My Sad Self Poem by Allen Ginsberg

My Sad Self

Rating: 4.8

To Frank O’Hara

Sometimes when my eyes are red
I go up on top of the RCA Building
and gaze at my world, Manhattan—
my buildings, streets I’ve done feats in,
lofts, beds, coldwater flats
—on Fifth Ave below which I also bear in mind,
its ant cars, little yellow taxis, men
walking the size of specks of wool—
Panorama of the bridges, sunrise over Brooklyn machine,
sun go down over New Jersey where I was born
& Paterson where I played with ants—
my later loves on 15th Street,
my greater loves of Lower East Side,
my once fabulous amours in the Bronx
paths crossing in these hidden streets,
my history summed up, my absences
and ecstasies in Harlem—
—sun shining down on all I own
in one eyeblink to the horizon
in my last eternity—
matter is water.

I take the elevator and go
down, pondering,
and walk on the pavements staring into all man’s
plateglass, faces,
questioning after who loves,
and stop, bemused
in front of an automobile shopwindow
standing lost in calm thought,
traffic moving up & down 5th Avenue blocks behind me
waiting for a moment when ...

Time to go home & cook supper & listen to
the romantic war news on the radio
... all movement stops
& I walk in the timeless sadness of existence,
tenderness flowing thru the buildings,
my fingertips touching reality’s face,
my own face streaked with tears in the mirror
of some window—at dusk—
where I have no desire—
for bonbons—or to own the dresses or Japanese
lampshades of intellection—

Confused by the spectacle around me,
Man struggling up the street
with packages, newspapers,
ties, beautiful suits
toward his desire
Man, woman, streaming over the pavements
red lights clocking hurried watches &
movements at the curb—

And all these streets leading
so crosswise, honking, lengthily,
by avenues
stalked by high buildings or crusted into slums
thru such halting traffic
screaming cars and engines
so painfully to this
countryside, this graveyard
this stillness
on deathbed or mountain
once seen
never regained or desired
in the mind to come
where all Manhattan that I’ve seen must disappear.

Anil Kumar Panda 12 August 2017

Emotionally powerful poem on the city life that he does not want to miss.Enjoyed.

2 2 Reply
Paul Brookes 12 August 2019

As usual Ginsberg hit the spot no fancy words or line just simple lines that connect you to the poet and the poet to you via his world Great poetry.

3 1 Reply
Jane Campion 12 August 2019

Good imagery./////////Great.

1 2 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 12 August 2018

A great poem indeed.. tony

1 2 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 12 August 2017

This graveyard! ! Thanks for sharing.

1 2 Reply
Brook Renwick 14 August 2021

You are lucky that you can step aside and not feel judged in this city Allen! ! ! !

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Dr Dillip K Swain 12 August 2021

The first three lines!

0 0 Reply
Rose Marie Juan-austin 12 August 2021

A vivid depiction of the intricacies of life. Superb imagery.

0 0 Reply
Rose Marie Juan-austin 12 August 2021

A touching, straightforward and gripping write.

0 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 12 August 2021

CONGRATS being chosen by PH as The Modern Poem Of The Day. Almost all his poems are very touching.

0 0 Reply
Allen Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg

Newark, New Jersey
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