Doctor Sax - Jack Kerouac [55]
The ring has got the crey.
Ringaladout, ringalaree,
Ringala Malaman,
Ringala Dee.
The hooded urchins of the pissed river
Are making melted marbles of the mud;
Rain, Rain, Sleeping Shrouded Falls,
The manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates
Is sleeping in his craw.
The boss of the winter stove league
Has given up his chaw.
So Sax in his Ides Does Bide,
Comes Melting Like Mr. Rain
With a Shake of the Fritters,
Drops his Moistures One by One.
The Golden Rose
That in the wave’s
Repose–
The Lark & Lute
in Every Mist
The Hoods of Windfall
Blown with Rain
The Ice Floes
Bonging at
the Falls,
The Eyes of Eagles
on the Main–
The Angel with the
Wetted Wings,
The Nose
The Cark that in
the Harried Anxious
Flows to East
The gammerhooks
of cloud-rise
in the moon.
The Whistle of
an Arcadian
Fluke
Flaws in Heaven
Are no Pain.
Demi mundaine dancers at the broken hall ball,
Doctor Sax and Beelzabadoes the whirling polka
GaUipagos–
The crickets in the flower petal mud
Throng at the Water Lilies, Thirst
for fair-
Cring Crang the broken brother boys
See Mike O’Ryan in the river rising,
Tangled.
The Spiders of the evil Hoar
are coming in the flood
Every form shape or manner
the insects of the wizard blood
The Castle stands like a parapet,
Kingdoms enthralled in air
Saturday Heroes of the windy field
Bare fist-glasses to the mer—
The Merrimac is roaring,
Eternity and the Rain are Bare
Down by White Hood Falls,
Down by the darkened weirs,
Down by Manchester, down by Brown,
Down by Lowell, Comes the Rose—
Flowing to its seaward, brave as knights,
Riding the humpback Merrimac
Rage excites
So doth the rain droop open,
more like a rose
Less adamantine
Than ang
Liquid heaven in her drip
eatin rock
mixing kip
Eternity comes & swallows
moisture, blazes sun
to accept up
Rain sleeps when the rain is over
Rain rages when the sun keels over
Roseg drown when the pain is over
The water lute sides of Rainbow
Heaven—
Rang a dang mam-mon
Sing your blacking song.
THE SONG OF THE MYTH OF THE RAINY NIGHT
Rose, Rose
Rainy Night Rose
Castle, Castles
Hassels in the Castle
Rain, Rain,
Shroud’s in the Rain
Makes her Luminescence
Of folded Incandescence
Raw red rose in wetted night
“I had all to do
With that dreaded essence.”
Pitterdrop, pitterdrop,
Rain in the woods
Sax sits Shrouded
Meek & crazy
Rumored in his trousers
Naked as a baby
“Rainy drops, rainy drops,
Made of loves,
Snake’s not real,
Twas a husk of doves
‘The rain is really milk
The night is really white
The shroud is really seen
By the white eyes of the light
A young & silly dove
Is yakking in the sky
The dream is cropping under
The muds & marble mix
Petals of the water harp,
Melted lutes,
Angels of Eternity
And pissing in the air
“Ah poor life and paranoid gain,
hassel, hassel, hassel,
man in the rain
“Mix with the bone melt!
Lute with the cry!
So doth the rain blow down
From all heaven—s fantasy.”
—Deep in myself I’m mindful of the action of the river, in words that sneak slowly like the river, and sometimes flood, the wild Merrimac is in her lark of Spring lally-da’ing down the pale of mordant shores with a load of humidus aquabus aquatum the size of which was one brown rushing sea. By God as soon as the ice floes were past, the brown foam fury waters came, thundering in midstream in one lump bump like the back of a carnival Caterpillar pitching green muslin-hunks and people screaming inside–only this was chickens, drowned chickens garnished the middle of the rill-ridge roar in centerriver–brown foam, mud foam, dead rats, the roofs of hen houses, roofs of barns, houses—(out of Rosemont one afternoon, under sky drowse, I felt peaceful, six bungalows got out their moorings and floated to midstream like duck brothers and sisters and proceeded to Lawrence and another Twi League)—
I stood there on the edge ledge.
It was a Monday night I’d first seen the floes, a terrible, bad sight–the lonely turrets