats I do not think
                                of Arcady
and of its woods which Yeats thought dead
                        I think instead
        of all the gone faces
                getting off at midtown places
        with their hats and their jobs
            and of that lost look I had
                    with its blue cover and its white inside
where a pencilhand had written
                        HORSEMAN, PASS BY!
 

8

It was a face which darkness could kill
                in an instant
a face as easily hurt
            by laughter or light

'We think differently at night'
                        she told me once
  lying back languidly

        And she would quote Cocteau

'I feel there is an angel in me' she'd say
            'whom I am constantly shocking'

Then she would smile and look away
        light a cigarette for me
            sigh and rise

    and stretch
        her sweet anatomy

                let fall a stocking
 

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