Allen Ginsberg

FEB.29, 1958

.

Last nite I dreamed of T. S. Eliot

welcoming me to the land of dream

Sofas couches fog in England

Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows

curtains on his windows, fog seeping in

the chimney but a nice warm house

and an incredibly sweet hooked nosed

Eliot he loved me, put me up,

gave me a couch to sleep on,

conversed kindly, took me serious

asked my opinion on Mayakovsky

I read him Corso Creely Kerouac

advised Burroughs Olson Huncke

the bearded lady in the zoo, the

intelligent Puma in Mexico City

6 chorus boys from Zanzibar

who chanted in worn out polyglot

Swahili and the rippling rhythms

of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay

On the isle of the Queen

we had a long evenings conversation

then he tucked me in my long

red underwear under a silken

blanket by the fire on a sofa

gave me English Hottie

and went sadly off to his bed,

saying ah Ginsberg I am glad

to have met a fine young man like you

At last, I woke ashamed of myself.

is he that good and kind? Am I that great?

What's my motive dreaming his

manna? What English Department

would that impress? What failure

to be perfect prophet's made up here?

I dream of my kindness to T. S. Eliot

wanting to be a historical poet

and share his finance of Imagery-

overambitious dream of eccentric boy.

God forbid my evil dreams come true.

Last night I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.

T. S. Eliot would have been ashamed of me.