named their cigarettes
“Hope” and “Peace”
and “Peace Light” and “Short Hope”
and “Short Hope Light.”
A NOTE TO THE CHINESE READER
Dear Reader,
Thank you for coming to this book. It is an honour, and a surprise, to have the frenzied thoughts of my youth expressed in Chinese characters. I sincerely appreciate the efforts of the translator and the publishers in bringing this curious work to your attention. I hope you will find it useful or amusing.
When I was young, my friends and I read and admired the old Chinese poets. Our ideas of love and friendship, of wine and distance, of poetry itself, were much affected by those ancient songs. Much later, during the years when I practised as a Zen monk under the guidance of my teacher Kyozan Joshu Roshi, the thrilling sermons of Lin Chi (Rinzai) were studied every day. So you can understand, Dear Reader, how privileged I feel to be able to graze, even for a moment, and with such meagre credentials, on the outskirts of your tradition.
This is a difficult book, even in English, if it is taken too seriously. May I suggest that you skip over the parts you don’t like? Dip into it here and there. Perhaps there will be a passage, or even a page, that resonates with your curiosity. After a while, if you are sufficiently bored or unemployed, you may want to read it from cover to cover. In any case, I thank you for your interest in this odd collection of jazz riffs, pop-art jokes, religious kitsch and muffled prayer, an interest which indicates, to my thinking, a rather reckless, though very touching, generosity on your part.
Beautiful Losers was written outside, on a table set among the rocks, weeds and daisies, behind my house on Hydra, an island in the Aegean Sea. I lived there many years ago. It was a blazing hot summer. I never covered my head. What you have in your hands is more of a sunstroke than a book.
Dear Reader, please forgive me if I have wasted your time.
THE FAITH
The sea so deep and blind
The sun, the wild regret
The club, the wheel, the mind,
0 love, aren’t you tired yet?
The blood, the soil, the faith
These words you can’t forget
Your vow, your holy place
O love, aren’t you tired yet?
A cross on every hill
A star, a minaret
So many graves to fill
O love, aren’t you tired yet?
The sea so deep and blind
Where still the sun must set
And time itself unwind
O love, aren’t you tired yet?
HERE IT IS
Here is your crown
and your seal and rings
and here is your love
for all things
Here is your cart
your cardboard and piss
and here is your love
for all of this
May everyone live
and may everyone die
Hello, my love
and my love, Goodbye
Here is your wine
and your drunken fall
and here is your love
your love for it all
Here is your sickness
your bed and your pan
and here is your love
for the woman, the man
And here is the night
the night has begun
and here is your death
in the heart of your son
and here is the dawn
(until death do us part)
and here is your death
in your daughter’s heart
And here you are hurried
and here you are gone
and here is the love
that it’s all built upon
Here is your cross
your nails and your hill
and here is your love
that lists where it will
May everyone live
and may everyone die
Hello, my love
and my love, Goodbye
THERE FOR YOU
When it all went down
And the pain came through
I get it now
I was there for you
Don’t ask me how
I know it’s true
I get it now
I was there for you
I make my plans
Like I always do
But when I look back
I was there for you
I walk the streets
Like I used to do
And I freeze with fear
But I’m there for you
I see my life
In full review
It was never me
It was always you
You sent me here
You sent me there
Breaking things
I can’t repair
Making objects
Out of thought
Making more
By thinking not
Eating food
And drinking wine
A body that
I thought was mine
Dressed as arab
Dressed as jew
O mask of iron
I was there for you
Moods of glory
Moods so foul
The world comes through
A bloody towel
And death is old
But it’s always new
I freeze with fear
And I’m there for you
I see it clear
I always knew
It was never me
I was there for you
I was there for you
My darling one
And by your law
It all was done
Don’t ask me how
I know it’s true
I get it now
I was there for you
A PROMISE
I will never
return
the Holy Grail
to its
“rightful owners.”
REPORT TO R.S.B.
Peace did not come into my life.
My life escaped
and peace was there.
Often I bump into my life,
trying to catch its breath,
pay a bill,
or tolerate the news,
tripping as usual
over the cables
of someone’s beauty –
My little life:
so loyal,
so devoted to its obscure purposes –
And, I hasten to report,
doing fine without me.
IRVING AND ME AT THE HOSPITAL
He stood up for Nietzsche
I stood up for Christ
He stood up for victory
I stood up for less
I loved to read his verses
He loved to hear my song
We never had much interest
In who was right or wrong
His boxer’s hands were shaking
He struggled with his pipe
Imperial Tobacco
Which I helped him light
– after the photo by Laszlo
BECAUSE OF A FEW SONGS
Because of a few songs
wherein I spoke of their mystery,
women have been
exceptionally kind
to my old age.
They make a secret place
in their busy lives
and they take me there.
They become naked
in their different ways
and they say,
“Look at me, Leonard
look at me one last time.”
Then they bend over the bed
and cover me up
like a baby that is shivering.
THE LETTERS
You never liked to get
The letters that I sent.
But now you’ve got the gist
Of what my letters meant.
You’re reading them again.
The ones you didn’t burn.
You press them to your lips,
My pages of concern.
I said there’d been a flood.
I said there’s nothing left.
I hoped that you would come.
I gave you my address.
Your story was so long,
The plot was so intense,
It took you
