Beerspit Night and Cursing (13 page)

I am lost in a strange land.

Thorne is woman, editor of
Epos
.

A poet should hang alone. If Ginsburg wants to visit Castro that’s his business, but to me…it is going too far out to make a sound. I believe he will suffer from it without ever knowing it.

Thorne-woman prints poetic poetry, all life-forms dominated down to acceptable line. She has published me but let me run a little looser, I don’t know why. Something of mine will be in Dec.
Epos:
The Sun Wields Mercy
.

Yes, Webb Sr. seems good slow sort without too much pretense, but
GAWD
the Jr. is in hero-whoreship stage: (Sr. says he wrote him of meeting Buk): “…a nice meeting, short, honest & within the manner and respect one would pay a great poet as he is. I could not get over the feeling that I was an autograph seeker, but he, I think, sensed how I felt and very nicely directed the atmosphere so as to make me feel a fellow writer etc.” Balls. I didn’t sense anything. I told the kid that I didn’t run around with writers and not to expect a lot of fancy statements and that I was sick. He asked me what I thought of Jory Sherman. I guess he knew I had met him. I didn’t care for the direct question so I parried with a few lines of general literary criticism and pretty soon he called a cab and got the hell out of there.

ooh god…no pure red wool next ta my body…my skin…very sensitive, I’d die dy dy! too protestant perhaps, too ivory, and yet the bestial wail.
Griffith already talking about future chapbook
, I thinking titles:
Trinkets for Whores, Gamblers and Imbeciles
or
Our Bread Is Blessed and Damned
or or or or or…What happened to Payne? Well, we don’t agree on hardly anything but he took a coupla poems for his
Light Year
, wrote: “Bulliski your bull hits the mark.” Which I think is a very weak expression and I think he wanted to say, “Bullshitski” which would have been better, only Payne plays the gentleman, read and ready, but his lines do not hold…Miller is ed. of
San Francisco Review
and he took handful of poems I wrote when drunk and I don’t know exactly what they are…there might be four or five or maybe even more, but I don’t know what they say exactly and will have to wait until he prints to see what I have written. I have learned when drunk to type directly off the typewriter. I have written too many poems longhand and could read nothing the next day…. The blood thing is from when my stomach broke open…When I open a beer, it does crack. Maybe we open em different.

I have some things to do, and I hope you are strong again, stems and hair warm in the sun, breathing salt.

love,

Buk

sunday/ 11/dec/60 pobx 46 san gregorio calif

buk/ ’s all right—the post card/ hell I am afraid that remaining anonymous now is out of question…one just
L O O K S
emcipated somehow—I donno—and the art of incoming & outgoing correspondence/ stamps etc/ now dear buk’s card saying almost
ANY
thing…oye/ ’s all right tho’…I am certain Buk that yr card will be “mystery-wise” without any trying…and…just
where & how did that fashion of putting “wise” on back words start? & means what?

Of course—that
IS
the process of life—becoming
MORE
what we are/ or Buk growing into Buk…all this hammering & pounding on us must be from a natural occurrence…as fish in a sea/ it must not have any personal significance except mayhap to clear out the sea plants or weeds or fish that’d weaken its life-force by not holding on strongly enough…I see the debris cast up by the sea movements—and the flies hop on the great beauties dying without their element & I cannot throw them back…beautiful sea plants still gasping & breathing & seals all torn up and great enormous birds like the rose-sucked-tit-pink bill’d pelican one saw…must be like that…our sea of air/ we graduated into then beyond/ I saw it once—half saw it & never knew what it was/ don’t know how I got there & not a dream but a journey some sort—& was sitting on a very kind of “modernistic” ice berg or hunk of something very white but not cold & just plopped there & was aware of presences & talk without words & one cd say one ‘felt’ rather than ‘heard’ them…and I had a flash vision of me—in that upper kingdom I’d come to somehow—that there I was as a mermaid wd be here—I mean I was half what they recognised as being ‘human’ & half fish or animal…so I know we are in a sea of some kind & my fellow fish keep reporting giant tidal waves & storms…they receive thru their nervous systems…they think of as emotional…and the memory of the Orderly; the Good; the Beautiful; the Serene can calm even during a storm…my sister Elva after the hurricane hit…walking down the street with a flashlight & one heard her…“hmmm looks like the roof to my house…well…it
IS
the roof to my house…” & it was…I wasn’t frightened by the hurricane…it was sort of natural & normal…in the middle of it without thinking at all of anything but me & my american thousand of stores open at all times…wanted ice cream very badly & put on a swim suit…& started out…the ocean was up to arm pit; then chin…& kept on going…surely a store wd be open for the citizenry! then a coast guard in a boat…havin’ a hellifa time keeping rightside up…shrieked…“where are
YOU
going?” “to get some ice cream you nut” I said “nut…me the nut” he said “don’t you know there’s a hurricane going on?” “so what” I said “I want some ice cream” but the dirty bastard chased me home & then I sort of ‘came to’ & looked around me & sure
enough there was a hurricane going on…the sea was washing over big buildings a few blocks down Atlantic Avenue & furniture was floating all around & broken lumber & the roof was blowing off my sister’s house & I was swimming in the middle of Atlantic Avenue looking for a store that wd be open so I cd get some ice cream/ but somehow I wasn’t shook/ it was lovely & just wild enough to suit me…the wind singing & the ocean being an ocean & all the buildings going down & no violence to we insects…just knocking off a lot of useless junk…it was a beautiful sight…the next day…the whole town was a wreck…beautiful…not a single person was harmed…just the junk…my town looked just right then…one cd see for miles…

I cant imagine how I got poisoned/ all we know is that we burned the wrappings from that chicken & suddenly a gorgeous smell of almonds flowering…& the next day I recalled from somewhere…that arsenic either smells or tastes like almonds, that sweet haunting fragrance—who’d mind being killed by it? but my god, Buk…throwing up violently in a freezing cold house…I cdn’t take my poor little head out of the sleeping bag long enough to throw up without freezing…my Botticelli belly was hard & swollen almost pregnant size/ I cdn’t talk without choking and after one rid oneself of it via the throat…then it turned my bowels into a shit factory…oh that was fun…my yes it sure
WAS FUN
…to have to get up & shit that burning watery stinking shit…for 3 hours…oh that was real country life…shitting in a pot…& one had to put it outside the door each time…I mean
Gib
protested at the stench…it was not veddy artistic…moi lamb…so although the smell of arsenic is a treat…the
EFFECT
it produces sure aint/ now I am recovered & you’d never even suspect that this dainty little elf…had to live through that stinking night…

I aint gonna become a saint by any other’s sins…dear childtttttt

the people out here do like me/ the post master is now “on the map” because one don’t have a day go by without business as usual & one buys stamps from him in great car lots full & he is happy & one discusses the political situation with those who stand around the post office & one knows a deal about the
political situation to be sure/ and one’s mail is filled with the most life & the people like me…I am a stage they live upon/

Thorne is a woman/ well that’s better than being a bugger/ I think you sent me the
Epos
did you? and I stashed it in the collection at Yale with Pearson/

I do agree with you about Ginsberg/ “will suffer from it without ever knowing it”

I
KNOW
that the Zionists are not going to &
NEVER
had
ANY
intention of ever allowing the American Jews to rule/ so any effort on the part of an American to help destroy the existing order shall be wasted effort as far as he is concerned because Jew or no Jew…he is now an American & nobody likes any of us…only the niggers got any support back home/ even the Jews were betrayed…paid for Israel & got Zion…their old lag…so Allen doth not betray the ang-sax order…with that Castro visit…he betrays his own people unless he is a Zionist and I do not know & gor
HELL
up me I don’t wanna know…I know too damm much already

all right my dear Buk/ wear silk—it must be of a colour & natural fibre to attract certain rays from our sun’s rays…certain rays that build our bone marrow & that is where the warmth comes from…I will find something for you…a red silk shirt & then you’d be like maestro in st. liz who just
HAD
to have a red shirt after the new negro attendant turned up in one…& old
dr. karpman
called gramps “th’ cardinal”…o.k. Cardinal…gimmi some time…this sat. i will hunt down a large red wotever—don’t flip if it’s of the female race of clothes…as the GoodWill is my first stop but I’ll masculinize it for you…we must get Buk’s bones warm/

please my dear Buk/ no titles like that…I believe that we run the world by our secret thoughts feelings & spoken words & written words & images painted…like a sort of magnetic bunch of wheels going constantly around…it is a kind of machine you know…this fluid cosmic world…a perpetual machine…no wonder the Jews of old were so flip’d on building one…imagine what you’d
SEE
if you cd build one! I believe the magnetic wheels come from our own wot you’d call projections/ and if you project any titles like that baby how cd they help us any? I
work & stand & paint & write & live…for Pure Love/ because I want it running that way…not for me…but for them because it wd have been so nice for me…if I’d have had it/ Hate & any side-effect of it…is
T A B U
now…do not break a
TABU
Cardinal!

I am not going to say “look wot Hezra didtttt” because he is after all only another male & therefore competition…but he was useful…wistfully useful and he does so want us to use what he thought useful…and he did try to leave us a picture in
Edge, Rockdrill, Agenda
& lots of things he named/ and taking the Canto out of Kantor…that was all he gave the Jews in the Cantos besides a lotta hell for usury etc…& a few other rackets…wdn’t put nary a bit of Hebrew in the Cantos…but out of Kantor…Ezra the Kantor

THINGS ARE WHAT THEY DO
/ what is your poetry doing? Allen Ginsberg’s
Howl
was certainly good because it
IS
a
HOWL
from
HELL
/ I am trying to imagine what yr poetry is doing/

Gib said call it:
The Triple Carburater
or just
Triple Carburaters
or
Double Adrenalin Gland Sounds

I mean dig down to the most basic what-iz-happening & I do think buk that you’ve got double adrenalin glands & it makes you highly perceptive & sensitive to what is going on…twice as much as the rest of us…oh that poor payne chap is he a bugger? or a mis-guided xtian? of some kind…he is so squishy…

poor Allen Ginsberg…I wonder what the Devil will give him for that poor string of fish he caught in our Pond—a bunch of little weak christian fish…dumb as worms—so dumb…they actually were fool’d into sucking dick or asshole fuck just so they could print poetry…man dig that/ that is too wild…imagine printing sacred poetry in this world by selling one’s ass…even the Devil will have to laugh at them…poor string of fish caught with the net of their own blind greed…

that is why it is a sin to be ambitious as dissociated from dedicated/ it was a middle-ages sin & it is now also…thou’rt dedicated buk…but damm—some of wot moves yr spirit…dedicated as it is…scares the rest of that arsenic shit out of me…

Listen to me Buk/ re: the stomach & broke open—now do this/ always keep some cooked rice around…not polished white rice but get some
UN
polished rice & keep it around/ cook a lot when you feel well & then keep it & eat it sort of nibble like yr bread…or get that black bread…you are of a race of grain eaters…remember…so go on a rice diet…& don’t eat much meat…the best way to eat meat is to chop chop it fine fine & cook tenderly & make a gravy…very easy to make/ buy box corn starch in supermark/ chopchop finefine meat…slowly cook in corn oil/ soon’s it browns/ then turn up high fire…sprinkle corn starch in pan…remove meat or leave in…but spoon meat in ring away from center where corn starch sprinkled…let turn light brown…then put milk suddenly into hot cornstarch & spoon furiously without spilling…or splashing as that’s a waste…then flavour with chinese soy sauce & a bit of hot sauce…then you can keep or throw away meat because its essence is in that gravy—put gravy over the cooked
UN
polished rice (health store has it) & you will have a soothing liner for yr stomach…now gottammitt do this because I hate to lose my time…

& I will get you a red silk wotever for yr bones next sat. when we go into frisco to pick up ernie who visits for about 5 days…that means a 5-day love battle with all of us…2 husbands are a trial especially when one has to raise both of them! I feel fatally bound to help Ernie & I
MUST
help Gib…and only Love can help any of us…sometimes Love is when you got to bounce them off a wall for their own good/ Mamma Sheri/ oye…oye…oye…and Gib is a Slant & Ernie is a Jew…I yam some ‘racist’ Buk…a disappointment to all Zion/

I am strong again & sun shines on me…(
Tu Fu
said: “The sun stretches his legs & walks upon the earth”) Gib’s out front fixing the hot rod of a kid from work/ kid is all insect buzz & just wants to “go fast”…inherited a fast world he did that kid/ working in sun half clad…that is how come
Triple Carburators
title for you…because hot rod got triple carburators to spit gasoline faster/ damn kid is 16 & drives 110 miles an hr in drag race
down
HalfMoon
/ now Lamb be good & I go…and love love love…