Decadent American Literature

Billy the Kid

“Emily Dickinson is my
emblematical Concord River.”
—Susan Howe, My Emily Dickinson

Billy the Kid—Rio Grande punk
Isn’t it funny how—pulp fiction
Luridly Wild West—makes heroes
Latches onto—the poetic imagination
Young gangsters—the purple sage!

The ghost thing—Jack Spicer said
Heurtebise the driver—listening to
Each Dis abyss downward—Cocteau’s radio

Kilimanjaro—stratovolcano
Inactive—looming over the veldt
Desert New Mexico—Billy the Kid

*

Billy the Kid

When you think of me—

WHo once took lonesome walks with you

FrIendless pensive Wild West Kid of these

StaTes that Bards ages hence will call Hip

CreaM of the Crop, my New Mexico Dude

PortrAits of you in all my Leaves of Grass

CounteNance of Peter Doyle who knows!!!

_________________________

Seed text = WHITMAN
Source text = Calamus poems from Leaves of Grass (1860)

Calamus #10

“You bards of ages hence! when you refer to me, mind not so much my poems, Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and led them the way of their Glories; But come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior -- I will tell you what to say of me: Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest, Who was not proud of his songs, but of measureless ocean of love within him -- and freely poured it forth, Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers, Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night, Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he loved might secretly be indifferent to him, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest, Who was not proud of his songs, but of measureless ocean of love within him—and freely poured it forth, Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers, Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night, Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he loved might secretly be indifferent to him…”