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Page 1 of 11914 · PDF PAGE 4
CHICAGO MAY PART I—ROME Drceaner I ‘Tus is my hour of peace; the great sow snores, Blowing out spittle through her blubber lips, ‘Champagne and lust still oozing from the pores. Of her fat flanks; then, let my hate eclipse All other lamps of my pale soul, and flare— A curst star sparking in the strangled air! Her shapeless limbs are sticky with stale sweat; Yet, she would wake if I withdrew, belch hard The ferments of the fodder, turn, and fret This inch that is the ruins of a yard. Is there no sparrow, ram, ass, bull can stay The “ love"—dear …
1914 · PDF PAGE 19
…irtue bring about its own reward ? Not every virtue, nor to every one. In my case, anyhow, T thank the Lord ‘That showed me Glory to the great I AM!) A thicket, and the horns of—such a ram ! fa] ‘A worn-out whore that filched the crusts Of mongrels in Stamboul, And satisfied its lepers’ lusts, Followed a drunken fool, Who flung into her face his purse With his “Be off, bitch 1” and a curse
1914 · PDF PAGE 14
…he Absolute Burst—hence Chicago. Would He had been mute! No, by the Lord! This hate is a pure joy Like everything that’s pure . . . (the great sow snores/) That's the catastrophe that breaks the boy! n in sleep this hoariest of whores Maintains her reputation. Keep away ‘The breath of scandal from Chicago May! xiv T nicknamed you Chicago May because ‘Your husband was a broker in the “Pi And mother called you Mary; but the clause Holds yet another attribution. It Was a thief, prostitute, assassin—ch ?— Who rots in prison as “ Chicago May.” Her n…
1914 · PDF PAGE 5
…soul one flame for art and song, her soul Pure as the trilling musick of her tongue, Her heart one flame—for me. The single goal Of this great purgatory of mine is she. God grant her hope to her, and mine to me! fa) ‘Thou all-beholding sun, whose beams Comfort the just and the unjust, Wake me from all these evil dreams Of this grey globe of greed and lust! Ah ! that is less than naught to Thee Which is the all, and more, to me! This is my grief; nor God, nor man Cares what thing earthly may befall. True self conceives a subtler plan, Nor heeds …
1914 · PDF PAGE 15
…nose. God ! God! God! God! is there no scavenger To cart this nastiness? Or can there be No sewer fit to suck the corpse of her Into the great, all-purifying sea? Her little hand would rather, I opine, The multitudinous seas incacadine! xv If men could hear me, they would smile and say : How this young satirist exaggerates! If they could see me, they would all go gray ‘With horror, know there is no word in hate’s Roll to speak hate, just as in all love's lore There is no word for love—oh, snore, sow, snore! 1 am rigid with my hate; the brain st…
1914 · PDF PAGE 11
… you love sculpture, harmony, and song? Your god's your belly, and your pride your shame You are weil fitted with Madonna's name! x (The great sow snores.) Ab, but she holds me still. If T but turned, she would be up and doing, Crazy with lust or jealousy. Hog-swill Stirs her to phrenzy, quarrelling or wooing. Her wreath is mustard-leaves entwined with myrtle: Her turtle-dove combines the snapping turtle!
1914 · PDF PAGE 8
… is. Naught human could so prostitute the aims Of those high souls compact of light and bliss And truth. Shall mere anatomy refute? (The great sow snores)—oh, certainly a brute! Yet, if a brute, why should I hate you so? Because you are my own race turned to dung? ‘Things nearest to us plague us most, we know. ‘Why should such “why?” come tripping to my tongue ? It is love's shrine itself that you pollute; And that is why I hate you, prostitute “Make me a baby!" May a cancer gnaw Your womb! A dropsy make your belly burst! ‘The word of “ baby” i…
1914 · PDF PAGE 10
…ntil you look like a shop window struck By lightning, its white velvet soaked—these flare, ure sparkles kindled in a mass of muck By the great light—O God |-of the pure Sun, Which you avoid “because it freckles one.” Ah, yes, the rings that sink into your fat, ‘The chains and earrings, theirs no beauty faded1 You are worth hunting (after all) for that, ‘While there is one fair maiden that unaided By this may fail to have her will of art And me—God bless her for her loyal heart | ‘Men hunt the ermine for its fur; ‘tis said Life's pedlars all hav…