Poet Video pro Tebe ,,Gregory Corso za Noci“

Natočeno, čteno nahráno ve Studiu Midian.Zvuky noční savany, lva a krokodýlů nilských z Archivu BBC, volně dostupné pro neziskové projekty. Lyrics:
But I Do Not Need Kindness
Gregory Corso ,  reading by Lubomir Tomik

I have known the strange nurses of Kindness,
I have seen them kiss the sick, attend the old,
give candy to the mad!
I have watched them, all night, dark and sad,
rolling wheelchairs by the sea!
I have known the fat pontiffs of Kindness,
the little old grey-haired lady,
the neighborhood priest,
the famous poet,
the mother,
I have known them all!
I have watched them, at night, dark and sad,
pasting posters of mercy
on the stark posts of despair.
I have known Almighty Kindness Herself!
I have sat beside Her pure white feet,
gaining Her confidence!
We spoke of nothing unkind,
but one night I was tormented by those strange nurses,
those fat pontiffs,
The little old lady rode a spiked car over my head!
The priest cut open my stomach, put his hands in me,
and cried:--Where's your soul? Where's your soul!--
The famous poet picked me up
and threw me out of the window!
The mother abandoned me!
I ran to Kindness, broke into Her chamber,
and profaned!
with an unnamable knife I gave Her a thousand wounds,
and inflicted them with filth!
I carried Her away, on my back, like a ghoul!
down the cobble-stoned night!
Dogs howled! Cats fled! All windows closed!
I carried Her ten flights of stairs!
Dropped Her on the floor of my small room,
and kneeling beside Her, I wept. I wept.
But what is Kindness? I have killed Kindness,
but what is it?
You are kind because you live a kind life.
St. Francis was kind.
The landlord is kind.
A cane is kind.
Can I say people, sitting in parks, are kinder?


Gregory Corso. The last gangster /reading by Lubomír Tomik /

Waiting by the window
my feet enwrapped with the dead bootleggers of Chicago
I am the last gangster, safe, at last,
waiting by a bullet-proof window

I look down the street and know
The two torpedoes from St. Louis
I've watched them grow old
...guns rusting in their arthritic hands

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