Lew Welch & Allen Ginsberg (Courtesy: Allenginsberg.org) |
I. AFTER ANACREON
When I drive cab
I am moved by strange whistles and wear a hat.
I am moved by strange whistles and wear a hat.
I am the hunter. My prey leaps out from where it
hid, beguiling me with gestures.
When I drive cab
all may command me, yet I am in command of all who do.
When I drive cab
I am guided by voices descending from the naked air.
When I drive cab
A revelation of movement comes to me. They wake now.
Now they want to work or look around. Now they want
drunkenness and heavy food. Now they contrive to love.
When I drive cab
I bring the sailor home from the sea. In the back of
my car he fingers the pelt of his maiden.
When I drive cab
I watch for stragglers in the urban order of things.
When I drive cab
I end the only lit and waitful thing in miles of
darkened houses.
In On Bread and Poetry, a discussion with Philip Whalen and Gary Snyder, Welch described sharing his taxi poems with other cab drivers: "The cab drivers like my cab poems. They said, 'Yeah, that’s just the way it is. By gosh, you write like that, hunh? That’s good.'"
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