I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas But not afraid To speak my lonesomeness in a car Because not only my lonesomeness It's Ours, all over America O tender fellows- & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy In the moon 100 years ago or in The middle of Kansas now It's not the vast plains mute our mouths That fill at midnite with ecstatic language When our trembling bodies hold each other Breast to breast on a mattress- Not the empty sky that hides The feeling from our faces Nor our skirts and trousers that conceal The bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin White smooth abdomen down to the hair Between our legs It's not a God that bore us that forbid Our Being, like a sunny rose All red with naked joy Between our eyes & bellies, yes All we do is for this frightened thing We call Love, want and lack- Fear that we aren't the one whose body could be Beloved of all the brides of Kansas City Kissed all over by every boy of Wichita- O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me- On the bridge over Republican River Almost in tears to know How to speak the right language- On the frosty broad road Uphill between highway embankments I search for the language That is also yours- Almost all our language has been taxed by war Radio antennae high tension Wires ranging from Junction City across the plains- Highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow Lanes curving past Abilene To Denver filled with old Heroes of love- To Wichita where McClure's mind Burst into animal beauty Drunk, getting laid in a car In a neon misted street 15 years ago- To Independence where the old man's still alive Who loosed the bomb that's slaved all human consciousness And made the body universe a place of fear- Now, speeding along the empty plain No giant demon machine Visible on the horizon But tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky's edge I claim my birthright! Reborn forever as long as Man In Kansas or other universe-Joy Reborn after the vast sadness of War Gods! A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear Imaging the throng of Selves That make this nation one body of Prophecy Languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of Happiness! I call all Powers of imagination To my side in this auto to make Prophecy All Lords Of human kingdoms to come Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands Give up your desire Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquillity Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru William Blake the invisible father of English visions Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes Half closed who only cries for his mother Chaitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise Merciful Chango judging our bodies Durga-Ma covered with blood Destroyer of battlefield illusions Million-faced Tathagata gone past suffering Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable Allah the Compassionate One Jaweh Righteous One All Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all Ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis & holymen I chant to- Come to my lone presence Into this Vortex named Kansas I lift my voice aloud Make Mantra of American language now I here declare the end of the War! Ancient days' Illusion!- And pronounce words beginning my own millennium Let the States tremble Let the Nation weep Let Congress legislate its own delight Let the President execute his own desire- This Act done by my own voice Nameless Mystery- Published to my own senses Blissfully received by my own form Approved with pleasure by my sensations Manifestation of my very thought Accomplished in my own imagination All realms within my consciousness fulfilled 60 miles from Wichita Near El Dorado The Golden One In chill earthly mist Houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward In every direction One midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord- Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower Where Florence is Set on a hill Stop for tea & gas
This brings me to tears every time. It touches something in me that extends way beyond my body, beyond my time. Endless memories fill me to such a degree that crying and laughing are the only way to let them out.
It was a collaborative work between Allen Ginsberg and Philip Glass! Glass actually met Ginsberg and asked to compose music to accompany his poetry. The work is called Hydrogen Jukebox and premiered in 1990.
I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas
But not afraid
To speak my lonesomeness in a car
Because not only my lonesomeness
It's Ours, all over America
O tender fellows-
& spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy
In the moon 100 years ago or in
The middle of Kansas now
It's not the vast plains mute our mouths
That fill at midnite with ecstatic language
When our trembling bodies hold each other
Breast to breast on a mattress-
Not the empty sky that hides
The feeling from our faces
Nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
The bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin
White smooth abdomen down to the hair
Between our legs
It's not a God that bore us that forbid
Our Being, like a sunny rose
All red with naked joy
Between our eyes & bellies, yes
All we do is for this frightened thing
We call Love, want and lack-
Fear that we aren't the one whose body could be
Beloved of all the brides of Kansas City
Kissed all over by every boy of Wichita-
O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me-
On the bridge over Republican River
Almost in tears to know
How to speak the right language-
On the frosty broad road
Uphill between highway embankments
I search for the language
That is also yours-
Almost all our language has been taxed by war
Radio antennae high tension
Wires ranging from Junction City across the plains-
Highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
Lanes curving past Abilene
To Denver filled with old
Heroes of love-
To Wichita where McClure's mind
Burst into animal beauty
Drunk, getting laid in a car
In a neon misted street
15 years ago-
To Independence where the old man's still alive
Who loosed the bomb that's slaved all human consciousness
And made the body universe a place of fear-
Now, speeding along the empty plain
No giant demon machine
Visible on the horizon
But tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky's edge
I claim my birthright!
Reborn forever as long as Man
In Kansas or other universe-Joy
Reborn after the vast sadness of War Gods!
A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear
Imaging the throng of Selves
That make this nation one body of Prophecy
Languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of
Happiness!
I call all Powers of imagination
To my side in this auto to make Prophecy
All Lords
Of human kingdoms to come
Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash
Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs
Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded
Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands
Give up your desire
Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquillity
Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void
Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM
Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru
William Blake the invisible father of English visions
Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
Half closed who only cries for his mother
Chaitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
Merciful Chango judging our bodies
Durga-Ma covered with blood
Destroyer of battlefield illusions
Million-faced Tathagata gone past suffering
Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain
Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable
Allah the Compassionate One
Jaweh Righteous One
All Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all
Ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis
& holymen I chant to-
Come to my lone presence
Into this Vortex named Kansas
I lift my voice aloud
Make Mantra of American language now
I here declare the end of the War!
Ancient days' Illusion!-
And pronounce words beginning my own millennium
Let the States tremble
Let the Nation weep
Let Congress legislate its own delight
Let the President execute his own desire-
This Act done by my own voice
Nameless Mystery-
Published to my own senses
Blissfully received by my own form
Approved with pleasure by my sensations
Manifestation of my very thought
Accomplished in my own imagination
All realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from Wichita
Near El Dorado
The Golden One
In chill earthly mist
Houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
In every direction
One midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord-
Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower
Where Florence is
Set on a hill
Stop for tea & gas
I'm driving across the plains right now listening to this and it's getting me fired up about life
This brings me to tears every time. It touches something in me that extends way beyond my body, beyond my time. Endless memories fill me to such a degree that crying and laughing are the only way to let them out.
One body of prophecy languaged by declaration as pursuit of happiness ❤
To me this Sutra matters as much as Howl. Listening, I can almost feel him with us still, like some patron saint of America.
I don't know how to feel... this... is just wow..
"I here declare the end of the War!"
O tender fellows, thank you.
At 4:11 “I’m wounded, I’M WOUNDED!”
Love it
aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh
yaa, i feel ya man
Yoo, what's up! i love you man!
I love you too brother!
Beautiful. Anyone know what the term for this is called? A musical collage? An overlap?
How is it possible I come here and someone left a comment just an hour ago?
It was a collaborative work between Allen Ginsberg and Philip Glass! Glass actually met Ginsberg and asked to compose music to accompany his poetry.
The work is called Hydrogen Jukebox and premiered in 1990.
@@inalgebra1 oh wow, that´s amazing. Thanks for the info, going to check that out!
It's called, Art.
poetry set to music..not sure if there is a specific term for that