To an Old Poet in Peru Allen Ginsberg (Poem to Martin Adan)

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Ginsberg escirbiendo un poema a Adan


<p>TO AN OLD POET IN PERU ALLEN GINSBERG we met at duskUnder the shadow of the railroad stationclockWhile my shade was visiting LimaAnd your ghost was dying in Limaold face needing a shaveAnd my young beard sproutedmagnificent as the dead hairin the sands of ChancayBecause I mistakenly thought you weremelancholySaluting your 60 year old feetwhich smell of the deathof spiders on the pavementAnd you saluted my eyeswith your anisetto voiceMistakenly thinking I was genialfor a youth(my rock and roll is the motion of anangel flying in a modern city)(your obscure shuffle is the motionof a seraphim that has lostits wings)I kiss you on your fat cheek (once more tomorrowUnder the stupendous Desamparados clock)Before I go to my death in an airplane crashin North America (long ago)And you go to your heart-attack on an indifferentstreet in South America(Both surrounded by screamingcommunists with flowersin their ass)you much sooner than Ior on a long night alone in a roomin the old hotel of the worldwatching a black door. . . surrounded by scraps of paper</p>