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<DIV>[Don't know why, but this time of year, this year, reminds me of this
Ginsberg poem. Why? Haven't a clue. DP]</DIV>
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<DIV>Kral Majales (King of May)</DIV>
<DIV>
<DL>
<P>
<DT>And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and
<DD>lying policemen
<DT>and the Capitalists proffer Napalm and money in green suitcases to the
<DD>Naked,
<DT>and the Communists create heavy industry but the heart is also heavy
<DT>and the beautiful engineers are all dead, the secret technicians conspire
for
<DD>their own glamour
<DT>in the Future, in the Future, but now drink vodka and lament the Security
<DD>Forces,
<DT>and the Capitalists drink gin and whiskey on airplanes but let Indian
brown
<DD>millions starve
<DT>and when Communist and Capitalist assholes tangle the Just man is arrested
<DD>or robbed or has his head cut off,
<DT>but not like Kabir, and the cigarette cough of the Just man above the
clouds
<DT>in the bright sunshine is a salute to the health of the blue sky.
<DT>For I was arrested thrice in Prague, once for singing drunk on Narodni
<DD>street,
<DT>once knocked down on the midnight pavement by a mustached agent who
<DD>screamed out BOUZERANT,
<DT>once for losing my notebooks of unusual sex politics dream opinions,
<DT>and I was sent from Havana by planes by detectives in green uniform,
<DT>and I was sent from Prague by plane by detectives in Czechoslovakian
<DD>business suits,
<DT>Cardplayers out of Cezanne, the two strange dolls that entered Joseph K's
<DD>room at morn
<DT>also entered mine and ate at my table, and examined my scribbles,
<DT>and followed me night and morn from the houses of the lovers to the cafes
of
<DD>Centrum -
<DT>And I am the King of May, which is the power of sexual youth,
<DT>and I am the King of May, which is long hair of Adam and Beard of my
<DD>own body
<DT>and I am the King of May, which is Kraj Majales in the Czechoslovakian
<DD>tongue,
<DT>and I am the King of May, which is old Human poesy, and 100,000 people
<DD>chose my name,
<DT>and I am the King of May, and in a few minutes I will land at London
<DD>Airport,
<DT>and I am the King of May, naturally, for I am of Slavic parentage and a
<DD>Buddhist Jew
<DT>who whorships the Sacred Heart of Christ the blue body of Krishna the
<DD>straight back of Ram
<DT>the beads of Chango the Nigerian singing Shiva Shiva in a manner which
<DD>I have invented,
<DT>and the King of May is a middleeuropean honor, mine in the XX century
<DT>despite space ships and the Time Machine, because I have heard the voice
of Blake
<DD>in a vision
<DT>and repeat that voice. And I am the King of May that sleeps with teenagers
<DD>laughing.
<DT>And I am the King of May, that I may be expelled from my Kingdom with
<DD>Honor, as of old,
<DT>To show the difference between Caesar's Kingdom and the Kingdom of the
<DD>May of Man -
<DT>and I am the King of May because I touched my finger to my forehead
<DD>saluting
<DT>a luminous heavy girl trembling hands who said "one moment Mr. Ginsberg"
<DT>before a fat young Plainclothesman stepped between our bodies - I was
<DD>going to England -
<DT>and I am the King of May, in a giant jetplane touching Albion's airfield
<DD>trembling in fear
<DT>as the plane roars to a landing on the gray concrete, shakes & expels
air,
<DT>and rolls slowly to a stop under the clouds with part of blue heaven still
<DD>visible.
<DT>And <I>tho'</I> I am the King of May, the Marxists have beat me upon the
street,
<DD>kept me up all night in Police Station, followed me thru Springtime
<DD>Prague, detained me in secret and deported me from our kingdom by
<DD>airplane.
<DT>Thus I have written this poem on a jet seat in mid Heaven. </DT></DL>
<P>
<CENTER><I>May 7, 1965</I></CENTER></DIV></BODY></HTML>