Oh, hola, disculpa, ¿andabas por ahí? Perdona, no te había visto mientras entrabas sin consentimiento
en mi habitación exótica del norte de África en la que les estoy leyendo poesía desnudo
a mi ficticio novio marroquí.
Esta semana, y para descansar un poco de toda la intensidad que fue el horror existencial
de Fortnite, voy a hacer dos vídeos presentando el poema de Allen Ginberg "Aullido", en
mi opinión una de las grandes obras maestras de la poesía del siglo XX. Es un poema que
mezcla igual lo elevado y lo grosero, lo espiritual con lo sexual. Tras su publicación en 1957,
fue censurado y llevado a juicio a causa de su descripción explícita de sexo gay, pues
los anos cristianos de la tierna juventud de los años 50 no podían ser expuestos a
semejante obscenidad. La mayoría de imágenes que uso para este vídeo provienen de la película
Howl, que describe el juicio contra Allen Ginbserg.
Esta es la primera parte del poema, en los días posteriores subiré la siguiente. Es
un poco denso así que creo que seccionarlo es más práctico. La primera parte es la
más famosa y recoge el retrato de la generación y los amigos de Allen Ginsberg, incluyendo
al muso de Kerouac, David Cassidy, y a su amigo que conoció en el manicomio, Carl Solomon.
Si quieres saber un poco más sobre esta generación literaria lo mejor será que veas mi primer
vídeo sobre la beat generation. Para mantener su sonoridad original he decidido recitarlo
en inglés, así que no olvidéis activar los subtítulos al español. La traducción
es obra de Katy Gallego.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in
the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and
high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops
of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the
El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light
tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy
& publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning
through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares,
alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud
and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the
motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green
tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead
joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter
dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on
benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked
and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer
afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to
the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists
jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball
kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes,
meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving
a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal
in Newark's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight
in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms
in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross
telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary
indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman
of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed
the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took
ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico
leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in
fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating
the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible
leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in
Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down,
and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of
other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked
with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty
and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and
were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love, who balled in the morning in the evenings
in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely
to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but
wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel
came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews
of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of
the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual
golden threads of the craftsman's loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with
a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed,
and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a
vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed
in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under
barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside
lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown
alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were
shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements
hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to
unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full
of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room
full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads
shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or
digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords
in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow
morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet
tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time,
& alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to
open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden
verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine
shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors,
or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the
filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses
barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey
and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal
steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past
journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision
or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver,
who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned
in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her
heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals
praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its
hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting
for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who
sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit,
or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive
or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity
& their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on
Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with
shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy
psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in
catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for
a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the
madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's
foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight
solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone
as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic
book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last
telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the
last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet,
and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total
animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets
obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable
measure and the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time
& Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual
images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together
jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless
and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to
the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to
say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes
of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked
mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the
cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life
butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
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