You know who speaks to me during this particular time? The Beat
poets. And particularly Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who at 101 is still a fixture of
the San Francisco cultural scene.
Okay, Ferlinghetti doesn’t think of himself as a Beat; he prefers
philosophical anarchist. And at his core he is anti-totalitarian, which is a
recommendation at any time, but particularly now.
For National Poetry Month, we’re having “I Am Waiting”. It’s long,
but it goes so fast.
“I Am Waiting”
I am
waiting for my case to come up
and I
am waiting
for a
rebirth of wonder
and I
am waiting for someone
to
really discover America
and
wail
and I
am waiting
for
the discovery
of a
new symbolic western frontier
and I
am waiting
for
the American Eagle
to
really spread its wings
and
straighten up and fly right
and I
am waiting
for
the Age of Anxiety
to
drop dead
and I
am waiting
for
the war to be fought
which
will make the world safe
for
anarchy
and I
am waiting
for
the final withering away
of
all governments
and I
am perpetually awaiting
a
rebirth of wonder
I am
waiting for the Second Coming
and I
am waiting
for a
religious revival
to
sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I
am waiting
for
the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I
am waiting
for
them to prove
that
God is really American
and I
am waiting
to
see God on television
piped
onto church altars
if
only they can find
the
right channel
to
tune in on
and I
am waiting
for
the Last Supper to be served again
with
a strange new appetizer
and I
am perpetually awaiting
a
rebirth of wonder
I am
waiting for my number to be called
and I
am waiting
for
the Salvation Army to take over
and I
am waiting
for
the meek to be blessed
and
inherit the earth
without
taxes
and I
am waiting
for
forests and animals
to
reclaim the earth as theirs
and I
am waiting
for a
way to be devised
to
destroy all nationalisms
without
killing anybody
and I
am waiting
for
linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I
am waiting for lovers and weepers
to
lie down together again
in a
new rebirth of wonder
I am
waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I
am anxiously waiting
for
the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an
obscure general practitioner
and I
am waiting
for
the storms of life
to be
over
and I
am waiting
to
set sail for happiness
and I
am waiting
for a
reconstructed Mayflower
to
reach America
with
its picture story and tv rights
sold
in advance to the natives
and I
am waiting
for
the lost music to sound again
in
the Lost Continent
in a
new rebirth of wonder
I am
waiting for the day
that maketh
all things clear
and I
am awaiting retribution
for
what America did
to
Tom Sawyer
and I
am waiting
for
Alice in Wonderland
to
retransmit to me
her
total dream of innocence
and I
am waiting
for
Childe Roland to come
to
the final darkest tower
and I
am waiting
for
Aphrodite
to
grow live arms
at a
final disarmament conference
in a
new rebirth of wonder
I am
waiting
to
get some intimations
of
immortality
by
recollecting my early childhood
and I
am waiting
for
the green mornings to come again
youth’s
dumb green fields come back again
and I
am waiting
for
some strains of unpremeditated art
to
shake my typewriter
and I
am waiting to write
the
great indelible poem
and I
am waiting
for
the last long careless rapture
and I
am perpetually waiting
for
the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to
catch each other up at last
and
embrace
and I
am awaiting
perpetually
and forever
a
renaissance of wonder
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