Second Poem by Peter Orlovsky

A note on spellings. I've seen "Frist Poem" spelled "First Poem" a couple of times. One web page I've come across, which appears to have copied the contents of this page, "corrected" the title of this poem. I didn't look to see if other "corrections" were made. Peter couldn't spell. Or, let's look at it another way. This is how Peter spelled. I'm assuming that most publishers of his work attempted to keep his own spellings intact. I believe Peter's spelling rendered his thoughts accurately. Once, in Peter and Allen's apartment I was leaving a message for Allen, who was away. Peter was writing down my message which happened to contain the words "two thieves". Peter wrote down "two thives" and I said, "No, it's spelled T - H - I - E . . . " etc. Another visitor who happened to be present almost leapt for my throat saying, in effect, "How dare you correct Peter's spelling?" This, in my opinion, is going too far. ~Brian Nation Peter Orlovsky is best known as Allen Ginsberg's lover and companion of almost three decades, from about the fifties to the seventies. What is less well known is that he is a wonderful poet in his own right. His work has appeared in numerous magazines and antholologies. I Biographical note "My biography was born July 1933. Grew up with dirty feet & giggles. Cant stand dust so pick my nose. Trouble in school: always thinking dreaming sad mistry problems. Quit high school in middle of last term & got lost working in Mental hospital old man's bed slopy ward. Love pretzles & cant remember dreams anymore. Will somebody please buy me mountain with a cave up there. I dont speack any more. Wanted to be a farmer went to high school for that & worked hard, hard, I tell you, very hard, you'd be amazed. Did weight lifting with bus stops. Got to enjoy burnt bacon with mothers help. Stare at my feet to much & need to undue paroniac suden clowds. Enjoy mopping floors, cleaning up cat vommit. Enjoy swinning underwater. I want the moon for fun. Getting to enjoy blank mind state, especially in tub. This summer got to like flies tickleing nose & face. I demand piss be sold on the market, it would help people to get to know eachother. I.Q. 90 in school, now specialized I.Q. is thousands." Peter Orlovsky from: The New American Poetry 1945-1960 copyright © 1960 by Donald M. Allen SECOND POEM Morning again, nothing has to be done, maybe buy a piano or make fudge. At least clean the room up for sure like my farther I've done flick the ashes & butts over the bed side on the floor. But frist of all wipe my glasses and drink the water to clean the smelly mouth. A nock on the door, a cat walks in, behind her the Zoo's baby elephant demanding fresh pancakes-I cant stand these hallucinations aney more. Time for another cigerette and then let the curtains rise, then I knowtice the dirt makes a road to the garbage pan No ice box so a dried up grapefruit. Is there any one saintly thing I can do to my room, paint it pink maybe or instal an elevator from the bed to the floor, maybe take a bath on the bed? Whats the use of liveing if I cant make paradise in my own room-land? For this drop of time upon my eyes like the endurance of a red star on a cigerate makes me feel life splits faster than sissors. I know if I could shave myself the bugs around my face would disappear forever. The holes in my shues are only temporary, I understand that. My rug is dirty but whose that isent? There comes a time in life when everybody must take a piss in the sink -here let me paint the window black for a minute. Thro a plate & brake it out of naughtiness-or maybe just innocently accidentally drop it wile walking around the tabol. Before the mirror I look like a sahara desert gost, or on the bed I resemble a crying mummey hollaring for air, or on the tabol I feel like Napoleon. But now for the main task of the day - wash my underwear - two months abused - what would the ants say about that? How can I wash my clothes - why I'd, I'd, I'd be a woman if I did that. No, I'd rather polish my sneakers than that and as for the floor its more creative to paint it then clean it up. As for the dishes I can do that for I am thinking of getting a job in a lunchenette. My life and my room are like two huge bugs following me around the globe. Thank god I have an innocent eye for nature. I was born to remember a song about love - on a hill a butterfly makes a cup that I drink from, walking over a bridge of flowers. Dec. 27th, 1957, Paris

Carlos Gomez
awesome reading