APRES NOUS, LE CHAOS
(to Lawrence Ferlinghetti) In the bookstore the voice slowly uncurls some pages of life, revealing Allen's loss: "There is a HUGE HOLE in the sky" - That same voice is painting vividly that very hole to the marrow. The poet never dies, nor does his voice. Wasn't it that very voice you were looking for walking amidst the tombs in Rome? Keats' very voice, Shelley's very voice, Allen's very voice reverberating their hues upon the world's black canvas - We all are a hole on the earth waiting for the how of the poet, that deep barbaric YAWP to tear asunder the pages of our life, to color meaning for us - Now only a message rests here, the one the poet said: - "After us only Chaos" -
(written after Ferlinghetti’s reading in Rome a few months after Ginsberg’s death in 1997)
(To Gregory Corso)
The cobbled stones echo with your steps. The air resounds with your whistling. Poetic marksman, you hum Der Freischütz to yourself and raise the glass of wine in the darkest alley of Trastevere with the deft gesture of an orchestra leader in his Roman Weberland.