Treasure Island

Gregory Corso

(26 March 1930 – 17 January 2001 / New York City, New York)

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Comments about this poem ( by Gregory Corso )

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  • Theresa Haffner (2/3/2013 3:05:00 AM)

    excellently expanding the boundaries of what is and what is not poetry. reminiscent of john cage's ' 4'33 '.
    kudo's. i did not know of this poem. it must become famous ion the annals of poetry. very beat. (Report) Reply

  • Kaye Cee (7/27/2008 12:19:00 AM)

    The most frightening poem ever written. It reminds me of 'Dr. Strangelove', the movie. (Report) Reply

  • Andrada Adriana (8/5/2006 5:51:00 AM)

    Bomb
    Budger of history Brake of time You Bomb
    Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you
    Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt the jawbone of an ass
    The bumpy club of One Million B.C. the mace the flail the axe
    Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Cochise flintlock Kidd dagger Rathbone
    Ah and the sad desparate gun of Verlaine Pushkin Dillinger Bogart
    And hath not St. Michael a burning sword St. George a lance David a sling
    Bomb you are as cruel as man makes you and you're no crueller than cancer
    All Man hates you they'd rather die by car-crash lightning drowning
    Falling off a roof electric-chair heart-attack old age old age O Bomb
    They'd rather die by anything but you Death's finger is free-lance
    Not up to man whether you boom or not Death has long since distributed its
    categorical blue I sing thee Bomb Death's extravagance Death's jubilee
    Gem of Death's supremest blue The flyer will crash his death will differ
    with the climbor who'll fall to die by cobra is not to die by bad pork
    Some die by swamp some by sea and some by the bushy-haired man in the night
    O there are deaths like witches of Arc Scarey deaths like Boris Karloff
    No-feeling deaths like birth-death sadless deaths like old pain Bowery
    Abandoned deaths like Capital Punishment stately deaths like senators
    And unthinkable deaths like Harpo Marx girls on Vogue covers my own
    I do not know just how horrible Bombdeath is I can only imagine
    Yet no other death I know has so laughable a preview I scope
    a city New York City streaming starkeyed subway shelter
    Scores and scores A fumble of humanity High heels bend
    Hats whelming away Youth forgetting their combs
    Ladies not knowing what to do with their shopping bags
    Unperturbed gum machines Yet dangerous 3rd rail
    Ritz Brothers from the Bronx caught in the A train
    The smiling Schenley poster will always smile
    Impish death Satyr Bomb Bombdeath
    Turtles exploding over Istanbul
    The jaguar's flying foot
    soon to sink in arctic snow
    Penguins plunged against the Sphinx
    The top of the Empire state
    arrowed in a broccoli field in Sicily
    Eiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia Gardens
    St. Sophia peeling over Sudan
    O athletic Death Sportive Bomb
    the temples of ancient times
    their grand ruin ceased
    Electrons Protons Neutrons
    gathering Hersperean hair
    walking the dolorous gulf of Arcady
    joining marble helmsmen
    entering the final ampitheater
    with a hymnody feeling of all Troys
    heralding cypressean torches
    racing plumes and banners
    and yet knowing Homer with a step of grace
    Lo the visiting team of Present
    the home team of Past
    Lyre and tube together joined
    Hark the hotdog soda olive grape
    gala galaxy robed and uniformed
    commissary O the happy stands
    Ethereal root and cheer and boo
    The billioned all-time attendance
    The Zeusian pandemonium
    Hermes racing Owens
    The Spitball of Buddha
    Christ striking out
    Luther stealing third
    Planeterium Death Hosannah Bomb
    Gush the final rose O Spring Bomb
    Come with thy gown of dynamite green
    unmenace Nature's inviolate eye
    Before you the wimpled Past
    behind you the hallooing Future O Bomb
    Bound in the grassy clarion air
    like the fox of the tally-ho
    thy field the universe thy hedge the geo
    Leap Bomb bound Bomb frolic zig and zag
    The stars a swarm of bees in thy binging bag
    Stick angels on your jubilee feet
    wheels of rainlight on your bunky seat
    You are due and behold you are due
    and the heavens are with you
    hosanna incalescent glorious liaison
    BOMB O havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOM
    Bomb mark infinity a sudden furnace
    spread thy multitudinous encompassed Sweep
    set forth awful agenda
    Carrion stars charnel planets carcass elements
    Corpse the universe tee-hee finger-in-the-mouth hop
    over its long long dead Nor
    From thy nimbled matted spastic eye
    exhaust deluges of celestial ghouls
    From thy appellational womb
    spew birth-gusts of of great worms
    Rip open your belly Bomb
    from your belly outflock vulturic salutations
    Battle forth your spangled hyena finger stumps
    along the brink of Paradise
    O Bomb O final Pied Piper
    both sun and firefly behind your shock waltz
    God abandoned mock-nude
    beneath His thin false-talc's apocalypse
    He cannot hear thy flute's
    happy-the-day profanations
    He is spilled deaf into the Silencer's warty ear
    His Kingdom an eternity of crude wax
    Clogged clarions untrumpet Him
    Sealed angels unsing Him
    A thunderless God A dead God
    O Bomb thy BOOM His tomb
    That I lean forward on a desk of science
    an astrologer dabbling in dragon prose
    half-smart about wars bombs especially bombs
    That I am unable to hate what is necessary to love
    That I can't exist in a world that consents
    a child in a park a man dying in an electric-chair
    That I am able to laugh at all things
    all that I know and do not know thus to conceal my pain
    That I say I am a poet and therefore love all man
    knowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all men
    and my unwords no less an acquaintanceship
    That I am manifold
    a man pursuing the big lies of gold
    or a poet roaming in bright ashes
    or that which I imagine myself to be
    a shark-toothed sleep a man-eater of dreams
    I need not then be all-smart about bombs
    Happily so for if I felt bombs were caterpillars
    I'd doubt not they'd become butterflies
    There is a hell for bombs
    They're there I see them there
    They sit in bits and sing songs
    mostly German songs
    And two very long American songs
    and they wish there were more songs
    especially Russian and Chinese songs
    and some more very long American songs
    Poor little Bomb that'll never be
    an Eskimo song I love thee
    I want to put a lollipop
    in thy furcal mouth
    a wig of Goldilocks on thy baldy bean
    and have you skip with me Hansel and Gretel
    along the Hollywoodian screen
    O Bomb in which all lovely things
    moral and physical anxiously participate
    O fairylike plucked from the
    grandest universe tree
    O piece of heaven which gives
    both mountain and anthill a sun
    I am standing before your fantastic lily door
    I bring you Midgardian roses Arcadian musk
    Reputed cosmetics from the girls of heaven
    Welcome me fear not thy opened door
    nor thy cold ghost's grey memory
    nor the pimps of indefinite weather
    their cruel terrestial thaw
    Oppenheimer is seated
    in the dark pocket of Light
    Fermi is dry in Death's Mozambique
    Einstein his mythmouth
    a barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's head
    Let me in Bomb rise from that pregnant-rat corner
    nor fear the raised-broom nations of the world
    O Bomb I love you
    I want to kiss your clank eat your boom
    You are a paean an acme of scream
    a lyric hat of Mister Thunder
    O resound thy tanky knees
    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
    BOOM ye skies and BOOM ye suns
    BOOM BOOM ye moons ye stars BOOM
    nights ye BOOM ye days ye BOOM
    BOOM BOOM ye winds ye clouds ye rains
    Go BANG ye lakes ye oceans BING
    Barracuda BOOM and cougar BOOM
    Ubangi BOOM orangutang
    BING BANG BONG BOOM bee bear baboon
    ye BANG ye BONG ye BING
    the tail the fin the wing
    Yes Yes into our midst a bomb will fall
    Flowers will leap in joy their roots aching
    Fields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the wind
    Pinkbombs will blossom Elkbombs will perk their ears
    Ah many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle look
    Yet not enough to say a bomb will fall
    or even contend celestial fire goes out
    Know that the earth will madonna the Bomb
    that in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be born
    magisterial bombs wrapped in ermine all beautiful
    and they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empires
    fierce with moustaches of gold (Report) Reply

  • Robert Rorabeck (2/17/2005 12:14:00 AM)

    this is not the poem, putter head- Bomb is probably the best poem ever yet it is not here and I'm not yet 27 no matter what the machine says (Report) Reply

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