Σάββατο, 1 Νοεμβρίου 2014

Jack Kerouac Poem - Mexico City Blues - 113th Chorus

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Jack Kerouac, 1922 - 1969
“I want to be considered a jazz poet”

Got up and dressed up
and went out & got laid
Then died and got buried
in a coffin in the grave,
Man—
Yet everything is perfect,
Because it is empty,
Because it is perfect
with emptiness,
Because it’s not even happening.


Everything
Is Ignorant of its own emptiness—
Anger
Doesn’t like to be reminded of fits—

You start with the Teaching
Inscrutable of the Diamond
And end with it, your goal
is your startingplace,
No race was run, no walk
of prophetic toenails
Across Arabies of hot
meaning—you just
numbly don’t get there

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