“Eg sá teir bestu heilarnar í mínum ættarliði”

Posted on 3 Apríl 2012

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5. apríl í 1997 andaðist mæta skaldið Allen Ginsberg. Allen Ginsberg (1925-97) var helst hitt týdningarmesta skaldið í farnu øld. Sjálvandi er ilt at taka dagar ímillum skøld, og tað er eisini ein persónlig meting og smakkur. Ginsberg er ein yrkjari, sum eg taki fram við jøvnum millumbili og lesi.

Eg tók mær bókina, Last Words – The Final Journal of William S. Burroughs, niður av hilluni í kvøld. Hetta er dagbók, ið er skrivað frá 14. november 1996 og til 30. juli 1997. Har skrivar Burroughs fyri aðru ferð hin 3. apríl 1997:

Allen Ginsberg liggur at doyggja av livrakrabba.
“Um einar tveir til tríggjar mánaðir,” siga knarrini honum, og hann svarar:
“Minni, haldi eg.”
Hann sigur:
“Eg helt eg fór at verða ræðslusligin; í staðin eri eg glaður.”
Vóni bara ikki, at hann verður oystur undir við lovorðum.
“Allen skrivar yrkingar – hann er andríkur.” 

Tá ið eg sá hetta, tók eg mær bókina Death & Fame – Last Poems eftir Allen Ginsberg. Seinasta yrkingin í savninum eitur “Things I’ll Not Do (Nostalgias)”. Hon er dagfest 30. mars, seks dagar áðrenn hann doyði. Yrkingin ljóðar soleiðis:

Things I’ll Not Do (Nostalgias) – Allen Ginsberg

Delivering something actually good for a change:Things I’ll Not Do (Nostalgias) Never go to Bulgaria, had a booklet & invitation
Same Albania, invited last year, privately by Lottery scammers or
recovering alcoholics,
Or enlightened poets of the antique land of Hades Gates
Nor visit Lhasa live in Hilton or Ngawang Gelek’s household & weary
ascend Potala
Nor ever return to Kashi “oldest continuously habited city in the world”
bathe in Ganges & sit again at Manikarnika ghat with Peter,
visit Lord Jagganath again in Puri, never back to Bibhum take
notes tales of Khaki B Baba
Or hear music festivals in Madras with Philip
Or enter to have Chai with older Sunil & Young coffeeshop poets,
Tie my head on a block in the Chinatown opium den, pass by Moslem
Hotel, its rooftop Tinsmith Street Choudui Chowh Nimtallah
Burning ground nor smoke ganja on the Hooghly
Nor the alleyways of Achmed’s Fez, nevermore drink mint tea at Soco
Chico, visit Paul B. in Tangiers
Or see the Sphinx in Desert at Sunrise or sunset, morn & dusk in the
desert
Ancient sollapsed Beirut, sad bombed Babylon & Ur of old, Syria’s
grim mysteries all Araby & Saudi Deserts, Yemen’s sprightly
folk,
Old opium tribal Afghanistan, Tibet – Templed Beluchistan
See Shangha again, nor cares of Dunhuang
Nor climb E. 12th Street’s stairway 3 flights again,
Nor go to literary Argentina, accompany Glass to Sao Paolo & live a
month in a flat Rio’s beaches and favella boys, Bahia’s great
Carnival
Nor more daydream of Bali, too far Adelaide’s festival to get new scent
sticks
Not see the new slums of Jakarta, mysterious Borneo forests & painted
men and women
Nor mor Sunset Boulevard, Melrose Avenue, Oz on Ocean Way
Old cousin Danny Leegant, memories of Aunt Edith in Santa Monica
No mor sweet summers with lovers, teaching Blake at naropa,
Mind Writing Slogans, new modern American Poetics, Williams
Kerouac Reznikoff Rakosi Corso Creely Orlovsky
Any visits to B’nai Israel graves of Buda, Aunt Rose, Harry Meltzer and
Aunt Clara, Father Louis
Not myself except in an urn of ashesMarch 30, 1997, A.M.

Allen Ginsberg

OMR